Page 16 of Heart of the Race

“Try and not be a total wiseass right now.”

“That canna be helped.”

“What does he need?” I questioned Aidric. “’Cause you guys did a whole season last year without me. You actually just finished it, like, last month. Aren’t you off? This is December. You should be home with your wife on the farm in—where is it again?”

“Netherbrae.”

“That’s it,” I said wistfully. “It sounds lovely. You should be there.”

“Don’t tell me where I should be, wee man.”

“And where is your liege? On Lake Como with—what was her name? I got a call when you guys were in⁠—”

“You didn’t call him at all last year.”

“I did, I tried. It’s hard, though, with the change in time zones and… but we emailed.”

“He got hurt.”

The simple statement slammed into me like a fist in the gut.

“Brian?”

“It must not have been very bad,” I quipped, trying not to let anyone see how much the words had affected me. “No one called.”

“It was verra bad.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Now tell me why I didn’t.”

“We were forbidden.”

“And why’s that?”

He cleared his throat. “Shall everyone be hearing, then?”

I exhaled sharply. “Why don’t we do this… come see me tomorrow and we’ll go to breakfast and talk.”

He nodded. “Varro doesn’a know I’m here.”

“Okay.”

“He’s plannin’ to run the Isle of Man TT again next year.”

“That’s in May, right?”

“Aye.”

“But he’ll do the MotoGP again.”

He was silent.

“Aid?”

He shrugged.

“Listen,” I said softly. “I know he got hurt really bad in the TT last time, but he’s a better racer now, and⁠—”

“No.”