Page 83 of Green Flag
But her hand slipped out from under mine and she was gone in seconds, carrying her shoes instead of putting them on.
And I hated the idea that I’d pushed it too far. Because I never knew when to stop.
* * *
Don shouldn’t have been the one to tell me.
Not when he was to blame.
The roaring of the bikes qualifying was the only sound other than the gasps, the ‘sorrys’ and the sniffles from those Don had just told.
“I’m sorry,” he’d said, his voice broken like my cousin’s body. “They’re going to turn off Alv’s life support tomorrow.”
I’d been mid-conversation with Sally, but I couldn’t recall what we’d discussed. The only sound I wanted was the bikes. All I wanted was the absence of emotion.
Don was talking, but I stood in the pit box, blinking at my reflection in the helmet I was holding.
It felt so cold in my hands when the rest of my body was boiling. I wanted to lug the helmet directly at Don for breaking the contentment in my mind as I’d pretended everything wasn’t happening; Alv wasn’t in the hospital. How dare he speak Alv’s death into existence? I wanted to shove him. Fist-first, teeth-rattling, guilt-flavoured rage. Not just for telling me, but for acting like it wasn’t his fault when it all was.
I’d been doing so well. In practice this week, I’d been on it. My confidence had grown with Nix’s comments and the media — and other teams — mentioning how well I’d done when my bike stalled. In England, I’d come fourth; in Finland, I’d come fourth. This week, I was going for the podium.
That morning, Nix had chuckled to himself at my excitement, trying to calm me down as he told me details about the track and how to treat the curves.
Nix had my utmost respect. He was a grumpy bastard half the time, but when it came to the sport, he’d taken me under his wing.
Maybe it was due to his survivor’s guilt.
Often, we shared the same hellish mood because someone had mentioned Alv.
For me, it was because I loved and missed him. My guilt was that I had taken his saddle.
Nix’s was that he took Alv off his saddle. The accident wasn’t his fault. Alv had skidded along the track into Nix’s path. The helmet coming off was Ciclati’s fault. Don’s.
When I looked up from my blank expression, Nix was already gone. Somewhere in the last few minutes, I could remember a door slamming.
Tears were sitting just behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I had to be strong. I had to race.
“Keep it together,” I muttered to myself, but that weakened my resolve further.
Alv would want me to race. He’d been so proud when I told him I was going back to racing. His big, toothy grin was forever etched in my memory.
A smile he would never give again.
I turned away, trying to swallow the tears, trying to settle my breathing.
There wasn’t an ounce of shock within me. I’d known it was coming. As the weeks passed, with each desperate hospital visit, I’d seen the deterioration that my family dismissed.
This aching loss was not new.
It had just grown. Solidified. To a hole in my chest.
Cris was at my side, his arms around me and I let myself hold him back. I let myself squeeze him and take his comfort. Tears were in his eyes when I pulled away and he nodded with a wobbly smile that matched my own.
We’d both known.
Did he feel the shock? Or this quiet, niggling, awful relief that the answer was determined?
It wasn’t the answer I’d wanted, but it was finally some clarity.
