Hearts Racing Read Online Free Page A

least enough time to yell at LeMond. The race would be in a few hours, at one. That was a bit of good news. It would be a few degrees warmer outside by then.
    Dressed in his team kit, Buck turned the corner into LeMond’s office, still trying not to look like every step was torture. LeMond sat at his desk, looking at his computer screen. When he saw Buck, he put both hands up and shook his head to indicate “I had no idea.”
    “What the hell?” Buck asked.
    Lemond nodded toward his office door, which Buck closed quietly.
    “What the hell?” Buck asked again.
    “I had no idea,” LeMond said. “What’s the big de— Wait. Are you sore?”
    “Hell yes I’m sore!” Buck said, his voice coming out as a hiss. “I’ve got awful DOMS. I can barely walk, let alone ride.”
    “I was afraid of that. Okay. Well, there’s only one thing we can do. We’ll do a two-person massage. Really work you over. Get that blood flowing. You been drinking plenty of water?”
    “Of course I have. But the massage girls can’t know about this. They’ll blab to everyone in the peloton. People will ask questions.”
    “Not a problem,” LeMond said.
    “Then who are you going to get to—” Buck stopped short. Oh no. LeMond had a weird look on his face. “You can’t be serious.”
    “Only three of us know about this. It has to be her.”
    Buck raised his fists over his head and brought them down in frustration. This is what I’m reduced to, he thought. Crossfit DOMS and temper tantrums.
    LeMond actually expected him to let that awful CrossFit woman massage him before a race. This race could mean everything! LeMond hadn’t just gone off the deep end—he’d built a home off the deep end.
    Buck waved his hands in irritation, hoping to somehow wave away LeMond’s madness. “She’s how I got into this mess, LeMond!”
    “No, crashing is how you got into this mess. Look, we’ll sneak out right now. I’ll call ahead. She studied massage. The two of us will be able to get you fixed up to race. You just get on your bike, tell everyone you’re going for a few warmup kilometers, and meet us at the gym. I’ll go on the train so we’re not together.”
    What choice did Buck have? None. Absolutely none. If he didn’t win today, he wouldn’t be placed properly to win against New Orleans, which meant he had no chance to win regionals, which meant he’d never win Nationals—he'd never come even close to the Tour de France. He’d be a poor sap somewhere lifting cheese wheels all day like his Pop. No way. Not in this life. He took a breath. Nodded.
    “Atta boy,” LeMond said. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you fixed right up. Now go on.” LeMond nodded at the door.
    Buck took another breath and left the office. In the bike room, the techs had his bike ready to ride, hooked onto a horizontal pole by its saddle’s nose. On the pole under his bike was a piece of tape with his name on it. The techs were busy readying other rider’s bikes. One tech was calling out measurements to another who was checking that they were correct and adjusting saddle or handlebars if they weren’t.
    Buck un-racked his bike and checked it over, remembering to use big, confident movements of his limbs, like a person who felt fine instead of someone for whom every movement was pure suffering. The bike would be fine, he knew. The techs were good, and all that, but Buck liked to check for himself anyway. He inspected the front brake caliper by squeezing the lever with one hand and feeling the caliper pinch closed around the wheel’s braking surface with the other.
    A tech assistant girl smiled at him, and he gave a distracted nod back. Taking the nod as encouragement, she walked over and leaned over to speak to him, trying to give him a full view of her breasts straining at the top of her dress.
    But Buck wasn’t paying attention.
    “Is everything in order?” she asked in a breathy whisper.
    Buck didn’t look up. He was examining his drivetrain. It