Poles Apart
Page 85
When the bikes had done a full lap, they came back into view again, all of them stopping on their respective marks on the ground. My chest was tight as I watched, and I could barely sit still. The race was twenty laps, which Carson said would be about forty minutes in duration. I couldn’t wait for it to end. My nerves and excitement about telling him I loved him back was actually starting to overtake the worry which usually plagued me during race time.
Once all the racers were settled on their positions, the family members all crowded around the window, taking their seats and looking at their loved ones excitedly. My eyes were trained on Carson as I gripped the edge of the seat tightly, willing him to do well. When the green light flashed, the sound through the headphones was momentarily deafening as the bikes screeched off their lines in a cloud of smoke and exhaust fumes. No longer able to sit, I jumped up, looking down with wide eyes as Carson immediately blasted past two other racers, weaving in and out on his heavy-looking bike, taking the inside edge of the track and bumping up to seventh place in an instant. A couple of other people switched positions, too, but my eyes were firmly fixed on my fiancé.
“Go, baby! Kick some arse! You got this!” I shouted before I could stop myself.
Katrina chuckled next to me, but I noticed no one else was standing or shouting. Heat spread across my cheeks as the group of bikes rounded the corner and were out of sight again. The distasteful, disapproving look on some of their faces was enough to make me cringe back into my seat.
As the dust and smoke settled, it was clear that one of the drivers had incurred a problem during the start. He still sat in his starting position as his team ran out to him, taking his bike. The guy threw his hands up in exasperation, gesturing wildly at his bike before stomping out of the gate and off the racetrack.
“Well, Sinead won’t be a happy bunny. Shame,” Katrina said beside me, giggling and nudging me in the ribs, nodding toward one of the more haughty-looking women sitting in the row at the end. Sinead stood, scowling down from the window before she made a disapproving scoffing sound and stormed out of the room. Clearly, that was her husband or partner, and judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t impressed that he hadn’t even started.
I shared a conspiratorial smile with Katrina before turning my attention to the television screens, watching as the cameras followed the lead group around. In my ears, the commentator was busy analysing their form and bikes. When the camera cut to Carson as he went around the corner, I gasped and averted my eyes, not wanting to see how close his bike and body got to the ground as he leant in. I immediately doubted my ability to watch this race. My stomach was churning; my heart was in my throat, and my palms were slick with sweat. Internally, I was counting down the minutes, listening to the laps ticking by, thinking that each lap brought me one step closer to seeing him and saying those words I’d longed to say to him for three years.
Within ten minutes, Carson had crept up another three places and was now in fourth. I had barely watched any of it but was listening avidly to the commentary through my headphones. It appeared Carson wasn’t having a good race today according to the experts. They’d already slammed him for an earlier move where he undershot a corner and lost time when he cut into the grass.
“Oh, what was that? He didn’t even see that coming! Carson Matthews just conceded a place. Martin Bashing just took that easily!” the commentator yelled excitedly in my ear. I frowned. “It seems like something is wrong with Carson today. His mind seems to be elsewhere. On each of the last three laps, he’s lost four tenths of a second. The distance time is growing between him and the leader. If he wants that first place, he’s going to have to work for it.”
“That’s right, Simon. He doesn’t look like the Carson we’ve come to expect.”
I frowned, looking up at Katrina to see she was frowning, too. I flicked my eyes up to the television screens, seeing Carson there. He was heading toward a corner. As the others in front of him were braking, he wasn’t. He caught up with them quickly, his brake light finally flickering as he slowed down for the corner. My eyes widened as he suddenly pulled to the right-hand side of the track, narrowly avoiding the back of the bike in front of him. He accelerated and leant into the corner, squeezing into an almost non-existent gap, forcing the other bike over so they didn’t collide. The two hulking bikes were level now, but by squeezing into the gap, Carson now had the inside edge. As they straightened up, Carson was just ahead and gunned his engine, blasting down the straight and finally overtaking the other driver who immediately veered to the right. He was looking to overtake again but Carson veered to the right, too, thwarting his attempt.
I groaned and covered my mouth with my hand. I was pretty sure I would never get used to seeing him do this.
“Oh, that was a risky move. Matthews is lucky he didn’t take them both out doing that. Bashing won’t be happy with him at all,” the commentator observed. “Carson certainly isn’t himself today. That was a rookie, dangerous overtake, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen the youngster put himself or others in danger like that. His mind really isn’t on task today at all.”
Suddenly, it hit me what this was about and why he was driving so differently today. Just before the race we’d had a huge argument, he’d told me he loved me, and I hadn’t said it back. He wasn’t concentrating properly on the race now because of me and what had transpired between us earlier.
I covered my mouth and shook my head, hating myself for not managing to say the words back before he left the room. He was driving badly today because of me. If he lost this race due to lack of concentration, it would be entirely my fault.
Once all the racers were settled on their positions, the family members all crowded around the window, taking their seats and looking at their loved ones excitedly. My eyes were trained on Carson as I gripped the edge of the seat tightly, willing him to do well. When the green light flashed, the sound through the headphones was momentarily deafening as the bikes screeched off their lines in a cloud of smoke and exhaust fumes. No longer able to sit, I jumped up, looking down with wide eyes as Carson immediately blasted past two other racers, weaving in and out on his heavy-looking bike, taking the inside edge of the track and bumping up to seventh place in an instant. A couple of other people switched positions, too, but my eyes were firmly fixed on my fiancé.
“Go, baby! Kick some arse! You got this!” I shouted before I could stop myself.
Katrina chuckled next to me, but I noticed no one else was standing or shouting. Heat spread across my cheeks as the group of bikes rounded the corner and were out of sight again. The distasteful, disapproving look on some of their faces was enough to make me cringe back into my seat.
As the dust and smoke settled, it was clear that one of the drivers had incurred a problem during the start. He still sat in his starting position as his team ran out to him, taking his bike. The guy threw his hands up in exasperation, gesturing wildly at his bike before stomping out of the gate and off the racetrack.
“Well, Sinead won’t be a happy bunny. Shame,” Katrina said beside me, giggling and nudging me in the ribs, nodding toward one of the more haughty-looking women sitting in the row at the end. Sinead stood, scowling down from the window before she made a disapproving scoffing sound and stormed out of the room. Clearly, that was her husband or partner, and judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t impressed that he hadn’t even started.
I shared a conspiratorial smile with Katrina before turning my attention to the television screens, watching as the cameras followed the lead group around. In my ears, the commentator was busy analysing their form and bikes. When the camera cut to Carson as he went around the corner, I gasped and averted my eyes, not wanting to see how close his bike and body got to the ground as he leant in. I immediately doubted my ability to watch this race. My stomach was churning; my heart was in my throat, and my palms were slick with sweat. Internally, I was counting down the minutes, listening to the laps ticking by, thinking that each lap brought me one step closer to seeing him and saying those words I’d longed to say to him for three years.
Within ten minutes, Carson had crept up another three places and was now in fourth. I had barely watched any of it but was listening avidly to the commentary through my headphones. It appeared Carson wasn’t having a good race today according to the experts. They’d already slammed him for an earlier move where he undershot a corner and lost time when he cut into the grass.
“Oh, what was that? He didn’t even see that coming! Carson Matthews just conceded a place. Martin Bashing just took that easily!” the commentator yelled excitedly in my ear. I frowned. “It seems like something is wrong with Carson today. His mind seems to be elsewhere. On each of the last three laps, he’s lost four tenths of a second. The distance time is growing between him and the leader. If he wants that first place, he’s going to have to work for it.”
“That’s right, Simon. He doesn’t look like the Carson we’ve come to expect.”
I frowned, looking up at Katrina to see she was frowning, too. I flicked my eyes up to the television screens, seeing Carson there. He was heading toward a corner. As the others in front of him were braking, he wasn’t. He caught up with them quickly, his brake light finally flickering as he slowed down for the corner. My eyes widened as he suddenly pulled to the right-hand side of the track, narrowly avoiding the back of the bike in front of him. He accelerated and leant into the corner, squeezing into an almost non-existent gap, forcing the other bike over so they didn’t collide. The two hulking bikes were level now, but by squeezing into the gap, Carson now had the inside edge. As they straightened up, Carson was just ahead and gunned his engine, blasting down the straight and finally overtaking the other driver who immediately veered to the right. He was looking to overtake again but Carson veered to the right, too, thwarting his attempt.
I groaned and covered my mouth with my hand. I was pretty sure I would never get used to seeing him do this.
“Oh, that was a risky move. Matthews is lucky he didn’t take them both out doing that. Bashing won’t be happy with him at all,” the commentator observed. “Carson certainly isn’t himself today. That was a rookie, dangerous overtake, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen the youngster put himself or others in danger like that. His mind really isn’t on task today at all.”
Suddenly, it hit me what this was about and why he was driving so differently today. Just before the race we’d had a huge argument, he’d told me he loved me, and I hadn’t said it back. He wasn’t concentrating properly on the race now because of me and what had transpired between us earlier.
I covered my mouth and shook my head, hating myself for not managing to say the words back before he left the room. He was driving badly today because of me. If he lost this race due to lack of concentration, it would be entirely my fault.
