Page 9 of Green Flag
Ciclati had killed my cousin.
Yes, the doctors said he might recover. But he wasn’t breathing by himself — hadn’t since the accident — and it looked like when he eventually woke, he would be paralysed, at least from the waist down.
That wasn’t a life for the motorbike champion.
I’d put the file into a folder. I’d scribbled out many of my hate-fuelled, unprofessional comments to the point that our team’s media manager, Livie, had offered me her iPad to write down the notes afresh on a PDF.
But I liked the anger of my sprawl.
My toes tapped against the floor of the meeting room. Tap, tap, tap. Originally, Livie was meant to be here before Cris, the team director, so we could talk through my goals for the meeting. Her worried look when she suggested it told me she feared I’d go too far.
That morning in the hotel’s gym, I had got out most of my frustration and gone particularly hard on the punching bag,having to wrap my hands repeatedly because I was so unfocused on anything other than getting my anger out.
Bloody knuckles were a small price for a little relief from the media and the headlines that kept on flashing in my mind.
‘A future up in the air… he feels like he’s filling someone else’s shoes… the burden of being a replacement… excitement turned to regret…trapped in the spotlight…a dream he doesn’t believe is his…’
Livie had told me not to google my name. I hadn’t listened.
To everyone on the outside, I put on my normal smile, chatting away about everything and anything else. But there was acid in my throat when I swallowed. A tightness in my grin. A blockage in my chest.
I locked my phone and was picking at the scabs on my knuckleswhen Cris opened the door and came in with Livie at his side, sitting across from me in the small white meeting room. She mouthed a ‘sorry’, shaking her blonde curls in sympathy.
To show my hesitation, I hadn’t put on my racing leathers.
Cris gave me a sad smile — more of an upside-down smile, his lips turned down with pity.
I didn’t want his pity.
Words wouldn’t help us here. I slid my annotated inquiry across the table towards my team director and clasped my hands together on the desk. This man was my cousin’s best friend. I didn’t want to hurt him. Not when he and Nix had taken me under their wings when I was promoted to their team. I missed Alv’s guidance, but they were trying. Out of guilt.
“You’ve read this then.”
“Once or twice,” I said, voice dripping with sarcasm, and jerked my head towards the paper I’d thrown his way. “Made some notes for Don.”
Don Velente. Ciclati’s CEO.
“It goes live tomorrow,” Livie said. “There’s no time for changes or—”
“I don’t need changes, I need out.”
No one could force me to race in Alv’s saddle, not with what I knew now. I’d been his replacement for no reason other than I was a familiar name. I didn’t get in on the merit of my own ability, just to soften the reaction to what Ciclati had been negligible for.
Because if the victim’s cousin could forgive the team, then why couldn’t the public?
But I hadn’t.
Cris muttered before breathing in deeply. “Luca, you are safe. You and Nix. We’ve changed the helmets and they’re now the safest across StormSprint. We have other teams wanting to buy ours, so, if it’s to do with safety, you—”
“I could not care less about my safety,” I snapped.
In fact, I’d been pretty reckless with my health.
“Then you want to know how it happened?”
“Every race, we have a trailer dedicated to equipment. New leathers. Gloves. Helmets. You want it, we’ve got it. I can’t believe in StormSprint, his equipment wasn’t checked.”
Dozens of trailers were moved between the races. Thousands of workers checked the equipment. Bike racing generated millions every year and Ciclati were the best of the best — they’d fallen short. If they could sweep my cousin’s accident under the rug, God knew what else they were willing to hide.
