Page 72 of Don't Brake My Heart
The melting feeling in my chest was back. ‘Thanks, Tatus.’
‘Now we’re starting to hand the practice over to Dr Bachchan, we’ll have more time,’ Mom added.
‘If you want us there, even if we have to shut the practice, we’ll come,’ Dad corrected with a pointed glance at Mom.
I thought of Colin and his dysfunctional parents, combined with this gesture from Dad – too late, but still appreciated – and I didn’t think I was going to be able to keep this down. I hiccoughed and had to press my knuckles to my mouth in a last-ditch attempt to pull myself together.
‘What is it, Leeska?’ Dad asked, using the made-up Polish diminutive of my name.
‘Nothing, I’m good.’
‘If you’re—’
‘I should probably go,’ I mumbled. ‘Babcia is obviously keeping you updated anyway and you can keep tabs on the PowerFuel Instagram account.’
I tried not to cringe at the thought of all the content I had yet to post – including the very thorough tour of Colin’s tattoos.
‘Bye! Czesc! Ciao!’ I tapped to end the call, hoping I’d timed my shoulder droop so they didn’t see it. Slumping forward, my elbows on my knees, I blew out a long breath and swiped a curl away from my face.
‘Juz, juz, moja malenka,’ a rough voice crooned behind me.
There was pressure on my back and then a soft stroke down my arm. Babcia shuffled around the sofa and sat next to me, taking my hand and chafing it between her gnarled ones. If she hadn’t shrunk to the size of a gnome, I would have rested my head on her spindly shoulder.
‘Boys always cause troubles.’
My throat closed and I eyed her. I had a feeling she would be able to tell if I lied to her. I was a terrible liar in Polish anyway.
‘This boy especially,’ I whispered in reply.
‘Big troubles, big love,’ she said with half a smile.
I shook my head. We were talking aboutColin Gallagher. I did not love him. I barely tolerated him most of the time. He’d tried to tell me his love language was fake insects and glue in my hair.
His love language…
‘No, Babcia…’ I trailed off. ‘It’s not love.’
Chapter 26
Leesa
The cobbled squares and canal-side lanes of Strasbourg were heaving for the start of the Tour. Kids in child-size yellow jerseys trailed after their parents in checked bucket hats handed out by the salami manufacturer – oh sorry, it was saucisson in France. The carnival feeling extended to the colourful buildings of the old part of town, with planters of yellow flowers on the sills.
The quaint city on the border with Germany was the scene for the first three stages: an individual time trial to start, then two hilly stages, the second of which would take the riders to the next stop on the tour.
The Harper-Stacked support team descended on a town nearby called Obernai, a cute little place of half-timbered houses with wooden shutters. The enormous team buses looked monstrously orange in the car park of the gabled brick hotel and the visceral memories they brought back hit me like a grand piano.
Last year, I was the one guzzling hydration gels in the back of the bus after a race, covered in dust and sweat – and occasionally my own pee. The haze of stress and overstimulation were things I didn’t miss, but it was impossible not to get caught up in the excitement again.
Each of my teaser videos garnered more engagement than the last and the CEO of PowerFuel himself sought me out when he came to see Tony, shaking my hand and telling me how glad he was to have me on board.
For the first time I allowed myself to really imagine that I’d be offered a permanent job at Redwin after this. The uncertainty could finally be over and I’d have a clear path into the future. I only hoped I didn’t get this gig again next year.
Only a small part of me imagined Colin and I might have a two-week affair every year from now on, our stars aligning for the short window before the Tour, but mostly I was concerned with the effect I was having on him, splitting his focus and leading him astray.
I was determined to keep my distance now the real test was only days away.
It was Thursday, the day before the team presentation, when the riders arrived, along with a flock of hangers-on, sponsors and media and fans, all keen to take their piece of the riders. I might have been jealous of my teammate Lori’s results when we were racing together, but I’d never envied her the media circus and it was even wilder for the men.
