But so far, that was where we seemed to be. And I didn't feel like I was the one who made it that way.
Because of that, I couldn't let my thoughts dwell there, in case they took a turn for the guilty. I had much more important things I could spend my energy on, things that didn't make me feel like shit when I brought them to the forefront of my mind.
Things like my relationship with B, and getting the house prepared to move into, things which, over the last week had become inextricably connected in my mind. Yes, I had the forethought to think we needed a modicum of space from each other as we explored the new relationship - meaning we wouldn't start this thing living together off top.
But I was all about honesty these days. And the honest truth was, I was preparing this house with the full expectation that someday it wouldn't be just mine.
It would be ours.
Her reaction to the place when I took her there, without telling her that I’d already bought it, was something that would stay with me for a while. She loved it, from the first time she laid eyes on it. But that didn't stop her from pointing out the flaws, or mentioning the concerns she had about it. And neither of those things kept her from being encouraging about the whole possibility, or excited about what I was about to embark on.
Not that I would have expected any other reaction from her.
It did my newfound confidence in making my own decisions a lot of good, knowing that one of the people I cared about most - one of the people whose opinion I valued the highest -thought that I had done well.
Thought I could do this.
She believed in me, about something that didn't have shit to do with a racecourse or a bike.
I needed that more than I knew.
It was damn near ten in the morning, and I was simply biding my time until I was due at the townhouse to accept a delivery. There was still a little closing paperwork to do, but because I was dealing with Sean for it, it was as good as mine – I had the keys and everything to get things started. I hadn’t wasted time making that happen.
When someone knocked on the door to my hotel room – where I was staying until I moved into the townhouse - I frowned at first, wondering who it could be. B was occupied with work of her own today, putting in some training hours with the new manager she’d hired. No one else knew where I was staying, at least not the exact room.
Nobody except my parents.
They had made it clear to me that they weren't interested in any conversation that wasn't about me returning to my sport. I'd been told to come to them when I was ready, which I had every intention of abiding.
Meaning, as far as I was concerned, we just weren't fuckin’ talking.
Maybe they changed their mind.
I didn't want to be a man at odds with his parents.
That simply wasn't how I saw my life going - I just didn't want a relationship with them to cost my independence. But if they were taking the first step, if they were willing to talk… I was willing to have that conversation.
That spurred me up from my bed, grabbing a t-shirt to go with the sweats I was already wearing so I could answer the door.
I should have looked through the damn peephole.
It was not, in fact, my parents - it was Lucia who barged her way through the door before I registered that it was just her, without my parents in tow.
“We need to talk,” she demanded, stomping all the way to the middle of my room before she turned to face me, holding her cell phone up to show me that it was live with a call.
Babbo.
She was on the phone with her father.
“Nah, we don't have shit to talk about,” I countered her declaration, opening my door wider, and pointing out of it. “Get your ass out of my room, Lucia.”
“I'm not going anywhere, until we have this conversation,” she sniped. “And if you put your hands on me to try to get me out of here, all I have to do is start screaming one very specific word. Your career will be over, legacy ruined. Even more than it already is.”
Fuck.
There was more than one “specific word” she could start screaming, words it would be stupid to think she wouldn't lie about. There was one though, that she knew full and well the whole story about, and unfortunately for me… wouldn't be a lie at all.
I closed the door and pulled my cell phone from my pocket, weighing my options. I could take my chances with whatever she was willing to lie about, which was probably a lot. Or I could at least see what it was she wanted to talk about.
I chose the latter.
“What the fuck do you want?” I demanded. “Make it quick, cause I've got other things to do.”
She smirked, and held up the phone.
“It will be quick,” Marco’s voice came over the line. She apparently had her cell on speakerphone. “You get your ass back to my training studio, or you will be sorry. How quick was that for you?”
“Fuck you,” I said immediately. “Thank you for the brevity. I don't have to think about that at all.”
“I do not know who you think you are talking to, but I want you to understand that this is not a game, Mr. De Luca. You are costing a lot of people, a lot of money, because you want to be dramatic. But if you keep this up, I promise you do not understand just how much trouble will be coming your way.”
“So what are you threatening me?” I asked, stalking towards where Lucia stood holding the phone, though she wasn't the one actually inciting my rage at the moment. “You may have been able to pull this shit with me before Marco, when I had something to lose. When I was scared of what you might say. When racing was still the only thing on my mind. But I'm done with this shit. I'm done with you, and I'm done with your daughter. You do not run me. You do not own me. So how about this - you do whatever it is you feel like you have to do, and I'll do the same. But understand – I already fucking won.”
Marco laughed, a long derisive sound that no lie - put me on edge a little bit. “I do not think you understand what you are saying, young man. Because when I do what I have to do, you are done in this sport. You are done in this league. You want to run away to America to hide, fine. I will make sure the American media rakes you over the coals. You will be a pariah. You may not think you belong to me, but you most certainly do. From the moment you stepped into my training studio. Every medal, every ribbon, every endorsement that has lined your bank account? You owe it all to me.”
“I don't owe you shit,” I bellowed. “You were paid for your time, motherfucker, and the checks were never late. I was the one out there working, I was the one putting myself on the line. I clipped into those pedals and did that shit. I dominated that shit. Not you.”
“And you threw it all away up a fucking mountain. Everything that I put into you, you fucked it up, and I brought you back from it. You could barely say your own name, move your legs because of the atrophy. I remade you. Do you think you are going to work with someone else other than me after I rebuilt you?”
“Rebuilt me? You fucking poisoned me. Ruined me,” I growled, then shook my head. “I'm done. Lucia, get the fuck out of this room. You say whatever it is you need to say, to whoever you need to say it to, if that’s how you feel. As long as you go.”
As I watched, Lucia pressed a button on the screen to end the call and scowled at me. “Rafael are you crazy?” she asked, crossing her arms. “You know he's not playing with you, right? He’s dead serious. You will be done in this sport.”
“And what part of I don't give a fuck do the two of you not seem to understand?”
“You still have years of riding, Raf,” She argued. “Look, I know you're pissed at me. Rightfully so, I get it. The shit between us was messy, but when it came down to it… I did what I had to do. Why can't you just do the same? You're messing things up for me too.”
I frowned. “What do you mean, I'm messing things up for you?” I asked, confused as hell as to what she was talking about. “What do you get out of this?”
“Training,” she shot b
ack, with this look on her face like I was stupid for not already knowing that.
But hell, I was still confused.
She shook her head, blowing out this exasperated sigh. “Raf… my father is one of the best trainers in the world. It was his relationship with you that got his name out there. That keeps his name out there. Everybody wants to work with the trainer who built Rafael De Luca. Of course your genetics help, and yes you work hard as hell. I'm not discounting that. But we both know my father had a lot to do with making you the cyclist you are today. Everybody wants to work with him. Including me.”
“You're his daughter. What the fuck are you talking about, of course you’d work with him.”
Lucia let out a dry laugh. “If only it were really that simple,” she said, dropping her gaze to the floor. “When you're in demand, you get to pick and choose your clients. You can choose to only work with the best. I… am not the best. So he makes a sacrifice in his schedule, to try and get me there. And in return… I make a sacrifice too. Luckily for me, you happened to make it a really good time.”
There was silence in the room as I processed the meaning behind her words, and let the weight of them sit between us.
Finally I shook my head. “Nah,” I said. “You're not telling me what I think you're telling me.”
She lifted her gaze. “Raf… I'm telling you exactly what you think I'm telling you. Like I said - I did what I had to do.”
“Why?” I asked, though I was sure she didn't have any type of real answer.
Neither of us did.
But still.
“Why are we letting them do this to us? It shouldn't be like this.”
She shook her head. “No, but this is where we are. Whether we like it or not, this is what it is. And I'm not in a position to question it.”
“That's not true, Lucia. You may not be making as many waves as you want right now, but you've got the talent. You can work with another trainer. Marco may have convinced you he’s the end-all, be-all, that you can't do any better. But you can. The best trainer in the world can't do anything without the talent to start with. And you have it. You don't have to put up with this shit.”
Lucia pushed out a sigh, and shook her head. “You have always been a good man. Naive, but good. I know you believe what you're saying, and I'd love to believe it too. But I can't take that chance.”
With that said, Lucia did what I'd asked in the first place.
She left.
Unfortunately for me, she left behind a bunch of ugly questions I wasn't particularly keen to focus on, not at the moment.
I needed to go let my furniture delivery in.
B picked out all my furniture.
It was a tidbit we’d laugh about later, years from now, and something she'd likely never admit, insisting that she'd simply helped with my choices.
In her defense, if I had chosen everything myself, my entire home would have been outfitted in ugly brown leather.
In my defense… if I'd chosen everything myself, my entire home would have been outfitted in ugly brown leather.
Her influence was definitely needed there.
As it was, she'd helped me furnish my home in a balance of style - what she cared more about - with the comfort that was important to me, and I was happy with the final result. I left my home smiling after everything was delivered and settled in place, especially after a drop in from the realtor to let me know my official closing would be happening just a few days from now. With the sale being in cash, and everything already being inspected, title cleared, and all that jazz, it was a fast, easy process.
As long as I didn't think about my impromptu visitor from this morning and that whole conversation, I was on cloud nine.
So I didn't think about that, at least not for now.
I thought about the fact that Britt and I were going out to dinner. A real date, versus the friendly hanging out we'd been doing for so long. Everything was in walking distance, and it was beautiful out. I stopped by the hotel first, to change into something nicer than my t-shirt and sweats, and then moved on to pick up Brit.
She opened the door wearing very little.
That wasn't a complaint, not remotely.
She had to fend me off, giggling as she reminded me our plans included a reservation, one of the last that had been available when we took it.
She didn't want to miss it.
“Fine,” I grumbled, taking a seat on the end of her bed to watch her as she finished getting ready.
“There's something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” she said, as she sat down at her vanity and flipped on those bright ass lights to do her make-up.
“Can I go first?” I asked, and she turned to me with a grin.
“You do know that never goes well, right? Don't you watch movies? This could be the moment that everything falls apart, because you just had to get your news out before you heard what I was going to say.”
I chuckled. “Well, I doubt this is going to be a situation like that, but I know you aren't going to like what I'm about to say.”
Her face scrunched into a frown. “Well in that case, I really need you to hurry up with it, don’t keep me in suspense. Did something go wrong with the furniture delivery?”
“No. This was actually before that. I had a visitor in my hotel room.”
B rolled her eyes, and turned back to the mirror, returning to her makeup. “Let me guess – Lucia Fortini.”
“Bingo.”
“Of course,” she mused. “You know I looked her up? Decent cyclist, nothing to write home about. Insanely pretty though, and she gets a lot more attention for that. She should probably just be a model. Or an Italian Instagram honey or something. She’d probably be a lot better at that.”
“Damn, B. Do you have to roast her like that?” I asked, feeling a little bad with what I knew now.
She shrugged. “Yeah, I do. Because she seems to be pretty intent on either causing you strife or getting in your pants. Neither of which particularly endears her to me. But go ahead and tell me what that hoe wanted to talk about.”
I chuckled. “Well… as much as I hate to confirm your suspicions about her, she wasn’t stopping by to wish me well. I haven't been answering phone calls from her father, so she dropped by to deliver one in person. His ass was raving mad, talking about he made me, so he can destroy me, a whole bunch of bullshit like that. So… just a heads up that I don't know what's coming. I don't know what’s going to happen, what's going to be said. I just didn't want you to be the last to know.”
“He said what to you?!” B snapped. “All the time you spent on your bike, all the mental focus, all the hours you put in, the discipline with your diet and your training, all of that wouldn't have happened if you didn't have it in you. How dare he try to take credit for that?!”
My eyebrows went up. “That's pretty much what I said. But I wasn't telling you this to get you all upset - like I said, I just didn't want you to be the last to know, in case this is about to blow up or something. All I want to do, is have a nice dinner out with my girl. My woman,” I corrected, making her smile.
“Okay,” she nodded. “We can do that. But first… you have to let me tell you my thing, and maybe it's something that could end up working in your favor. After what you just told me.”
My eyebrows went up. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“Well… I know you know who Wil Cunningham-Bishop is, right? Former Olympian, sports reporter, married to Ramsey Bishop - star running back for the Connecticut Kings?”
I tipped my head. “Yeah, of course I know who Wil is. What about her?”
“She’s coming to record her podcast live in the studio with Vaughn tomorrow. He's been nudging me to talk to you about it, but with everything going on, I decided not to bother you with it. Burden you with it.”
“Will you please make your point, B?”
“They want you to talk to them on the show tomorrow,” Britt blurted. “You can tell your story, set the re
cord straight on as much or as little as you want to.”
I was already shaking my head, before she finished.
“I appreciate the vision, but I'm not ready to do anything like that. As much as I'm trying to stake my claim as a man outside of my parent’s influence… I do at least still feel like I owe them some type of explanation before I give one to the world.”
B smiled. “I understand. And I actually agree with you. I just figured, since Vaughn came and pitched his last-ditch effort at the shop earlier today, that I'd at least ask. And… now that all of that is behind us, we are on the same page. I just want to have a nice dinner.”
With her makeup and hair done, she just had to pour herself into this navy-blue silk slip dress that clung to her ample curves, and left plenty of skin on display. It looked outright bomb on her, but I couldn't front like I wasn't a little worried when she stepped in front of the mirror to survey the look for herself.
I watched intently as she smoothed the fabric over her hips, her eyes glued to her reflection.
I knew Britt.
I'd seen this happen so many times before - the decision to be a little bit bold, a little bit daring, followed shortly by thoroughly picking herself apart until her confidence was gone.
I was on edge, waiting for it to start. Waiting to counteract her negative self-talk with a deluge of my own complimentary words.
Then she smiled at herself in the mirror.
She was fittingly pleased with what she saw.
Still wearing that smile, she turned it to me, her eyes bright and happy. “You ready to go?”
I smiled back, nodding as I stood. But before we could make it more than a few steps, a loud - too loud - insistent knocking started up at the door.
“You expecting somebody?” I asked, and she shook her head. “No, I'm not. Especially not somebody who would be beating on my door like the damn police. Whoever it is, they're about to get cussed out.”
I followed B to the door on full alert, ready to play referee to keep her from beating up one of her friends.
She should have looked through the peephole first.
“What did you do?” my mother snapped, barging uninvited through Britt’s front door. When her gaze landed on me, it was almost as if she hadn’t expected to see me there, which confused me for a second until I realized the obvious.
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