Spokes (28 page)

Christopher's stomach turned over. Rolf had existed in a turquoise and black vacuum for him, but not for the world. He had a mother and a father,
maybe brothers and sisters, who had followed his career with pride. Grandparents, cousins. Everyone in a Belgian town who had watched their golden child
grow up and bring honor and palmares home. They'd be getting their hero back in a box.

Just as Stu's parents had. They'd be just as broken.

Luca shouldn't have to face that alone. Christopher's passport would get him into Belgium.
"I'll--"

"No. No, Luca, you do not go--you need to rest, you need to heal." Paolo shook his head violently, a terrier in his
opposition. "No two days on train with heartache, no rest, no exercise. More coming back. Very bad for you. I won't allow
it!"

"Allow? Rolf was my friend, you don't allow or not allow!" Luca roared back, and that was the last word Christopher
understood. The shaking fists, the raised voices, the in-his-face confrontation was pretty clear. Paolo might have been half a head shorter but he had a
good twenty years' more experience in intimidation. Christopher didn't know whether to hide in a corner or sell tickets.

Paolo ended it with a whisper. "His family will chase you from their door."

The breath Luca had meant to turn into a shout whooshed out of him. What two hundred competitors, Mont Zoncolan, and the threat of disgrace
hadn't done to him, Paolo's comment did. Luca slumped, defeated. "But... he should have escort to do him
honor."

"I go. Luca, I go, tend him." Paolo reached up to wipe a tear from Luca's face, and one from his own. "I am still
his soigneur, I take this last duty. Then I come back, tend you. You live, you need me more than Rolf, but I won't chase you all the way to
Belgium with bowl of soup. Stubborn
asino
, you go to Damiano's villa. Feed yourself for four days, then I come before kitchen is
empty."

"Longer than four days, Paolo." Luca nibbled his lip thoughtfully. "They need to hear the stories of this season, to learn
from one who was there what his last days were like. All about King of the Mountain." Luca rummaged in one of the open suitcases, extracting two
blue jerseys. "If they allow, Rolf should be buried in blue. Other jersey, maybe for Ghisallo."

"More than four days is too much for you to be alone, Luca."

"He won't be alone." Christopher didn't want to raise his voice, but getting a word in edgewise was a pretty dim
prospect otherwise. "I'll go with him. Um, you. Luca, if you want, I'll come with you. You shouldn't be alone
either."

"You would--?" Luca started.

"You? Because you find something more exciting than race, you have someone with exclusive story? Any journo can watch race, but only one has the
maglia rosa
'
s
ear." Paolo's face had gone stroke-range red; his eyes bulged. "Of course you
want to go with Luca: you want to write what he says."

"That's not why, damn it!" Throttling Paolo wouldn't get those words unsaid, and there had to be some other way to
bring the suddenly damped spark back into Luca's eyes. "He's--" Oh fuck, there was no explaining to this
opinionated little monster just what Luca was, or what Christopher wished he was. "He needs a friend, and I can be there." This
wasn't Paolo's decision to make. But would Luca make it? "If you want, Luca, I'll come with you."

"You have race to write about." Luca spoke standing in one place--was that hope or despair that kept him still and bowed?

The race, right.
CycloWorld
wanted their coverage--they hadn't sent him to Italy for Luca's sake. At least, not for
Luca off a bike. "I managed to cover Paris-Roubaix from Boulder, so I'll figure something out. The villa has good Internet,
doesn't it?" He could still access the live streaming coverage in English, and he wouldn't have to be up at 4 a.m. to do it.
"Maybe you'll translate some of the local television for me?"

"I could do that." Luca stood straighter. "If you come with me."

"Fine!" Paolo threw up his hands. "I go to Harelbeke, comfort family. You go to villa, do--whatever you do with this
journo, I go home when they say go. Maybe I come to Milan, or maybe Harelbeke junior team needs soigneur."

The flood of angry Italian pouring out of Luca could have meant a lot of things, or what Christopher was snarling in English. "You want him to go
to rest and stay away from Rolf's family, but you don't want him to do it with anyone but you." He broke off--Paolo
had lost a friend and teammate too, one he'd cooked for, massaged, and looked after, and now they were all but saying Luca didn't need
him. "That was unfair. I'm sorry."

Paolo had started screeching in Italian too, but the spew of incomprehensible words stopped--they both stared at him. "You're
trying to be in two places at once and take care of everybody, and you've been hit as hard as Luca has. I shouldn't have
yelled." Christopher offered open hands, wordless apology.

"Christopher is right. Our hearts aren't well." Luca took Paolo's upper arms and looked him in the face.
"I need you. You make it possible for me to do what I do. And you're right, seeing me will hurt Rolf's family more. So in
this, you act for all of us, for the team. For me. You do what I can't do." He stared down into his soigneur's eyes with an
intensity that made Christopher feel like a voyeur again. "And I will need you in Milan. Please."

Paolo began to speak, but Luca shushed him. "English, Paolo. Christopher is with us."

"I will be in Milan. It seems we can't get away from Christopher." Paolo reached to hug Luca tightly for a moment, and lifted
his face for the two brief kisses, right cheek, left.

They didn't actually kiss, when seen from the side, more pursing and sound than contact. Nothing like a real kiss. Was that part of
Paolo's problem?

"I call from Harelbeke, tell you what happens." Paolo disentangled himself. "You remember to eat and sleep,
asino
." He zipped Rolf's suitcase with the same care he'd take to rip Christopher's intestines out. "And I see
you in Milan, if not earlier."

"Paolo--" Luca stopped him with one foot out the door. "Tell them--tell them Rolf and I were friends
again."

Oh hell, that just screamed complicated: why else would they turn Luca away at the door? What had gone wrong between them? His journalist's mind
wanted to ask. But Luca would tell him, his friend, only if he wanted Christopher to know.

The door closed behind Paolo with a tinny click. Christopher dashed after him to drag their bikes out of the corridor. The crowd outside the hotel
didn't look much thinner than it had earlier. Didn't the rest of them have a train to catch? Once the guards left the hotel's
front door, their bikes would either disappear or betray Luca's location. The gearsets ticked softly until he parked them next to
Rolf's bed.

They were alone. For the first time in two months Christopher was alone with Luca, and for the second time they stood with the shadow of a dead man in the
room. Luca remained still enough to frighten Christopher, his head bowed and his face in shadow. Brown curls fell in a disheveled curtain around his face.

"Luca?" Christopher held out his arms, not daring to come close enough to embrace this breaking man.

"Christopher." Luca stepped into his offered comfort, wrapping his arms around Christopher's waist, burying his face into his
shoulder. "So many bad things today." His whole body shook, tremors rather than sobs. "But you're here. Kept things
from being worse."

He'd done what he could but... there wasn't a damned thing he could have done about the worst thing of all.
"I'm so sorry about Rolf."

"So hard to believe he died. Any minute he comes through door and gives me shit for hugging you." Luca's brief shake of his
head wiped tears into the overripe jersey Christopher had yet to shed after today's ordeal. "Tells me I could have King of the Mountain
instead of weenie journo."

Huh? How the hell had they gotten to the dead speaking ill of the living? "Weenie"? "Have"? What? "I
don't understand."

"Sorry, Christopher." Luca twisted away to stand an arm's length distant. He shook harder, and couldn't raise his
eyes. "On one thing, I told only half."

Oh fuck. Two months of sharing teeny-tiny hotel rooms and most of their waking hours. How could Luca not respond to someone he could hide in plain sight?
"Which half?" Christopher could barely get the words out.

"About boyfriends. Tried once, long ago, back in racing camp days. You asked if someone courts the butcher's son. I said
yes." Luca raised his eyes now. "I didn't tell you yes was Rolf."

Chapter 26

Rolf. And Luca. So much made sense now.

Rolf's blow-up in the bike store. His little jibes and jabs. Everything he'd done for Luca, even showing up at Stu's funeral,
because Luca needed him.

The way Luca jumped at shadows in the beginning. How clearly he'd been hurt, devastated, in the past. But what of now? A chill north wind blew
through Christopher's bones, sucking warmth and hope away with it. And he'd made some promises. Damn. Rolf. Rolf with Luca. Had to keep
the promises.

If the past wasn't so past, he'd keep the promises anyway. But--now was now. He had to focus on the now, or he
couldn't keep moving. Had to move. "I thought your yes now was to me. Or was that only yes in Colorado?" Luca had told him
goodbye once.

"Rolf's yes was long time ago." Luca sagged in place. "His hope, still a little bit."

The north wind warmed enough for Christopher to move. "Uh, we have to talk about this. But not right now. I can't deal, and we have to
get out of this hotel before the Army decides it's safe to stop guarding the door and we have a flood of journos in the hallway. You're
packed, you have your bike, I need to clean up and get my stuff. And we need to eat. Which train do we take and when does it come?"

Luca pulled a train table out of the rickety nightstand between the two narrow beds. "Same train takes us to Como as to Conegliano. We have one
and a half hours until last train."

Yeah, Luca could stand straighter now, but his reprieve on this Rolf thing would last exactly until they had enough privacy to talk, which might be in
Como. Christopher peeked through the window, aware that he made a silhouette against the window for the observers below. They'd probably be on
the last train too.

People walked around on trains. "Uh, Luca. Maybe we should stay in Lienz overnight and let everyone clear out for Conegliano."

"Not here."

No, not if it meant two of them in a single bed, because no way was Christopher sleeping on Rolf's sheets. "My room is a
single."

"Let's just go. You get your suitcase, meet me at train station. You have ticket, right?" Luca checked his wallet.
"I get us food, ticket, we sleep on train."

His own experience of that was pretty poor, but Luca had to be exhausted. "I'll be at the train station in one hour and fifteen minutes
at the most, with all my stuff. Try not to get mobbed, okay?" Damn, he'd just allowed Luca to dive into the shark tank.

"I ask nice
carabinieri
at door to go with me, no problem." Luca snorted. "Perk of being infamous."

"Whatever works." Christopher closed the gap between them to pull Luca against his body. "I'll be there, I
promise."

"You're there every time I need you." Luca hugged him, a tight, hard squeeze that lingered.

***

Slithering out the back door of the hotel and across three streets, Christopher thought fast. He needed to check in with Ron, and what he'd say
to
CycloWorld
, he didn't know. Ron might be okay with the sorts of interviews he didn't want to press Luca for, and if not? He
still had the return ticket to Denver.

He zipped up to his room, dreaming of the hot shower and clean clothes he'd wanted for the hearing and didn't get. Through the door,
out of the spandex, and--

"Hey, buddy. Took you long enough." Bob lounged, feet outstretched, on Christopher's bed.

"Jayzuz, Bob!" His jersey wasn't much shield, so he used it as a weapon. Bob dodged the ripe clothing.

"That's no way to greet the guy who saved you a copy of the official FIC statement."

"Thanks." Christopher already knew most of what was in there: he'd been at the hearings. "But how'd you
get in?"

"Any door you can't open with a credit card--" Bob mimed sliding a card through a door jamb.
"--can probably be opened for cash." He rubbed two fingers and a thumb together. "Your computer is unfortunately
immune to bribery, although your password is not "Luca," "Biondi," "Luca Biondi," or
"
CycloWorld
" with any combination of caps or numbers for letters. I put it back under your dirty underwear."

Actually, his password was b10nd1. Bob was having too much fun with him since his laptop remained in the hotel lockbox. Time for a stronger password
anyway. "And you're lurking here why?" The clock was ticking--he wanted the explanation but he couldn't
pause for it. Clean socks, last pair, clean underwear, last pair, hope the villa had a washer...

"To interview the journo who pulled Luca Biondi up Mont Zoncolan." Bob leaned back against the headboard.

"Hmm, that journo has an exclusive." No, he wouldn't share Luca's struggle nor his need with Bob, and
he'd damned well ask Luca before sending in what he intended to write.

"Okay, then where is Luca Biondi going to spend the rest of the Giro?" Bob's words chased Christopher into the bathroom.

Blessing Dave's connections in getting en-suite facilities, Christopher stepped into the tub and twisted the taps. Bathrooms down the hall to
share with everyone had been his most shocking discovery about inexpensive European hotels, and hand-held shower heads his favorite. "I
can't hear you over the water!" He hosed himself down with the sprayer.

Bob stuck his head through the curtain. "Where is Luca spending the rest of the Giro?"

Christopher turned the sprayer on him. The blast of warm water knocked Bob backward. Nosy bastard. "Not with the team." He soaped fast
and rinsed faster.