Page 17 of Heart of the Race

“No?”

He shook his head, and I finally got it. “What’s wrong with him? Is he sick?”

His dark reddish-brown brows pinched together, and he shook his head slightly.

“Okay, not sick. Then what?”

But whatever it was, he didn’t want to say.

“Come over tomorrow whenever you get up,” I directed. “I’ll be there.”

He rose and left without a word.

“So tell us all about your boyhood friend,” Graham prodded after Aidric left.

I played videos from YouTube on my phone for him and everyone else at the table instead. They could see him, but the last thing I wanted to do was talk about Varro.

On the walk back to my place, Graham bumped me with his shoulder.

“What?”

“You never mentioned that your pal, the guy you always make sound like a giant pain in the ass, is drop-dead gorgeous.”

I looked at him. “What?”

“And you made the racing sound so benign, so small-time. You neglected to say that he participates in a huge international competition where the bikes cost more than my house.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter, because this guy Vaughn⁠—”

“Varro,” I corrected.

“Varro,” he repeated, “is the kind of cool I can’t compete with.”

“Graham—”

“Those videos, Brian, the wail of the bikes and the—people are standing there watching these guys just for a glimpse of⁠—”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It is. And the videos from that Isle of Man race are insane! And he rides in that and he risks his life just to participate in a dangerous sport and⁠—”

“Why do you care?”

“Because your buddy, the one you say you don’t care about, well, he looks like a pirate or something, and he’s beautiful, and he does this amazingly sexy thing for a living, and he’s rich and⁠—”

“Not rich,” I corrected.

“Okay, not rich.” He chuckled.

“It really doesn’t⁠—”

“What he does is really scary, and he’s larger than life. How am I supposed to compete with that?”

“You don’t compete,” I scoffed. “There’s no competing. He’s my friend and not even my best one anymore, because he doesn’t know anything that’s going on with me. He doesn’t know about my business or my plans or my life or….” I trailed off, thinking. “He’s just gone. He’s got his life, I have mine. That’s it.”

“Yeah, but⁠—”