Chapter 25
Fia
Every step I took, the prickle on the back of my neck heightened. Whether I was at the track, the PR tent, the hotel canteen… I felt the weight of eyes on my every movement. It had been like that for a month.
I started applying deodorant twice each morning because I was sweating so much.
I’d flown separately to Hungary because my anxiety had my mind spiralling. Zolt waited at the airport in his car for three hours so we could drive to his place together.
There was no denying that my nerves were stupid. The entire world knew we were related through our families. I was his translator. No one would assume we were spending all of our time together for anything other than family or our professional relationship.
The second we landed in France for the race, my happiness disappeared because that feeling crept back in.
No one was really watching me, so I had to argue with myself. Who would watch me?
Nora seemed to have taken Everly’s threat and ignored me. She didn’t come up to Nadia at all. Nadia didn’t mention her or Zolt to me again, but when she caught me talking about him, she smiled softly.
An encouraging, but not a prying, smile.
I tried to avoid all topics that could come back to him.
Except everything came back to him.
When I translated our director’s words for him in the pit box, a camera flashed, and it threw me off because all I could think was, “What will they caption this photo? ‘Step-Sibling Incest?’ ‘Fast, Furious and… Step-Related?’ ‘Step-Siblings with Benefits?’”
Zoltán watched me with worried eyes, but when he went to talk to me, he was called to qualify. There was a new drive in him this week — an eagerness to make everyone eat his dust.
The second he left, that uneasy tingle along my arms returned.
The only saving grace was that, because we were back at the French track, my dad was there, and we could visit Nana.
Proudly, I wore my Veltar fleece to see him in the Ciclati pit box. Boos roared the second I stepped inside.
My eyes rolled. I knew every person who worked for Ciclati. Most, I’d grown up with. Dad may have retired five years ago, but it was very much still his box. His friends. His life.
He joined in, laughing, and if Luca wasn’t looping the track, trying to get the fastest lap, I was sure he would have been right alongside him.
“Traitor!” Uncle Abbé, Dad’s best friend, heckled, shaking his head. His grin flashed bright against his dark skin, the same grin that had been cheering me on since I was little. “What are you doing here dressed like that, huh?”
I shrugged, looking around, feigning disgust, the discomfort of being watched already leaving me. Ciclati was always a safe space. “Just come to visit the team Veltar is going to thrash.”
My dad cackled, clutching his chest. “Can you believe I raised her? Turned her back on her roots.”
The room filled with laughter again as people got back to work, but it didn’t quite reach me. Was that what he thought? Was there meaning behind those words?
I hadn’t exactly told him why I wasn’t coming back between races. Did he assume it was because I was still seeing Imre?
Zolt had said he would follow my lead. It was about time I took the reins.
“You’ll have to get a few new sponsors by the time we’re done with you,” I sighed. “The bike will be covered.”
Abbé’s mouth dropped open in fake shock, then he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “We’ve missed you, Miss Ciclati. You’re not really a Veltar girl, you know that, don’t you?”
I shrugged. “I’ve seen the other side now, Abbé. I’d need something pretty solid to change teams.”
“What about family loyalty?” Dad asked with a shocked blink.
Abbé shook his head. “What about a job?”
I froze and looked up at him. Sure, Livie had said she saw me as a full-time member of StormSprint, but no contract or team had been discussed.
“A job?”
I was grateful everyone else had busied themselves.
Abbé squeezed my shoulder. “Rui and Luca are both staying with us next year. Rui’s English isn’t perfect, and we need someone who can speak Portuguese. Our current translator is leaving us for F1.”
“You always wanted to work for Ciclati,” Dad said with a proud smile. “And here we are.”
My stomach dropped.
“You didn’t really expect not to get a job here, did you?” Dad laughed. “You shouldn’t be so shocked.”
“I’m—I’m so grateful,” I said, but my voice didn’t sound like mine with the lump in my throat.
I loved Ciclati. It would mean I’d work with Luca.
It would mean I didn’t work with Imre.
But it would mean I didn’t work with Zoltán.
“But… Veltar needs someone who can speak Hungarian.”
“Have they offered you a contract yet?” Dad asked.
“N-No…”
Abbé looked to my dad. “And Zoltán’s staying on next year, isn’t he? That’s his contract.”
“Yes,” I told him.
“Then it’s their loss. They should have snapped you up before we did.”
Maybe Veltar didn’t think I was doing a good job. Maybe I wasn’t doing a good job. Maybe my report was full of shit Livie had written because she was best friends with my sister.
“There’s no rush,” Abbé reassured. “If you want a couple of weeks to think it through—”
“Yes, thank you. I really—like I said, I really appreciate it.” I’d never been so formal with Abbé.
Would being my boss as the new team director ruin our relationship?
He was my non-biological uncle. He gifted Christmas presents and always sent a birthday card.
He’d come to my graduation. “Dad, can I, uh— Can I speak to you?”
He nodded, face suddenly concerned and serious, much like Zolt’s had been when my mind went wandering.
We shuffled to the back of the room, away from the roar of qualifying bikes. “I, um… I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”
“You have a job then?”
“No,” I said. How had that not been my focus?
We were in October, and there were only three months left of the championship.
Three weeks left of my placement before I’d be an actual employee for the rest of the season.
We were about to hit open season for contracts, and I should have had my multi-lingual ear to the ground, but I’d arrogantly expected Livie — despite how heavily pregnant she was — to just let me know when translating jobs came about.
I shouldn’t assume it worked like that.
I needed to earn my place.
“It’s… I haven’t been home a lot.”
His eyes narrowed in confusion, but I could see the discomfort in his shoulders. “You don’t have to worry about that. You can do what—”
“I haven’t been seeing Imre. I… um, I have a boyfriend.”
Dad frowned. “For the last two months? How come you haven’t said?” His face fell, and he sighed. “He’s a racer, isn’t he?”
I laughed, my body loosening because this was my dad all over. “Yes, he is.”
He lifted a hand to his forehead. “Oh, for crying out loud. How have both of my daughters ended up with racers?”
“I love him, Dad.”
He smiled, and then he was blinking rapidly. “Fuck, why am I emotional over that?”
I laughed and hugged him. “I don’t know, but it’s sweet.”
When we pulled back, he was still blinking. “Does he deserve your love?”
“Yes, very much so,” I said, and then I was blinking like him, rubbing at my eyes.
He sighed again, but it was broken by his watery eyes.
“It’s really complicated,” I admitted, my throat starting to close up, because I couldn’t have the easy part of this conversation without the hard bit. “But I’m the happiest I’ve ever been and… and I want to invite him to Nana’s Sunday dinner. But—”
“But?” he asked, cocking a brow.
“But I don’t want you to judge him. Or us.”
He levelled me with a look of suspicion. “Why would I do that? Does your sister know? Your mother?”
“Everly and Luca do,” I admitted. “But they won’t tell you anything. Please, just promise me, you’ll be nice?”
He scoffed. “I’m always nice.”
Mostly. But not when he realised who I was asking him to be nice to.
“Well, I look forward to meeting him. We’ll have to fly your mum out too.”
I should have expected that.
“Fia,” Abbé called and gestured at his headset. “I think you’re going to be needed.”
Frowning, I looked over to the screens. The StormSprint logo appeared before they showed a clip of Zolt’s bike veering off and him letting go, sliding onto the tarmac.
A crash, but nothing like the one where I had run. Crashing wasn’t rare, especially not during qualifying. They were all pushing to get the fastest lap in the time they were allowed on the track — of course, they pushed the limits.
“Patrick sounds fuming,” he said. “So it’s probably best you get there to translate thoroughly.”
Dad smiled at me and nodded. “Enjoy. We still on for dinner tonight?”
As long as it wasn’t in the same restaurant as Imre, sure.
“Of course.” I kissed his cheek and dashed for the Veltar pit box. But as I turned the corner, I heard angry, unrestrained, Hungarian voices.
They expected no one to be able to understand them.
“You know what you are putting at risk here,” Benedek snarled. “Everything. You’ve got to stop doing this — you were setting the fastest lap. You were so close!”
“It’s this track!”
There it was. This French track was where Zolt’s fateful crash had been. This tarmac. These curves.
He’d promise he was fine. He’d told me he was excited to prove he was capable.
And he was. He’d nearly done it.
Nearly.
“It’s all in your head! I know you hit it, but, fucking hell. You were the MotoBike champion, Zolt. You’re ruining it all because your mind is elsewhere.”
“Don’t you dare blame her,” he snapped, and there was movement. At least a foot stepped forward. “This is on me.”
Shit. Benedek knew about us. The tears of happiness and relief that had fallen with Dad started to pinch at my eyes, but they were wound tight with guilt and panic.
I tried to count my breathing.
One…
“You’re right there. I can’t believe I let so much ride on you.”
Three…
“I can’t believe how much I trusted you.”
Five…
“You’ve pushed everyone else away because they’re worried they’ll see the real, miserable you.”