Adam waited until she was just opposite him. "I'll be waiting for you, Stell," he called, "at the Finish Line."
She raised two fingers from the handlebars in acknowledgement.
If Stell won the race, he wanted to be the one to welcome her to the finish line.
If she lost, he wanted to be the one to comfort her.
Right now, she wasn't doing well. The last update he'd heard, at the bottom of the hill, hadn't mentioned her. She had been in the front of the pack for most of the first ten miles, then she had lost ground, fading back into the peloton, where he couldn't see her.
Thirty miles! One way or another, today would see his future decided, but he hoped the cost wasn't heartbreak for Stell.
* * * *
Stell was dropping farther and farther behind. She'd just been passed again, putting her among the last in the pack. At least I'm not a straggler. But she would be, if she didn't pick up the pace. The sprint at the top of Freezeout Hill had cost her.
Her hip was on fire, but at least it was still working. She heard herself gasping, between breaths, "Please. Please. Please." It was a prayer.
The road swooped down and around, before a last short hill--not steep, not long, but seeming insurmountable, just now. If she could just make it up this last grade, she could make it though the five laps on city streets at the end. She wouldn't win, but she'd finish. She shifted, knowing that her lowest gear wouldn't be low enough to compensate for the strength she'd lost in her left leg.
"Stell!"
That voice cut through the wordless cheers of the crowd lining the route.
"Stell! I love you!"
Adam? It couldn't be.
"You can do it!"
And suddenly she could.
The breakaway group was still way ahead, but that could change. There was one last sprint to get through, and it could make a considerable difference in who led the race. Now they were on the city street, a long, slightly downhill section a bit over a half-mile long. Close to the end of it was the Finish Line, which they had to cross five times before the race was over.
The street was lined with crowds, cheering as the peloton passed. The sound was like a shot of adrenaline. Stell forgot her hip, forgot her exhaustion. All she cared about was getting to the front of the pack. I am going to win! I am going to win!
I am going to win!
Chapter Sixteen
PALMARÈS: an athletic record of achievement
How she did it, Stell would never understand. She had gained ground in the sprint. Her whole leg throbbed, pains shot through her hip with every pedal downstroke, yet she was riding better than she ever had. The road seemed downhill as she pulled even with Kat. Erika was faltering, and Stell passed her with what seemed like no effort at all.
Kat stayed right beside her, not giving an inch. They might be on the same team, but they wouldn't do any favors for each other when the finish line was just ahead. Only Truda and Carole were in front of them, and Carole seemed to be faltering. Stell refused to count on it happening. The Hawaiian woman had pulled one last burst from nowhere before this.
Across the finish line a fourth time, as the crowd chanted, "Last lap! Last lap!" Their enthusiasm flowed over Stell like an invigorating shower.
The last lap! Less than a mile and a half to go between her and the realization of her dream. She could do it. Stell tucked her chin against her chest and narrowed her concentration to the pressure of her feet against the pedals, the few inches of road just ahead of her wheels, and the light wind which suddenly seemed to be blowing her along instead of holding her back.
She would do it.
A pink haze was hovering at the edges of her vision when she saw another bicycle wheel just ahead. For some reason it was important that it not stay there. She couldn't make it move ahead, so she had to go past it.
She increased her cadence and grimaced with satisfaction. The wheel was dropping back, and so was its follower. Shortly they both disappeared behind her.
When her pedals began turning more easily, Stell shifted into a higher gear. Another wheel appeared ahead of her, but this one stubbornly stayed where it was.
It didn't do any good to pedal faster. The wheel just wouldn't move, either ahead or back.
"Truda. Truda. Truda!"
What was that noise?
"Stell! Go for it, Stell! Pass her, pass her!" It was very important that she do what the voice commanded.
She tried. She gave it her all.
The noise increased, shrieks and shouts blending together into pandemonium. Running feet appeared beside the wheel, almost filling the little patch of road that was the focus of her whole being.
"Truda! Truda!"
Stell saw the black strip pass beneath the wheels she could not catch.
Then beneath hers.
She stopped pedaling.
Somehow she made it to the turn a block farther on, coasting, slowing until her front wheel wobbled. Clicking her right foot free of the pedals, she wished there was some way to avoid putting any weight on the left one. Other riders passed her, some laughing, some looking as wiped out as she felt. Keeping her left foot on the pedal, she lowered her right, leaned over the handlebars, and laid her head on her hands. An instant later she was plucked off her bicycle and held tightly in Adam's arms.
"Put me down!"
"Not on your life. I'm not letting hold of you for the rest of the day."
"Adam!" She pushed against his shoulders, found his hold on her was unbreakable.
Giving up, Stell did her best to look like it was all her idea to be carried back toward the Finish Line. "I'll kill you for this," she murmured past gritted teeth. She'd never admit to him that she hadn't been sure she could walk.
His smile was as artificial as hers felt. "Later. Right now you need to wash your face and drink about a gallon of water."
"My bike!"
"It's taken care of. Just relax and enjoy yourself. I'm in charge now."
The crowd parted to let them through. Adam set her down on the low wall that separated a restaurant's patio from the sidewalk. Immediately they were surrounded by excited spectators. Most offered congratulations. Some hugged her. One little boy asked for her autograph on his race program.
Adam disappeared for a moment, returned to hand her a damp tea towel and a tall glass of water. Just behind him, a waiter set a tray bearing a pitcher of ice water beside her.
Unable to decide what to do first, Stell held glass in one hand, towel in the other and looked helplessly at Adam. He took the towel and wiped the drying sweat from her face. It revived her enough that she sipped the water, then took the towel and dabbed at her neck and upper chest. Her sports bra was soaked, and so was her jersey. What she really wanted to do was upend the pitcher of ice water on her head.
Adam must have read her mind, because he said, "Cold shower later. The awards ceremony will be soon."
Afraid to ask where she'd placed, Stell only nodded.
Finally the officials had the results compiled and the podiums set up for the awards ceremony. When Adam appeared ready to pick her up again, she shook her head. "I'll make it," she told him.
He held her arm as she slid down from the wall. "Of course you will." His smile was warm, sweet. Loving?
Had he really told her he loved her? Or had she been dreaming.
First there were the awards for today's race. "Please come to the podium when your name is called, "the announcer said. "Tenth place, Willa Santiago."
Beside Stell, Adam cheered louder than anyone. The young woman who stepped forward was wearing his team's jersey.
Kat took fifth place. Stell was ashamed of herself at the momentary surge of envy. If only she hadn't crashed, hadn't hurt a hip that still wasn't as strong as it should be.
Because she was still lecturing herself for pettiness, she missed who took fourth. Then she heard her name called.
"What?" She looked up at Adam, who was smiling widely.
"Go," he said
. "You took the bronze."
"Don't tease, Adam."
Milt's gravelly voice came from behind her. "Get up there, Stell." You're holding up the party.
In a daze, she limped forward, wondering when they would discover their mistake. Someone helped her step onto the low platform. Someone else handed her flowers. Then an official lifted the bronze medal on its bright ribbon. Placed it over her head. Tears choked her, and she could only whisper, "Thank you."
Carole Furakawa was awarded the silver, her first medal in the race. Stell had to laugh sympathetically at her near hysteria. Then Truda Niebauer stepped forward to accept the gold.
Once the noise and confusion died down a little, Stell congratulated Truda sincerely. "You rode a great race," she said. "I wish I had your stamina."
"I am lucky this year," Truda told her. "I had no mishaps, no crashes." She hugged Stell. "Next year you will do better."
Will I? Will I even be racing next year?
Yes, she and Adam had to talk.
A short delay, and then the overall top ten places were announced. Stell wasn't surprised to hear she'd placed eighth. Sprints and Primes counted toward total points almost as much as winning a stage. She'd lost a lot of points in the sprints.
At last the awards were over. The crowd was thinning, although Stell knew it would be at least an hour before any of the cyclists could leave. There were autographs to sign, fans to greet, congratulations to accept.
Adam to talk to. He was waiting for her over at the café, sitting at a table with a glass of wine in one hand. Each time their eyes met, he lifted it to her, his smile wide and somehow proud.
Stell didn't need wine. She didn't need to sit in a café, no matter how pleasant the afternoon was. She needed ibuprophen and the Jacuzzi. The sooner the better.
How he accomplished it, she never, knew, but Adam rode in the van with them when they went back to their hotel. Once there he scooped her into his arms and carried her into the lobby.
"Your room or mine?" he said, heading toward the elevator.
"Does it matter?"
"Sure. If you want to talk first, we'll go to your room."
"And what would we do first in your room?"
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew the answer.
He waggled his eyebrows. "What do you think?"
"I think we'd better go to my room. I need a shower before anything else."
"I'll scrub your back." He pushed the button for her floor.
"No you won't."
"Wanna bet?" He kissed her lightly. "You're in no shape to fight off a mosquito. I'll scrub your back."
He scrubbed her back, but to Stell's surprise, he didn't push his advantage. Despite his all too obvious arousal, he slipped back out of the shower stall and toweled off while she was rinsing her hair.
He was waiting for her when she emerged from the bathroom, clad in loose sweats. On the table sat a platter of assorted healthy and unhealthy munchies, and beside it sat a wine bucket holding a bottle of champagne. Stell poured herself another glass of water, picked up a bacon-wrapped mushroom. "If you only knew how I've craved food like this," she said, biting into the hot, savory nibble. "I am so sick of pasta and salad, bananas and grilled chicken breasts." She swallowed, picked up a mini-quiche and tasted it. "Oh, wonderful! Fat and salt and all the good stuff!"
Adam chuckled. "I always went for pizza after a match," he said.
Swallowing the last of the quiche, she said, "Do you know, I think that's the first time I've heard you speak of your fencing days with anything but bitterness."
He sipped his wine, looking thoughtful. "Okay, yes, I was bitter...for a long time." One hand wiped across his chin, and she heard the faint rasp of a day's growth of beard. "You were right, you know."
"I was?"
"You were. When you said I was afraid I'd lose." He ducked his head, not meeting her eyes. "Well, partly right, anyway. I wasn't so much afraid as convinced."
"Adam...." She reached across the table, caressed his cheek. "I said a lot, and most of it I shouldn't have. It wasn't my place to judge you."
"I don't know. Maybe I needed to be judged, by someone outside the family."
Rising, he came round the table, pulled her to her feet. "Come sit with me."
She curled on his lap, wincing a little as her hip twinged. The shower had taken care of the worst of the pain, but she still received little reminders that she had badly abused the joint.
"For a long time before the Olympic trials," Adam mused, "I'd been questioning whether I had what it took to be the best in the world. I'd fence with Steve and know he was unbelievably better than I was.
"Oh, it wasn't a matter of technical excellence. I was very good, don't get me wrong. But I was merely good. Steve was gifted, a genius, if you will. And he had something else: the fire, the passion that it takes to win." Again that self-mocking grin. "All I had was conceit, determination, and stubbornness."
Stell ached for him, for that young man facing a painful truth. Given the devotion it took to get as far as he'd gone along the road to the Olympics, she could imagine how it must have devastated him when he faced the fact that he wasn't quite the best in the world.
He shifted beneath her and she became aware that his body was still aroused. Tendrils of desire began to grow out of her exhaustion. "Adam," she said, "I think you've talked long enough."
"In a minute. I have one more thing to say." Stell shuddered as Adam's tongue toyed with the tips of her fingers.
"I thought I knew what was best for you. Because I didn't have what it took, I didn't want you to either. I couldn't face the possibility that you might be better than I was...that you might win where I hadn't even tried."
"Oh, Adam," she said, knowing how hard it had been for him to relinquish his pride and bare his soul to her, "do you think it matters? Out there--" She gestured, her motion encompassing the rest of the world, outside this time and place. "Out in the real world, being the best only lasts until a new best-in-the-world comes along. I think I've been coming to realize that as the race progressed, and today I knew, for sure.
"I was the best in the world on Thursday. You were best in the world when you won the World Cup." She sought the right words to express the insight that had come out of twelve days of maximum effort. "Being best in the world is something to strive for, but it's not something you can have. Not something you can keep." Cupping his face between her two hands, she forced him to look into her eyes. "I want something I can keep. That's what I learned out there on those roads. "I want you. To keep."
"You do? Even though I'm a...an unforgivably arrogant despot?"
"I would have come to you as soon as I got home," she said, standing stretching. She didn't dare stay in one position too long, not until she did her stretching. If she did, she'd freeze that way. "I was going to ask if you wanted a slightly used bicycle racer."
"You're not giving it up!"
"I'd rather not. But I will, if it's a choice between cycling and you." It was so easy to say, now that she'd lived with the alternative--life without Adam.
"You can't do that!"
His outrage was so strong that Stell wondered if she was making still another mistake. "Why not?"
The expression on his face went from outraged to sheepish in an instant. "Because I just spent seventeen hundred dollars on a mountain bike, damn it. I've been watching it on ESPN. It looks like a lot more fun than fencing."
"Oh, Adam!" She laughed, knowing that the future would be filled with joy, no matter what happened with her racing. "I do love you, arrogance and all."
Within seconds she was on the bed, with Adam towering over her. His clothes went flying every which way and soon he was holding her in his arms.
Stell responded to his passion with fire of her own. Her skin burned where his hands stroked, her mind floated adrift as her body responded to him. Again and again he lifted her to heights of ecstasy, holding her while spasms of completion shook her body a
nd her soul.
When finally he buried himself inside her, Stell found new reserves of desire. She could feel him trembling with the tremendous effort he was making to last longer than a split second. She lay quiescent, breathing in the intimate scent of him, mixed with the odor of her arousal.
When Adam finally moved, Stell responded, gently, not wanting to drive him over the edge. But her caution was futile, for he gasped and drove himself within her. His hoarse cry of triumph stoked the fires within her, and she echoed him only seconds later.
"I won, you know. Twice."
"Hmmm?" Adam was half asleep.
"Just finishing the race was a victory for me. When Dad died I needed a goal, something to keep me going when it seemed like I'd lost everything that mattered. I needed a goal, and that was it."
"Why didn't you tell me? If I'd known that, I would never have accused you of being obsessed with winning."
"I didn't tell anybody. I never said it out loud, never let myself even think it. If I had admitted that it was the racing that was important, not the winning, I'd never have won." She turned in his arms, nuzzled against his chin. "Adam, one doesn't win by admitting the possibility of losing. You know that."
"You said you'd won twice. What else?"
"You." She was so tired, but it was important that she tell him before she slept. "I won you."
"No," he whispered. "I'm the winner. You're the best in the world." He kissed her. "And you're mine."
~The End~
About the Author
Judith B. Glad rode a bicycle to school as a child, but as an adult thought those days were gone forever. Then her son took up bicycle racing and shamed her into getting back onto two wheels. She bought a second hand bike, then a good mountain bike. Pretty soon she had to have a road bike, so she could ride a Century. Now she rides frequently, and thinks nothing at all of doing twenty or thirty miles, although she admits that rain and hail tend to diminish her enthusiasm somewhat.
When she isn't riding, Judith is writing, following a dream that got postponed while she raised a family and pursued two or three careers. Visit her website at www.judithbglad.com and read excerpts from all of her books.
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