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 br**sts 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.