I hoped the heat in my cheeks wasn’t visible as my brain veered right back to Colin.
‘That rider you’re filming… What an accent! I think it’s very effective.’
My throat closed as heat whooshed up my chest. ‘Effective’ was one way to describe it, how he could make me forget my own name just by shooting me a lazy smile.
‘Handsome too.’
I choked, hurrying to change the subject. ‘It’s actually been really good returning to cycling. I missed it.’
‘Of course you did. You were very good at it.’
I blinked, certain I’d misheard the casual remark. How many times had I wished she’d acknowledge that, and now it was too late.
Swallowing my consternation, I asked, ‘Are you just saying that because I finally did the sensible thing and got a real job? At least, I’m trying,’ I added with a grumble.
‘Perhaps,’ she admitted. ‘I never understood your passion, but I haven’t been happy to see you without it these past months.’
Her statement made all my struggles real. The past ten months had been difficult. I’d been trying not to acknowledge how low I’d felt, blamed it on my broken wrist or the lack of endorphins and serotonin after quitting elite sport. But it was more than that.
I heard Colin’s voice in my head again, telling me I’d forgotten who I was; I felt the wind on my face as we weaved through the mountains that perfect day on training camp. My medals were stored rather unceremoniously in a moving box at my parents’ place and only the stylised wave from the Great Ocean Road Race was on display.
Maybe I’d never had a chance at the big wins, but I’d been part of it.
Tears stung behind my eyes – something that had threatened numerous times over the past week and I couldn’t even blame my hormonal cycle. The urge to cry usually hit me when I remembered Colin’s casual admission that he’d crushed on me for years – that he admired me for following my heart. That confession had slowly reordered something inside me, as though the shape of my life was changing.
I’d never questioned my path before. After racing was supposed to come real life, but what if real life didn’t look the same for me as it had for my parents? Wil’s offer to help me find a job lurked in the back of my mind, but staying in Europe felt like too big a decision – too close to Colin and the past – toorisky.
‘I’m looking forward to following the team for the Tour de France,’ I managed to respond.
‘It does seem very exciting.’
I peered at Mom. ‘You sound more interested than when I was riding.’
She gave a slow sigh. ‘When you were riding,zabka, I was beside myself with worry. Your poor father had to spoon-feed me beetroot soup to keep my strength up during these longer tours.’
‘It’s true!’ My dad’s face appeared in the side of the shot, salt-and-pepper hair and a broad, good-natured face.
‘Hi, Dad,’ I said with a wry smile, wondering how long he’d been lurking – and wincing when I remembered Mom had said Colin was handsome.
‘I didn’t understand it. I still don’t,’ Mom continued. ‘I just knew there was a chance you’d crash – more than a chance over the course of your career.’
A tear fell and I couldn’t stop it. ‘You know, I really wish you’d dealt with that and supported me.’
‘Hey, kwiatuszku,’ Dad crooned, calling me his little flower as he leaned closer to the phone, so the screen was filled with his big nose.
I had to chuckle through my tears, feeling like a train wreck, but in an unexpectedly positive way, like this would mean I could get back on the right track, once I’d suffered through the painful bit.
‘Sorry, I’m okay,’ I said – my automatic response to Mom’s stricken look, even if it was only in the background of Dad’s enormous head. Her back was straight and her face drawn. I swiped at my cheeks and sniffed. ‘You’re right. The last few months have been tough.’
At least that was the reason I was sticking to for this emotional breakdown. It had nothing to do with the imminent strain of the Tour, watching Colin write his destiny – while I considered my own. I should check if my tattoo was infected. Maybe I had a fever.
‘You’re tough too,’ Dad said – a platitude but an effective one nonetheless.
I smiled weakly at him. ‘Actually, I thought about riding again – amateur. I might just get back on for training and do a few races in the fall.’
‘In LA?’ Mom exclaimed. ‘You’ll lose your limbs! Or your head! A truck will squash you!’
Dad muttered something to her in Polish, too quietly for me to catch it, and patted her hand. ‘We’ll come and see you.’
