“Congratulations! You’ve advanced to the finals, Bianca.” Dennis kept repeating the same sentence in my ear.
I turned my head, annoyed. “Dennis.”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Shut up!”
“Okay…”
ILM had been teetering on the edge of bankruptcy for years, with poor results and many of its top competitors leaving due to real-world problems. Before my return, there were only eight members left in ILM, and only three-including Steve-were still actively competing.
It had been a long time since ILM had seen two of its members advance to the finals simultaneously.
“We need a celebration to honor today’s victory!”
“Calm down, Dennis!” Steve, though clearly happy, managed to keep his composure. “This is just the qualifying round.”
“With two group winners, we’re guaranteed to win the semifinals-and the finals too!”
Dennis and Steve were soon bickering again.
I bit the finger of my leather glove and yanked it off with force. The dried blood had stuck the glove to my wound, and as I pulled, I could hear the sound of flesh tearing.
Pain shot through me, sharp enough to make me frown as sweat beaded on my forehead.
No hesitation!
I believed that ripping the glove away quickly would bring only momentary pain, but hesitation would lead to endless trouble. That belief had carried me through to where I stood today.
The pain was excruciating.
“Sir, you can’t come in here! This is the team’s rest area!”
Dennis’s stern warning broke through my blurred vision as I endured the pain. I instinctively looked toward the door of the rest area.
Before I could see who had entered, someone had already grabbed my bloody hand. His voice, low and restrained, seemed to be holding back a surge of anger.
“Call a doctor.”
That voice!
“Mr. Falcone?”
Bert’s cold, controlled gaze swept over my face before landing on Dennis.
Dennis, stunned by the sight of my torn hand, quickly urged Steve to fetch a doctor from the medical room.
Motorcycle racing was an extreme sport, and accidents were a constant possibility. The organizers had set up a medical station on-site, staffed with professional doctors and nurses ready to respond.
Steve returned quickly with a doctor in tow.
The doctor took one look at my hand and sucked in a sharp breath. “This is reckless!”
“Isn’t your health more important than victory?” he said, directing the nurses to clean my wound while he prepared sterilized tools for stitching.
I watched the doctor work, his hands steady and his stitching swift. The anesthetic dulled the pain, making the process bearable.
Everything went smoothly-except for the piercingly cold gaze above me, one sharp enough to stab through my resolve.
“Don’t get it wet, avoid making fists, and change the dressing regularly,” the doctor instructed after wrapping my hand. “No more reckless behavior. If the wound keeps reopening, it could damage the nerves and permanently affect your hand’s mobility.”
“Thank you, doctor. We’ll take care of it!” Dennis said, wiping the sweat from his brow as he eagerly escorted the doctor out.
“What about the semifinals?”
ILM had brought four competitors to Mexico for this event. Steve and I had each taken first place in our respective groups, securing spots in the semifinals. The other two placed fifth and eighth, missing their chance to advance.
To attract corporate sponsors and investors-and rescue ILM from bankruptcy-we needed to win. Only the first-place winner of this competition would capture the attention of major sponsors. Without that, ILM wouldn’t have the funds to hire better competitors, and disbandment would be inevitable.
If I withdrew because of my injury, Steve would be ILM’s only hope of advancing to the finals and competing against U. C. and other powerhouse teams for the championship. That would significantly increase the risk of ILM’s dissolution.
“I won’t withdraw.” I didn’t care about the other team members’ complaints, but I needed to make my stance clear to prevent them from worrying too much.
Bert’s gaze held a faint disapproval, but he didn’t interfere. He stood silently, waiting as Dennis and I discussed the next steps.
After the qualifying rounds, there were two rest days. Dennis had initially planned special training sessions for Steve and me, but now he hesitated.
“I’ll participate.”
“No, Bianca.” Dennis swallowed hard. He glanced at Bert several times but refrained from looking directly at him. “Training isn’t urgent.”
“Uh, I mean, proper rest and recovery are a form of training too, haha,” Dennis added, making his decision. “For now, you and this gentleman should head home.”
I didn’t know Bert well enough to consider going “home” with him. “No-”
Dennis leaned close and whispered in what he thought was a quiet voice but was loud enough for everyone to hear. “So… is this gentleman your boyfriend?”
His question didn’t stir much emotion in me, but I reflexively turned to glance at Bert.
Bert had heard the question too. He lowered his gaze to meet mine.
In that moment, a strange feeling stirred within me. Even holding his gaze felt less natural than before.
“Of course not!” I denied it immediately.
Bert nodded. “Bianca is… a friend.”
I shot him a sidelong glance.
Was admitting our friendship such a difficult task? Did it really require that much deliberation?
Bert didn’t notice my look. He was focused on discussing the upcoming schedule with Dennis, who seemed overly enthusiastic.
Bert listened intently while jotting notes on his phone. The two of them practically ignored me.
“The semifinal lineup is out,” one of ILM’s team members announced, bringing over the list from the organizers.
“I’m in Group One,” Steve said. “Madeline is… in Group Two!”
Everyone simultaneously turned their eyes to me.
Their reaction was so obvious that I immediately guessed what they were thinking. I smiled faintly. “Looks like my luck isn’t too bad.”
In the semifinals, I had been placed in the same group as Madeline, making her my direct competitor.
Steve, whose “luck” wasn’t as favorable, scoffed. “You’d better not lose!”
“I’ll see you in the finals, Steve.”
My challenge lit a fire in Steve’s eyes. “I’m the king of ILM.”
“I’ll be waiting,” I replied, putting on my jacket. Turning to Dennis, I said, “I’m heading out. Enjoy yourselves.”
“Rest well. The competition-” Dennis seemed about to tell me not to worry, but seeing the determination in my eyes, he quickly swallowed his words. “See you!”
I waved and followed Bert out of the rest area.
“Let’s go home,” Bert said to me.