Once the starting lights flickered out, he’d be in his last race, and he took a moment to take that in. He didn’t look at Vince or at Anna. This was up to him. His worldview shrank to just him, the bike, and the track ahead—as it did on his best racing days.
When the red lights disappeared, he hit the throttle, and his motorcycle shot forward, timed to perfection. Beside him, Vince got off the line equally well. They shot down the long start-finish straight with the pack of twenty-six riders roaring behind. Vince got the holeshot, braking into turn one. Setting his jaw, Isaac stuck his wheel almost to his brother’s as he forced himself to be patient, slotting into second, feeling the rush of an exhilarating start and the press of bikes behind.
This was another counterclockwise track, Vince’s specialty. Isaac clenched his teeth as he focused on running a pace fast enough to warm up his tires, especially on the left-hand side where they’d get the most use. He couldn’t push too soon, or he’d risk crashing, and he steered through the Doohan corner, flicked through the quick corners of four, five, and six beforeflying down the short back straight, twisting through the tight section from turns seven through eleven. Then he thundered through the swooping curves of turns twelve and thirteen before braking hard for the final corner and racing down the start-finish-straight to end lap one.
After that, most of the race was a blur. It was apparent that he and Vince were in a class of their own today, leaving their opponents behind. Checking his pit board as the laps ticked off was automatic and helped him stay grounded. He hadn’t shown Vince a wheel, but he stayed with him, pushing his brother to buckle under pressure. It didn’t happen, which was to be expected. This was a win Isaac would have to earn.
He watched, ready to pounce on a mistake, a slip, or for Vince’s tires to lose their grip and create an opening. Lap after lap passed, and there hadn’t been an opportunity to pass. Vince’s race remained perfect, and Isaac matched him, move for move and lap for lap. Sweat trickled down his face and pooled at the base of his neck. His muscles grew fatigued, but he ignored the discomfort.
With three laps remaining, Isaac dove up the inside on the tight, technical section, taking the lead for the first time. The brothers traded places four times on that lap, with Vince regaining the lead as they powered down the start-finish straight to start the penultimate lap, headed for the Aspar corner where Isaac outbraked his brother, forcing Vince’s bike to stop with almost no space on the track. They bumped together but somehow, they stayed upright and on course.
Isaac’s arms shook, his heart lodged in his throat as he swept through turns two and three, expecting a countermove. He wasn’t disappointed; he knew his brother’s racecraft better than anyone. Vince flicked it into the lead in the Angel Nieto corner at turn six and accelerated through the turns, braking hard for turn eleven, where Isaac regained the lead. It lasted only secondsbefore he and Vince swapped positions again, with Vince at the front as they powered down the long straight to start the final lap.
Twice more they switched, like a dance with complex moves orchestrated to perfection. Isaac wasn’t sure who would win anymore, but his final race was the most fun he’d ever had on track—win or lose. It felt like a perfect race. No matter what, it was the best way to end his career.
Vince led going into the final three corners. Isaac needed to mount one last challenge. Victory needed to be earned, now more than ever. Still, there was a split second where he almost hesitated. There was no shame in second. Second was a fabulous result for both this epic battle and the season. What if pushing on worn tires threw the race away?
Ignoring the doubts, Isaac slid through turn twelve right on Vince’s rear wheel, holding his breath and digging into his reserves. To his surprise, there was the tiniest opening, as Vince ran a few centimeters wider than usual at turn thirteen, leaving a small margin of unclaimed track on the inside. His tires must also be worn.
Remembering the conversation with his brother last night and his feeling of destiny this morning gave Isaac the courage to leap ahead. In the blink of an eye, he wedged his bike into the minuscule gap, forcing Vince to lose momentum, sit up, and drift farther out onto the track.
Isaac shot ahead and braked hard for the final corner, stuffing his bike around the apex. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a breath. Still expecting a retaliatory move from his brother, Isaac powered through the short run toward the finish line, accelerating for all he was worth. Vince tried to pull out from his slipstream and slingshot to victory, but Isaac had the faster drive and the more direct line. Neck and neck, wheelin wheel, they roared across the line, slicing the air at almost the same time.
They both looked skyward toward the scoreboard. Neither knew who’d won. It had been so close.
Isaac’s name sat at the top. Alone.
A roar rose up from the crowd and filled his chest with their thunder.
He’d won the last race and the overall championship. Tears streamed down his face as he reveled in the moment and tried to accept that his victory was real. He flipped up his visor as he slowed his bike while he waved to the stands, doing a partial lap that ended in front of the packed Vasquez fan club stands—screaming and cheering spectators in red and blue waving flags. The grandstands rocked with their celebration. It was almost unbelievable. He’d won.
When he stopped his bike, his brother parked at his side.
Vince passed his bike to a marshal and ran toward Isaac, then he shook him by the shoulders. “That was a fucking exceptional race, little brother,” he shouted. “Congrats on being the 2029 MotoGP champion.” Then they hugged.
Isaac didn’t have a specific celebration planned, something cheesy and elaborate like Vince would do, and for a second, he regretted not coming up with something fun. Angel and his crew had wanted him to plan a trackside celebration for the fans and the cameras, but Isaac had refused to speculate about winning. He’d been afraid to jinx his race, however, Vince had prepared. Several more race marshals dressed in orange vests dashed up, one holding a duffel bag that he passed to Vince. Another took Isaac’s bike and kept it running while he dismounted.
From the bag, Vince removed two sleeveless T-shirts that read, Isaac Vasquez MotoGP Champion 2029. He pulled one on over his leathers and tossed another to Isaac, who removed his helmet, and tugged on the large shirt over his leathers. Next,Vince removed a custom, gold-painted helmet with #1 on it and passed it to Isaac. “I had one made to your specs.” He wore an enormous grin.
Hands shaking from adrenaline, Isaac tucked the new helmet under his arm while his brother stuck a #1 decal over the existing number on Isaac’s bike. Only the champion could display number one.
Tears streamed down Isaac’s face once more, overwhelmed by his brother’s generosity that showed more than anything that he’d been genuine in his desire to be brothers first and foremost.
“What would have happened if you’d won?” said Isaac, giving his brother a second hug amid the ever-circling camera crews.
Vince winked. “I had a different duffel prepared for that with shirts for both of us. My theme was twelve plus one. Seems it wasn’t meant to be. Not yet. Maybe never.” He shrugged. “I’m thrilled you won. It was one of the most fun races of my career. What more could I ask?” Vince’s eyes shone, and his toothy smile stretched across his entire face.
His happiness was genuine.
Isaac jogged to the safety fence and tossed his old helmet into the stands for the waiting fans, followed by his sweaty gloves. They could be souvenirs. Then he put on the new helmet, claimed his bike from the waiting marshal, and jumped on. Vince collected his bike and the two of them headed to parc ferme where Anna and their teams waited to celebrate.
“Who was third?” Isaac said as they rode up pit lane.
“No idea,” said Vince. “Probably Luka. That kid’s going to give me nightmares in the off-season.”
Isaac laughed. “Anna and I will cheer for you to get your twelve plus one, next year.”
...
