Then he opened the throttle and caught up with the rest of the pack, and the sound of them faded down the road until it was gone.
I stood in the doorway of my trailer leaning on a cane, watching my brothers ride off to defend the club without me, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.
It was my own fault for letting any woman get to me. I knew that. And I knew if I'd have kept my head, I wouldn't be in this fix. It was just one more reason I would never let myself get attached again.
Some lessons you had to learn the hard way, and Sara Ducette had helped me learn this one.
9
SARA
Four years later…
Danny crossed the finish line in second place, and I screamed so loudly, my throat burned. The crowd in the grandstand was on their feet and the dust cloud from the pack was still hanging over the track when I grabbed Tiffany and squeezed her so tightly, I knew she couldn’t breathe. Second place in a field of thirty-two riders was the best finish he'd had all season, and I was proud enough for both of us.
Andy came in seventh, which was solid given that he'd been fighting a bad clutch for the last four laps. I'd told him before the race that the cable was stretching and he needed to compensate, and he'd waved me off the way he always did. But seventh was still a paycheck, and a paycheck put food in the fridge.
We cheered from the sideline as they took their cooldown laps and the team gathered at the winner's circle for the podium ceremony. I stood behind the rope barrier with my clipboard pressed against my chest and watched my brother climb up to the second-place step. He pulled his helmet off and his hair wasmatted with sweat, but he had a grin on his face that made him look like a kid again. The announcer called his name, and the crowd clapped as they handed him his trophy which he raised over his head with both hands. I was so proud of him.
It wasn’t quite the same feeling as the thrill of having a bike under me and crossing the finish line myself, but I'd acclimated to being their pit leader and coach. Besides, with Kip around, I had to take fewer risks. I couldn’t keep putting myself on a bike where injury or death were possibilities when I had a three-year old son to care for, and my brothers knew that. They'd remind me every chance they got, especially when I went out for a ride or took one of their bikes out to test ride it after a tune-up.
After the festivities were over and the crowd started to fan out, Andy found me and threw his arm around my shoulders. "Seventh isn't bad for a guy with a dying clutch." His stupid grin made me smile and jab him in the ribs. For twenty-nine years old, he sure was immature. These boys had no clue how badly they still needed parental supervision.
"Seventh is great. But next time, listen to your crew chief when she tells you the cable is stretching." I lifted both eyebrows up at him, tickling him a little, and he slapped a sloppy wet kiss on my cheek just to annoy me.
"Yes, ma'am." He squeezed me and then let go. "Where's Danny?"
"Finishing up with the press," I told him. "He'll meet us at the trailer."
Andy slung his gear bag over his shoulder and we started the long walk back through the pit area toward our hauler. The afternoon sun was brutal, and the asphalt had been soaking itup all day. I could feel the heat pushing through the soles of my boots.
"You think Danny's going to be insufferable about this?" Andy asked, dodging a kid who ran across our path chasing a dog between two trailers.
"He's already insufferable. Second place is just going to give him a reason to be louder about it." We both had a chuckle about that one, though it was the truth. I sighed happily, knowing a good race made everyone a little less edgy for at least a few days.
"Great. Six-hour drive home with him talking about that last straightaway."
"You could always ride in the hauler with the bikes," I suggested.
"Don't tempt me." He shifted the gear bag to his other shoulder and glanced over at me. "Be honest. How bad did it look from the pit wall when I was fighting that clutch?"
"Bad. Your lines got sloppy in the back half because you were thinking about your hand instead of the track." I kicked a stone with my toe and shrugged. A coach was only as strong as the biker they were coaching, so long as that racer listened to them.
"I was thinking about my hand because it was cramping up from pulling so hard." Andy flexed his fingers and rubbed his palm.
"I told you before the race we needed to adjust it." Giving him a shove, I looked up toward our hauler and then mopped the sweat off my forehead.
"Yeah, yeah."
"We'll get it fixed before the next round."
"Yes, ma'am."
We reached the hauler at the far end of the row, and I dropped the tailgate and climbed up to grab the cooler I'd packed that morning before the sun came up. The ice had mostly melted into cold water, but the cans were still cool enough. I fished out two beers and tossed one to Andy. He caught it one-handed, cracked it, then leaned back against the side of the trailer with his ankles crossed and his head tipped toward the sky.
"This is the part I actually race for," he said, holding up the can. "Everything else is just the price of admission."
I cracked mine and leaned beside him, and we stood there in the thin strip of shade the hauler provided and watched the pit crews around us breaking down their camps. Generators shutting off, canopies coming down, trailers getting loaded. The whole place was winding down from the energy of the race, and there was something peaceful about being on the other side of it with a cold beer and nothing left to fix until tomorrow.
