“What did you say?” he asked.
“I know you were scared for a long time, but you did it. You figured out how to beat the fear. I don’t think I could have. To go through what you did? No way. But you’re the man.”
The impossible truth slammed into him. His mouth went dry. “You knew?”
“That you couldn’t ride anymore? Not counting those late-night rides you took all the time. That was dangerous. But I guess it was the only way you could get through it, right?”
He felt exposed and more than a little stupid. “You knew?” he repeated.
“Um, yes.”
He swallowed and straightened. “Let me guess. Everyone knew. Everyone in town.”
“Not everyone. Most people. We didn’t want to talk about it. You needed space to heal. It made sense.”
The past two years replayed in his mind. A montage of highlights, so to speak. He remembered how carefully he’d hidden his bike, how he’d ridden in the dark, too ashamed to be out in the light. How everyone had teased him about being out having sex, when they’d known exactly what he was doing.
He didn’t know if he should crawl under a rock or be grateful.
“You look confused,” Jo said.
“That’s one way of putting it.”
She smiled. “You’re one of us. We love you.” Her smile widened. “I’m speaking generally, of course. I don’t want Charity coming in and beating me up.”
“You think she could take you?”
“Love does interesting things to a woman. Gives her strength.”
Maybe, but he wasn’t sure Charity loved him as much as she claimed. She certainly didn’t understand him. Riding wasn’t about being the guy on the poster, as she claimed. It was about being himself. He had to do this—prove that he could. Then he could walk away and get on with his life.
A couple of guys finished up a pool game and walked through the bar.
“Good luck on Saturday, Josh,” they called as they left.
“Thanks.”
“You okay?” Jo asked.
He nodded.
When he’d been a kid, Fool’s Gold had taken him in. The town was still there for him, in ways he hadn’t even known about. He wanted to say he owed them, but it wasn’t like that. They were a family.
He wanted to stay here, to be here with Charity. He wanted to marry her. When the race was over, he would explain again, he promised himself. Somehow he would make her understand. He finally found the one woman he was meant to be with. No way he was letting her get away.
THE MORNING OF THE RACE dawned bright and hot. Charity busied herself in her room until she was supposed to meet Marsha, then made her way downstairs.
Mary, the woman at the front desk, waved. “You still flying from the hospital agreeing to build here?”
“It’s great news,” Charity said, doing her best to sound cheerful. “For all of us.”
“My little sister wants to be a nurse. She’s excited.”
“I’m glad.”
“You off to watch the race? Josh is so going to win.”
Charity smiled and kept walking. No, she wasn’t going to watch the race. She would be there at the beginning, because she was part of city government and she would be expected. But then she would leave. What was the point in staying?
Josh said he needed to win. She believed that. If he lost, he would keep trying. If he won, he would be sucked back into that world. She was just a regular person—how could she compete with the immortality of fame?
She walked more quickly, wanting to get to Marsha’s house before anyone else spoke to her. Nearly everyone in town was heading to line up along the race route. Thousands of visitors crowded the streets, so she didn’t have to do much more than smile and slip between milling groups.
“Quite the crowd,” Marsha said when Charity arrived. “Every hotel room is booked and the restaurants are full. It’s going to be a good weekend.”
“I’m glad,” Charity said, following her grandmother into her living room.
They’d arranged to meet and walk over to the start line together. But instead of getting her purse and pulling out keys, Marsha headed for the sofa. Charity saw several photo albums lined up on the coffee table.
“What are those?” she asked, pointing.
Marsha put her arm around Charity’s waist. “Just some old pictures. Don’t worry. This will only take a second.”
Charity settled on the sofa. “Are they of my mom?” she asked, not sure if she wanted to spend her morning looking at Sandra.
“Not exactly.” Marsha sat next to her and flipped open the first album. There were several pictures of a young boy on crutches.
Charity recognized Josh right away. He’d grown up, but his smile was still the same. Heartbreakingly appealing. Would their son or daughter have that smile?