This was her final run. Shannon had to ride her best to give herself enough cushion so that Caroline had to ride better to beat her.

The start clock ticked down and Shannon readied herself for the most important race of the series so far. She had pushed Caroline out of her mind as soon as she had turned off the shower faucet knobs. She had to focus. She couldn’t allow Caroline to intrude on her concentration.

Five, four, three, two, one. Shannon rocketed out of the starting blocks. Her skill and strength climbing hills dominated the tour and she had no trouble on the first half of the race. Up and down her powerful legs moved, each stroke of the pedals churning over the dirt effortlessly under her wheels. Her ass was out of the saddle giving the extra power she needed to get over the next rise. Crossing the top, she immediately downshifted and tried to make up any speed she might lose on the downhill side of the course.

Alternating shifting and pedaling down the hill, stroke after stroke, her full face helmet and goggles kept any wind off her face. The bandana under her helmet kept the sweat from dripping into her eyes.

Her long sleeves rustled in the breeze created by her fast descent.

A sharp turn came quicker than expected, and her disc brakes responded immediately to the command to slow down. She mastered the turn without the slightest hesitation and was pedaling even before she was out of the turn. She repeated these movements time and time

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again, turn after hairpin turn, as she steadily descended the mountain.

She crossed the finish line with a time of 5:22:04. She glanced behind her knowing that her main rival and the woman who had come back into her life was preparing herself at the start line at that very moment.

Shannon walked over to the post-race staging area to watch Caroline on the JumboTron. Due to the wonders of modern technology, Shannon could watch the entire race, and as the seconds ticked down to zero, Caroline jetted out of the starting gate.

Caroline climbed the steep ascent. She was a woman in control of the mountain, her tires on her lime green bike kicking up no dust as they churned up the steep trail. Her arms were as powerful as her legs and Shannon watched in awe as she used them to give herself extra leverage and power to climb the hill.

On the back side of the mountain Caroline practically floated over the steep terrain. She mastered each turn, one after the other, almost effortlessly, but the fatigue in Shannon’s arms and legs told her that even though Caroline made it look easy, it was anything but. Shannon held her breath as Caroline maneuvered through each turn, knowing that any minor slip and Caroline could go down as hard as she had the week before.

Finally, Caroline was through the last turn and Shannon dragged her eyes away from the screen to watch her speed to the finish. Caroline flashed by the banners on either side of the straightaway as she came closer and closer to the checkered flag. Twenty yards, fifteen yards, ten, five. With a flash and a roar Caroline crossed the line.

The crowd erupted and Shannon had no indication if she had won or lost this race. She was afraid to look at the scoreboard where the time of all three races was displayed. She wanted to win. She wanted to show Caroline that she knew what was best for her, that she could still compete even with a few bumps and bruises. But a piece of her also wanted Caroline to have some of the glory as well. Caroline had worked hard, had trained diligently for this, and a small part of Shannon wanted it for her.

She had won dozens and dozens of races. Big ones, big-name races, races that had catapulted her to the top of the heap, and her skill kept her there for years. Caroline had also won her share of races, some larger and more important than others. But what came naturally

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to Shannon she knew Caroline had to work and struggle and sacrifice to achieve. And Shannon admired her for that. It was one thing to win something that comes easily, but another to struggle and work and put your heart and soul into something that you may or may not win.

All these thoughts crashed through Shannon’s head in the span of the second it took her to look up from Caroline crossing the line to the scoreboard. She had beaten Caroline by three tenths of a second.

The crowd swarmed her slapping her on the back, the top of her helmet, her ass, with quite a few idiots slapping her on her injured arm.

She was grateful for the protective gear. She had learned early on, albeit the hard way, that race fans had a tendency to be overexuberant in their congratulatory wishes.

Shannon fought to look through the crowd to catch a glimpse of Caroline. She saw her. She had not yet dismounted, her forearms dangling over the handlebars, her head down in defeat. It was late in the afternoon on Sunday and Caroline was silhouetted in the sun making her disappointment more poignant. Shannon watched Fran approach Caroline and give her a very conciliatory, sympathetic hug. Shannon’s mind went down an ugly trail that Fran would find a way later tonight to boost Caroline’s spirits.

A sick feeling in the pit of her stomach came with the knowledge that Caroline was the type of woman who would sleep with one woman one night and a different one the next. She didn’t know why she was upset with that; she had done it many times herself. But it was different with Caroline. Or at least her gut told her it should be. Caroline hadn’t said anything about a girlfriend, but then again, it wasn’t as if they had stopped fucking long enough to have a conversation. The only things they said to each other last night were words like “yes,” “right there,”

“faster,” “harder,” “again,” and several others that two people having sex would share. A flash of anger shot through her limbs, her arms flailing and almost knocking a few fans to the ground. She mumbled something akin to an apology and used her bike to clear a path through the crowd.

She knew she would be seeing Caroline on the winner’s platform, Shannon on the top step, Caroline on the step reserved for the second place finisher. Caroline would remove the blue leader jersey before stepping on her box, and after receiving her own medal, Shannon, now

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ahead in the standing by a mere three points, would receive her own blue jersey that she would be wearing in next week’s race. Shannon despised baby blue; it made her look pale and washed out. She thought it a sissy color, but she would accept it nonetheless.

As Shannon removed her helmet, strong female hands grabbed her shoulders, spun her around, and pinned her in a lip lock. She had no idea who it was other than a woman who was trying to stick her tongue down her throat. As respectfully and calmly as she could, Shannon pushed her away. When she saw who it was she wanted to gag.

Forcing herself not to spit out the evidence of Nikki Striker’s kiss, Shannon plastered a fake smile on her face and waved at the crowd who were cheering as if she had just kissed the most beautiful woman in the world. She kept her grip on Nikki, squeezing her arm tight, conveying her disapproval of her actions. She was furious with Nikki for taking advantage of her and putting her in this position. But she knew the role she had to play and at this very moment in her biking career, she was sick of it. Frank approached from her right slapping her on the back so hard it was all she could do not to gasp for air to refill her lungs.

“That’s my girl. I knew you could beat her. I knew. There was never any doubt. You got the brains and the look and the skill. You’re gonna take this whole goddamn thing. You’re going to clean fucking up. Nobody has what you have. And you’re mine, all mine.”

Shannon broke away from Frank more roughly than she had his wife. She wasn’t going to put up with his shit. Not today. She was tired, she hurt everywhere, her arm was killing her, and it felt like her stitches on her leg had pulled out. To top it all off, his sleazy wife had blindsided her with probably the most disgusting kiss in her life. The last two minutes had spoiled her win. To the winners go the spoils, and if Nikki and Frank Striker were the spoils, she had to rethink her goals in life.

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ChaPTER NiNETEEN

Caroline watched in dismay as Shannon was surrounded by her sponsor and a woman who could only be Nikki Striker.

There were rumors on the circuit about Nikki, and she chose not to believe them. She didn’t believe the chatter on the circuit because half the rumors were false, and it was often only a matter of time before the other half became true. And quite frankly, she didn’t care if they were about her and she certainly didn’t care if they were about the woman who had snatched the victory right out from under her tires. No, that wasn’t fair. She didn’t slip, didn’t make any errors. She had run this course perfectly. Shannon had beaten her fair and square and she gave her her due. In this race, Shannon was the more skilled rider. She had won this race, not stolen it from her, and Caroline had not given it to her. Shannon had beaten her. Caroline’s head knew that, but her heart and stomach felt just the opposite.

“You all right?” Fran’s familiar voice calmed her jittery nerves.

She was in the Bellow trailer alone, shooing everyone out. She needed her privacy, she needed a moment, she needed to regroup, she needed to prepare herself to remove the blue jersey and hand it over to Shannon Roberts. Fran was one of the few people she was willing to see in these moments. She knew what to say and, most importantly, what not to say. There were no empty words of platitude. No you’ll get it next time. She didn’t say anything to her. Fran knew her. Knew what Caroline needed probably better than she knew herself. She needed just a friendly face, a calming smile, and the presence of her very best friend.