Just before midnight, on the night before the championship showdown in Valencia—which was being billed by Marcus Birch as #VasquezShowdown—Isaac jumped up to answer the knock at their hotel room door. It was late for visitors so it must be important. Vince stood in the hallway, with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. He must not be able to sleep either.
“Can we go for a walk?” His brother said. “I want to talk to you about something.”
“Sure. Let me tell Anna.” Isaac poked his head into the bathroom where Anna was brushing her teeth. “Vince asked me to go for a walk. I shouldn’t be too late.” He kissed her cheek, grabbed a sweater, and left with his brother.
They took the elevator to the parking garage.
“I thought we were walking,” said Isaac as the doors opened underground.
“There’s somewhere else I want to walk so we can ditch the cameras,” said Vince.
They climbed into his car, and they drove to the Circuit Ricardo Tormo where the race tomorrow would be held, the last of Isaac’s career. Vince parked, and they strolled side by side near the quiet track on the paved path outside the safety fence. They’d shared a lot of memories here, having been on the racing circuit since they were teenagers. It seemed fitting that Isaac’s last race was on Spanish soil.
Vince must have something particular on his mind, but at first, he didn’t speak.
Twice he tugged his ear and seemed about to say something, but so far, the silence had been unbroken.
After half the circuit in the chilly November night, lit only by the overhead lights at distant intervals, Vince said, “Do you think you’ll miss it?”
“I’ll miss you and yeah, there will probably be times I’ll miss racing.” Isaac had made peace with his decision and could discuss it calmly.
“Do you regret not signing again? Retiring at only thirty-three?”
Isaac shook his head. “I’m ready for something different.” As he ambled, he cataloged the turns and his crashes over the years. At least they’d never been serious. Looking back, he didn’t think he’d ever pushed himself as hard as this year. He’d been the oneto play it safe. Well, relatively safe, no motorcycle racer lived a conservative life.
He and his brother walked until they were across from the final turn before the start-finish straight.
“I want you to do something for me,” said Vince, slowing his pace.
“Sure,” said Isaac. This must be the reason they’d come. It would probably be about training, the riding academy, or the future. He hoped Vince would miss him next year, too.
“Tomorrow, I want you to try to win.” They stopped.
Isaac laughed. “Of course.” His breath plumed in the frosty air.
“No. I mean it,” said Vince, his intensity boring into Isaac. The overhead lights made his skin look ghostly and pale and reflected off his dark eyes.
“You’re going to let me win?” Isaac frowned, feeling his forehead tighten. That didn’t seem like Vince.
“No way,” said Vince, waving his hands. “Of course not, but if I win, it has to be because I deserved it. Victory is cheap if it’s handed to me. If you can win, do it. Fight for the championship. I’m going to go all out, and you should, too.”
Isaac said nothing.
Vince continued. “Don’t get mad at me, but I think you crashed during the last race because subconsciously, you expected me to win. You lost your concentration, and your race went to hell.”
Irritation flashed through Isaac, only to dissipate in seconds while he resumed walking, Vince trailing. Isaac hadn’t looked at it that way. He’d just seen his accident as unlucky, but Vince had a point. His head hadn’t been in it. Not enough for a victory. After fifteen meters, he halted once more and faced his brother. Crashing in tomorrow’s race wasn’t the worst outcome.
“What if I win?” Isaac’s voice cracked. He didn’t want to wreck their relationship over something so silly as a race, no matter how important.
“Then you’ll be the champion this year, and I’ll be happy for you. You deserve it as much as I do.” Isaac tried to interject but Vince barreled on. “Don’t get me wrong. I love winning. But you’re my only brother, and we’ve done this together for so long. The least I can do is to be a gracious loser.”
Isaac raised his eyebrow. “Can you?” While he said it with a teasing tone, there was some truth to his question. Gracious losing wasn’t his brother’s strength.
Vince laughed. “That’s fair, but for you, I can. You’re family. To win, you’ll have to beat me. Promise you’ll try.”
Isaac studied his brother. “It won’t ruin our friendship?”
Vince held out his hand. “I promise. Brothers before victory.”
