I smiled after him. I wouldn’t mind if they did. Every gift from Colin meant something. Googly eyes on a croissant, bugs in my breakfast, a mug with his face on it. A necklace. A bike. My spark. Stubbornness, pride. Himself.
He’d given me everything.
Epilogue – two-and-a-half years later
Leesa
Mud spatter caught me right in the face, tasting of rotted life forms, moss and iron. Visibility was 100 per cent crap. My body and mind were at maximum effort just staying up on the bike, sweat turning instantly to cold sludge.
It was glorious.
I’d discovered this adventure bike race my first year in LA. In the foothills of the Sierra Nevada I’d found a community of bike enthusiasts – with questionable sanity – who’d become friends. This event was the ultimate outlet for my constantly somewhat frustrated desire to be on a bike.
Winter in California wasn’t as harsh as in Europe, but it was still damp enough out here that I had mud in my ears, inside my gloves and soaking through my winter jersey. My parents would be horrified as usual, but they were here. They were watching me race, along with two of my favourite people in the entire world: myboyfriendand his sister.
Making a third in the trio of people I’d grown to consider family was Seb, Lori’s husband, who was somewhere behind me in the pack of daredevil cyclists currently careening down the mountain trails. It turned out they enjoyed visiting us in the States – and had sneaked off to Las Vegas last year to get married on a whim with an Obi-Wan Kenobi impersonator officiating.
As I reached the bumpy meadow with the finish line coming into view through the fog, I picked up speed on instinct, my natural reaction to the knowledge that Colin was waiting for me. He was too chicken to race – understandable, given the cost of an injury for the whole team – but he’d be there at the finish.
He’d always be there. He’d told me every day, although not always in person or in words, and I’d started to believe him, got used to the idea that the love of my life, mypersonhad turned out to be Colin Valerio Gallagher.
I’d even found my place in the sport I’d thought had killed something inside me. After two more successful Tour de France campaigns for PowerFuel, I was collecting cycling clients and trips to Europe for work, while Colin spent all his free time in California. I was beginning to receive offers for in-house marketing roles and getting closer to taking one, especially a particularly interesting opportunity with the Tour de France Femmes.
As usual, Colin hollered embarrassingly loudly when he saw me. He always made a cardboard sign for my races with amusing phrases like ‘Tap here if you love me’ and ‘Kubicka for president’. Today I had to swipe the grime out of my eyes and still his sign wasn’t quite in focus.
Hurtling over the finish line, I steered in his direction, not seeing Lori or my parents anywhere, but not minding because I was planning to smear mud all over him while I lured him into a public display of affection. But when I saw the words on the sign, I nearly fell off the bike.
Wobbling while I dismounted, I let the bike clatter to the ground, my knees turning to Jell-O as I stared at those words, which seemed to stare right back at me.
‘Are you still with me, Mags? I didn’t think this would come as such a surprise.’
I loved that wry tone in his deep voice. Three years ago, I would have been certain this was a prank. I knew how much earnestness he was capable of now that he’d ditched the testosterone show with me, but I still didn’t trust myself to speak.
‘I didn’t mean to ambush you. No one’s filming. I can just put this away.’
‘No!’ I forced out, the word sending alarm into his expression. ‘I mean, don’t put it away. I’m just processing.’
He approached slowly, brushing a thumb along my chin a whisper and sinking to his knees, holding the sign against his chest. He took a moment to gather himself, a moment I clung to, hoping I remembered every detail of this when I was old.
‘I think,’ I began lightly, ‘it’s customary to be ononeknee.’
‘Fuck that,’ he said under his breath. ‘I’m gonna beg.’ I would have reassured him, but he continued before I could, his voice gravelly. ‘Lees, I wanna do this… life – you know – with you. I love you so much I can’t imagine not being together.’ He seemed to run out of words.
‘That was good. Do you wanna ask me now?’
Pointing at the sign, he said, ‘Wanna marry me?’ with a pout I found increasingly irresistible.
I pulled him slowly to his feet, my fingers drifting into his wavy hair. ‘Yes, Colin. I want to marry you. And now can I kiss you?’
‘Fucking oath, you can,’ he whispered, allowing me to draw him down for a slow, searching kiss as the cardboard sign fluttered to the ground.
Perhaps it was the perfect proof of our relationship that I felt as though nothing had changed. We’d been soulmates before and we’d be married soulmates afterwards.
And he’d be nice and muddy in a minute.
Breaking off, I smeared my hands all over his face and neck, leaving a trail of muck. ‘You’re my “mud prize” for this race.’
‘I certainly deserved that.’ His arms tightened around my waist. ‘But the joke’s on you. We’ll need a showertogethernow.’
