And, with another nod, I ended it. Short and sweet.
Normally, we would continue with questions, but withAlv’scondition… it didn’t seem appropriate to putLucathrough that.
Immediately, I shared the live stream on our other social media, tellingLuca, “You did great. You were a complete natural and handledAlv’ssituation sensitively, which is better than I can say for a lot of sportsmen.”
Luca’sphone was dinging on the desk in his hotel room, just behind him. But he paid it no attention, his gaze locked on the carpet at his feet. I paused my posting.
“What is it?”
“I lied, didn’t I?” he said, eyes wide as he swallowed. “He’s not going to get back on the track next year.”
I bit my lip and put my phone down on his bed. “Luca,” I said softly and reached for him.
He hugged me so tightly it wasn’t as if we had met that day. He didn’t cry, but his head fell onto my shoulder. His voice was muffled in my hair. “He might not make it back in general.”
I stroked his back. “He might not.”
“This should be one of the happiest days of my life,” he said and cleared his throat. “I should have my family celebrating with me. They’re all grieving. I feel like a dick for not being more upset.”
“You are upset,” I said, finding comfort in the embrace. It had been months since I was hugged like this. I needed it as much as he did. “But you’re also in a whirlwind right now. Once everything slows down, it will hit you. Let’s postpone that for a little longer.”
He nodded and released me, turning his back on me to wipe his eyes.
“Celebrate with me,” I said and took his hand. “Let me post the last updates and then let’s have a phone-free, cocktail-full night. We can getSalihaand some of the group.”
He hesitated and I smiled awkwardly.
“Or you can stay here. No pressure.”
“Let me get changed,” he said. “I just need a minute. Or ten. There’s a bar down the road we often go to, usSprint3s.”
“Sounds great,” I said. “Invite anyone you want,Luca. I’ll just be across the hall.”
For drinks in London, I would dress up to the nines withmy friends. Something told me atStormSprintthat would be more shocking than anything.
So I threw the top of my hair back into a clip, touched up my fringe and threw on an off-the-shoulder top. Casual enough, I guessed. Especially when I wore blue jeans and my trainers. My followers agreed.
My work phone rang and I picked it up immediately. “LivieQuinn,Ciclati.” I may have practised answering it a few times. It still sounded a little strained.
“HiLivie, we spoke earlier about NixonArmas’sinterview with Road Racing League?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, my stomach already tightening. Everything was set. “Are there any issues with that?”
“Well,” the female voice started. “It’s a bit awkward, but you representLucaMendes as well, don’t you?”
Ah, shit. I knew where this was going.
“Yes…”
“Any chance we could interview him instead? Now that he’s part ofCiclati, too.”
“What kind of feature?” I asked. “I’ll need more information. I’m sure you realise he’s quite sought after today.”
“We want an exclusive first interview,” she said. “If it’s exclusive, it will be a cover with a double spread.”
“That’s already arranged. What I can give you is the first pick of the photos from today’s production shots for a front cover in your next issue. An interview withLucanext week and a joint interview with bothCiclatiriders in two months.”
She paused. “I’m listening.”
