TWICE VICTORIOUS (28 page)

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
!

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."