The screen changed to red for a second and the gurgle of bikes started to fill pit lane again as the camera turned back to an ambulance besideAlv. Nixon was on his knees, a metre or so away from the paramedics at thehelmetlessrider’s side.
Nix pulled off his helmet, chucked it to the side, and shoved at his tears with his forearm. He was shouting, crying.
The world around me felt so very far away.
And the only thing grounding me wereCally’sscreams.
Chapter 4
It was the first time I’d seen NixonArmasin almost a month. Since the day ofAlv’saccident.
In the flesh, anyway.
He’d followed my instructions and kept out of trouble only because he hadn’t left his house for anything other than to have the cast on his arm removed and to answer questions for the inquiry into the accident.
And I was grateful because the media storm that came with the crash andAlv’scomatose condition in intensive care had taken a lot of time to cover.
At theCiclatioffices in Portugal, Nix wasn’t wearing his leathers but instead gym gear. Black shorts and a top. His arm was slightly paler from where he’d had the cast. He’d shaved.
Somehow, he was more attractive out of the leathers. And without the facial hair.
He hardly noticed me, his eyes sunken and looking down at the ground as we spoke around the conference table.
“Due to the circumstances, we’re promoting you to rider one, Nix,”Crissaid.
Nixon didn’t react. His manager at his side nodded, writing down in his notebook.
“We’ve contacted several riders fromSprint2andMotoBiketo fill the position of rider two for a season contract.”
Everyone waited with bated breath. There was only one name people were interested in. The only name that felt right.
“LucaMendes has been honoured with our interest,”Criscontinued. “Olivia, you said the press has already pushed the idea?”
“The day we released the statement ofAlvaro’scondition, three articles said as much.Lucahas a large following, all rooting for him to stand in for his cousin. The family link and familiar personality seem to make him the only appropriate temporary replacement out there,” I said, careful to mention it wasn’t long-term. “I fear what would happen if you didn’t sign him.”
Crisnodded, and there were comments around the table in agreement, but everyone looked to Don, the director ofCiclati,Cris’ boss.
“We were already eyeing him up for next year whenAlvwas going to retire,” one of the men said. “It makes sense.”
Nixon’s head snapped up, eyes wide and questioning as he looked from the man toCrisand back.
He hadn’t known.
He hadn’t knownAlvwas going to retire.
“Okay,”Crissaid, communicating with Don with a long glance and nod. “Okay, we’ll contactLucashortly. A draft contract has already been made for negotiation.”
Before they started discussing salaries, grave nods were across the board, and I mentally checked out. Nix sat back in his chair, twiddling a pen over and over, clicking it obnoxiously. WheneverAlvwas mentioned, the clicking increased, and though people glanced towards him, no one said anything, though his manager nudged him with an elbow.
“Anything else?” Don asked the group.
“We have the new shoot for the opening sequence,” I said, leaning forward to grasp the attention of all the men that surrounded me. “All riders have agreed to join for the group shot. AsAlvis in the centre of it, the whole thing needs to be reshot. It’s set for next Tuesday, seeing as we’ve pushed back the first race.”
Nixon glowered.
“All potential riders are aware,” Cris added.
“Once the contract is signed, I’ll set up an interview and a live stream.”
