bike race was all about sensation. The sound of the crowd, of the peloton—the pack of racers—and of the bike. The feel of the road. The burn of muscles, the ache of a chest sucking in air. A racer was either ready or not. It came down to talent, skill, determination and luck.
He’d always been lucky. In life, in love—or at least in lust—and in racing. That day he’d been luckiest of all.
That’s what the photographs showed. As fate, or luck, would have it, someone had been taking a series of pictures of the race just as the crash had occurred. There, in single-frame clarity, was the sequence. The first bike to go down, the second.
Josh hadn’t been in the lead. He’d been holding back deliberately, letting the others exhaust themselves.
Frank had been young, early twenties, his first year racing professionally. Josh had done his best to mentor the kid, to help him out. Their coach had told Frank to do whatever Josh did and he wouldn’t get into trouble.
Their coach had been wrong.
The still photographs didn’t capture the sound of the moments, he thought as he rode faster. The first guy to go down had been on Josh’s right. Josh had felt more than heard what had happened. He’d sensed the uneasiness in the pack and had reacted instinctively, going left then right in an effort to break away. He’d only thought about himself. In that second, he’d forgotten about Frank. About the inexperienced kid who would do what he did. Or die trying.
They’d been going around forty-two miles an hour. At that speed, any mistake was a disaster. The pictures showed the bike next to Frank’s slamming into him. Frank had lost control and gone flying into the air. He’d hit the pavement, going forty miles an hour. His spine severed, his heart still pumping blood through ripped arteries, and he’d died in seconds.
Josh didn’t remember what had made him look back, breaking one of the firmest rules of racing. Never look back. He’d seen Frank go flying with an unexpected grace, had—for a single second—seen the fear in his eyes. Then the body of his friend had hit the ground.
There had been silence then. Josh was sure the crowd had screamed, that the other riders had made noise, but all he’d heard was the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. He’d turned back, breaking the second rule of racing. He’d jumped off his bike and run to that kid lying so very still. But it was already too late.
Josh hadn’t raced since. He couldn’t. He’d been unable to train with his team members. Not because of what they’d said, but because being in the peloton made him nearly explode with fear.
Every time he got on his bike, he saw Frank’s body lying there. Every time he started to pedal, he knew he would be next, that the crash was coming any second. He’d been forced to take a leave of absence, then retire. He gave the excuse that he was making way for the younger team members, but he suspected everyone knew the truth. That he didn’t have the balls for it anymore.
Even now, he only rode alone, in the dark. Where no one could see. Where no one would be hurt but him. He faced his demons privately, taking the coward’s way out.
Now, as the lights of town grew closer and brighter, he slowed. Bit by bit, the ghosts of the past faded until he was able to draw in breath again. The workout was complete.
Tomorrow night he would do it all again: ride in the gloom, wait for the final stretch, then relive what had happened. Tomorrow night he would once again hate himself, knowing that if he’d only been in front that day, Frank would still be alive.
He pulled off the main road to a shed behind the sporting goods store he owned. He went inside and drank deeply from the bottle of water he’d brought. Then he removed his helmet and pulled on jeans and a shirt, replacing his cycling shoes with boots.
He was sweaty and flushed as he made his way back to the hotel. If anyone saw him, he or she would assume he was returning from an evening rendezvous, which was fine with him.
As for being with a woman…he hadn’t. Not in nearly a year. After his divorce, he’d slept around some, but there’d been no pleasure in it. Not for him. It was as if he wasn’t allowed to experience anything good. Penance for what had happened to Frank.
He walked back to the hotel. He would order room service, take a shower and hope that tonight he could sleep.
Once in the lobby, he avoided making eye contact as he made his way to the stairs.
“Hey, Josh. Anyone I know?”
Josh glanced toward the speaker and waved, but kept on walking. He didn’t want to have a conversation with anyone right now.
He sensed someone coming down the stairs as he went up. He glanced to his left and saw Charity. For once she wasn’t in one of her old lady dresses and boxy jackets. She’d topped jeans with a pink sweater. He had a brief impression of long legs, a narrow waist and impressive breasts before his gaze moved higher to meet her frosty stare.
He liked Charity—found her attractive, smart and funny. Under other circumstances, if he were someone else, he would want her.
No—that wasn’t right. He did want her. If things were different, he would do something about it, but he couldn’t. She deserved better.
He knew what she was thinking, what everyone thought. Better that than the truth, he told himself as he flashed her a smile and kept on moving.
CHARITY HATED FEELING stupid, especially when she had no one to blame but herself. She’d spent the weekend buried in work because it was the only way to stop thinking about Josh. Every time she wasn’t distracted, she faced a brainful of questions, all designed to make her spiral into girl craziness.
She was fascinated by him in a way that was unexpected, unfamiliar and a teeny bit obsessive. That was fine. It happened. Eventually she would get over it. During their tour of the city the previous Friday, she’d found herself actually enjoying spending time with him. She’d found him funny and charming, which was good. Having a person inside of her crush was helpful.
But something had happened on their drive. He’d changed and she was frustrated by the feeling that she’d done something wrong. She hadn’t. She knew that in her head. But try telling her active hormones that. They’d spent the entire weekend sighing dramatically, longing for just a glimpse of the man in question. Worse, Friday night he’d strolled back into the hotel looking all hot, sweaty and sexy. Which meant he’d been with someone else. Even going online and seeing dozens of pictures of him with other women hadn’t helped at all.
She could understand feeling boy crazy if she was in high school, but she was twenty-eight years old. An age when one could reasonably expect some slight maturity. After all, she had plenty of romantic disasters in her past from nice, normal men. Men she’d thought she could trust. If she’d been so desperately wrong with them, falling for Josh would be nothing short of idiotic.
Shortly before ten o’clock on Monday morning, Charity filled her coffee cup and made her way to the large conference room on the third floor for her first city council meeting.
There were already about a dozen people sitting around the large table, all of them women except for Robert. She greeted the mayor, smiled at Robert, then took a seat.
Marsha winked at her. “We’re a little less formal than most council sessions you will have attended, Charity. Don’t judge us too harshly.”
“I
