Chapter 30
Fia
In the last few years, a new tradition had befallen the Bacques. With Dad’s retirement and his general happiness levels increasing, he’d become less of a Scrooge when it came to Christmas.
And he’d started throwing Christmas Eve parties.
The last two months had gone by at a hellishly slow pace. Today had been the worst of it. I’d offered to work around the clock over the holidays so that parents could be with their children, children could be with their parents, and I could escape the Santa’s grotto that was my home.
I went to work in the dark and came home in the dark. The bus took an hour each way, but I didn’t mind, because it meant I had time to listen to my podcasts. It had nothing to do with my time in StormSprint or in Hungary, but I was still on a mission to learn Kriolu.
Maybe if Imre and I ever spoke again, I’d use it to speak to his wife.
There had been no communication between us. His side of this silent battle was clear.
Everly had blocked anyone on my phone whose message may upset me, and I didn’t have the guts to ask her if that included my biological father.
I drowned out those thoughts, muttering Kriolu to myself, but as much as my mouth was speaking a different language, my mind was wandering in English, head resting against the vibrating bus window, squishing myself into the wall so I didn’t have to touch the person next to me.
My eyes were heavy, and each time I closed them was longer than the last.
A twelve-hour shift. An hour-long commute each way. The chaos of public transport on Christmas Eve. Rewriting assignments every spare minute.
Snarky comments about my handwriting and notes from my superior. A new member of staff asked another if I was the ‘motorbike girl who fucked her step-brother,’ which had led to whispers.
I wanted to be alone.
By the time I got home at 8:30 p.m., everyone would be there. People from StormSprint.
It wasn’t as grand an affair as Dad’s birthday, but every year the list grew.
This year, he’d even started to grow his beard, purposely for ‘beard bells,’ so he could jingle. He was the earliest riser, so he’d be up when I had my breakfast at 5 a.m., and he’d practice playing a little tune on them.
My laughter was mostly real. It was sounding better day by day.
And he tried so hard.
Tonight, I would smile.
I’d sneak in, shower, put on the sparkly dress that at least made me look the part, and then I’d show my face for two hours, cuddle little Xavie, play with Avia, and take myself to bed before I woke up for work at 4:30 a.m. again.
I was taking things on a day-by-day basis.
Today was a day I would be brave. I turned off my podcast and searched my name. There were no new reports. The most recent was from two weeks ago.
“StormSprint Translator Under Fire After Farkas Races on Invalid Clearance.”
“Cris Bacque’s daughter accused of mistranslating concussion risk in favour of racer boyfriend.”
No one would dare to bring it up in front of my dad, let alone in his house during the holidays, but I needed to see what they did.
Livie was on maternity leave, though still in the loop, and was trying to get information on the inquiry into me. I was yet to be questioned officially, and Dad had told me not to bother.
But even if I wanted the job at Ciclati — which I was trying not to think or ask about, because my fragile heart couldn’t learn that wasn’t a possibility anymore — I couldn’t start while I was still under investigation.
As the bus pulled up at my stop, it started to rain, and I zipped up my coat, slid past the person next to me, and held on for dear life, my arm hooked around the pole as the bus jerked. The December nights were always cold, but the rain had a habit of falling just as I started my walk home.
Like it had got into the same numb routine as me.
I was two steps off the bus when it drove off, and the car behind it flashed me twice.
Nope. I was not getting murdered on Christmas Eve.
A flash of memory hit me, and I screwed my eyes shut, not trying to visualise it, more trying to kick it out, but there I was again, in front of that crunky old motel, my body aching not from the long shift, but a long car journey.
“You’ve brought me here to murder me, haven’t you?”
Laughter. “Not tonight. I’m too tired.”
I bit down on my lip until I tasted iron.
Another flash of lights.
I pulled out the keyring knuckle duster Luca had bought me and approached the car with fury in my steps. I could cut a bitch. I had it in me.
The passenger door opened, a tanned hand waved me in, and a French accent called, “Come on, little Bacque.”
The voice alone made me relax.
It was Nix in a red and green Christmas jumper.
I threw myself into the warmth of his luxury car, shivering off the cold and my hood.
He laughed, pulling into gear. “Can’t have you walking in the rain at Christmas, Fia. How was work?”
I told him, trying not to sound as miserable as I felt, putting a little spring in my words.
He side-eyed me with a curled lip. “Right. We’ve got to get you back in Ciclati. That won’t do.”
“It’s not normally so bad,” I lied, putting my keys and the knuckle duster in my pocket.
“Tell me one thing you’ve learned since starting last month,” he demanded as we raced through the country lanes. You could take the man off the track, but you couldn’t take the track out of the man.
I should have learned something. A term or a word or…
“Nothing. But until the investigation is over, they wouldn’t even consider letting me back, and—and I haven’t finished my master’s and—”
“Fuck the master’s,” he grunted. “Fia, give yourself the credit you deserve. StormSprint isn’t admin.
It isn’t sitting behind a desk. It isn’t unruly clients and difficult surgeons who look down their noses at you.
It’s racing. It’s fast. You travel the world.
You’re you.” He sighed. “You were amazing. Still are. You owned that conference. You don’t need a master’s to prove it — you were already doing the job. ”
And letting myself get walked all over.
I shrank back into the seat, wrapping my coat tight around myself despite the warm blowers.
“You don’t look well,” he offered. “And it’s not just the English weather.”
“Thanks, Nix.”
“You spoken to anyone from StormSprint since leaving?” he asked, his voice lighter with false curiosity. He wasn’t asking about just anyone.
“Abbé, Nadia, and you guys.”
He nodded, pouting as he focused on turning a corner. “Anyone else?” he tried and failed to ask casually.
“No.”
His nods tightened, quickened. “Right. Do you think you should?”
“That wouldn’t look good with the investigation, Nix.”
That person and I would never speak again.
“Do you want me out of the job?”
A rocking motion. Warm, strong arms holding me close. “Of course not. No. You’re staying here forever.”
I closed my eyes until the streak of Nix’s full beam couldn’t bleed through my eyelids.
He spoke through the gentle rocking of my body, motionless in his car. “Right, yeah. But… does anyone need to know?”
The leather creaked as I twisted in the passenger seat to face him. “Have you spoken to anyone in StormSprint lately?”
He shrugged, eyes on the road. “Maybe.”
Don’t ask. I should not ask.
I couldn’t.
Folding my arms, I sat back in my chair, glaring at the rain. “Well, that’s nice.”
“Nice?” he asked.
“Nix, I know you love to meddle. I know that part of the reason you married Livie was that you love gossip, but I am not your gossip. There is nothing to report on here.”
He was silent, then laughed lightly. “Tell her I married her for gossip. I’d love to see her reaction.”
We pulled up onto the packed drive, and I counted the cars. Too many.
There were going to be so many people inside.
For a minute, we stayed there in silence. I blurred the fairy lights hanging off the porch and windows, staring at the door instead. The wreath didn’t look welcoming with its holly, mistletoe, or bells. It was just sad and wet.
With the wipers off, I watched the raindrops slide down the glass, falling into each other, slowing and quickening.
“Just in case you were worried, he’s okay. It’s not terminal, and it’s manageable. Just not raceable.”
I hated how much that convulsed my chest, like a defibrillator.
Ever had told me weeks ago, but she would say anything to make me feel better. Nix wouldn’t.
My voice hardly sounded as I stared at those rushing raindrops. “Thank you.”
Nix let his words settle and then got out of the car. I didn’t blame him for leaving me. I would. I sucked all the festive spirit from the room.
He threw open my car door and offered me a hand. “Come on. Xavie and Avia will crash out soon. And Luca will eat all the food if you don’t hurry. And I’ll get soaked.”
I took his hand, let him pull me up, and we rushed out of the wind and rain into the house.
Mum threw the door open for us and drunkenly grabbed my face. “I’m so glad you’re home!”
Her breath stank of wine, but I nodded and kissed her cheek. “Me too.”
She looked over her shoulder and shooed me up the stairs. “Go and change. And put that new lipstick on.”
I frowned at her, but she joined me, telling me I didn’t have time to shower.
She helped me change into the sparkling dress, ushering me along with an urgency I hadn’t been expecting.
It almost woke me up.
Dad cheered as I came in, the beard bells punctuating his cry. “You’re home!”
He thrust a glass of champagne into my hand.
“I can’t drink, Dad,” I told him and handed it back. “I have work in the morning.”
He ruffled my hair. “There’s my selfless, hard-working girl.”
The music was loud, but our family and friends were louder. I looked for a surface to perch and people watch, but then a small bundle was placed in my hands.
Livie smiled and brushed her son’s cheek. “Can you have Xavie for one second? Just while I pee?”
“Of course.”
Xavie looked up at me with the deep blue eyes of his father, and I placed my finger in his palm, for him to clutch me in a grip Luca would be proud of.
“What a strong little man,” I cooed.
He might be two months old, but he was much more in the Christmas spirit than I was. He was in a yellow star onesie. His head popped out of one of the points.
“Thought it would be a while until I saw this,” said a voice that made me stiffen. Then relax.
“Jordan,” I said by way of greeting, forcing a smile.
So this was why Mum had been on my case. Behind him, she drunkenly winked and pointed at his back, nodded, and gave a thumbs up.
Everly looked between us, rolled her eyes, and escorted Mum out of the room.
Fabulous.
I made faces at Xavie to save myself from pulling a grimace of frustration after my loving mother.
“You look good with a baby in your arms,” he laughed. Then lifted his palms. “Not flirting. Old habits die hard.”
“Do they?” I laughed, watching Xavie’s mouth open and close as he wriggled.
“How are you?” he asked, and I abhorred the sincerity and sympathy in his voice.
My voice fell flat. “Fine. You?”
He moved closer as someone walked past him. “Yeah, I’ve been worse. You sticking around for a bit?”
“It’s my house, Jord,” I said slowly. He was training to be a doctor… surely he’d know if he’d hit his head, right?
“No,” he laughed and looked at his feet. “I mean, in England. Not chasing bikes around the world.”
“For a while, yeah,” I said, rocking the baby. “I can’t really—I’m not allowed back.”
Nix’s words didn’t mean anything. Even if I was offered the job, I didn’t know if I had it in me to go and be there without…
“Would you want to go back?”
I cocked my head and raised a brow. If anyone knew my dream had been to work at StormSprint, it was him. He’d had to listen to me ramble on about it for the last seven years.
“You didn’t do it, though,” he said with a decisive nod. “You might be in love with him, but I know you wouldn’t have done that.”
“I didn’t,” I said through gritted teeth as Mum and Dad started to twirl in the middle of the living room, Dad moving his mouth like a fish out of water to get his bells to ring.
I was not tipsy enough for this.
“You’ve got a paper trail, right? That clears your name?”
“I… I haven’t had the energy to go through it all.”
Livie had emailed me the actual original report. Everly had logged me out of that account.
Jordan cocked his head and brow. “Fia Bacque not taking control of every little thing? Wow, this is hitting you hard. You deserve a drink. Here.”
He lifted his champagne to my mouth, and I sipped gratefully.
“StormSprint was all you wanted,” he said, leaning back on the wall and taking a sip. “Even when we were in school. You told me you were doing your GCSEs only to get in.”
“Things have to change sometimes.”
“Not you,” he said softly. “Not your dream.”
Livie reappeared, thanked me for holding her son, and took him from me. My arms felt empty.
“If you want someone to look over the files…” Jordan continued.
“What, you can suddenly read Hungarian?” I laughed and knocked back his drink. He was right. It was Christmas. I deserved this.
“Well, no. But if encouragement is what you need, I’ve got buckets of it, Fia. I know we’re not together, but… I only want the best for you.”
The best for me would be to face it head-on.
But my hands tightened around the champagne flute at the thought.
“I’m scared to read his name,” I whispered, the bubbles making the truth float out. “Scared to speak it.”
It was different in an article. That was open — that was for the reaction.
The report was personal. Damning.
He stroked my arm. “And are you going to let that fear grow?”
I swallowed. Every day, I got more in my head about it.
“The way I see it, Fia, you’re a fighter. You always have been. You stand up for every injustice other than your own. Maybe it’s about time you stood up for yourself, too.”
The noise around us merged. Christmas songs, awful singing, and bottles popping all became a haze as I looked up at one of the few people who really understood me.
I should help myself.
Even if I was scared to.
“Will you come with me?” I asked, grabbing his wrist. “We can raid the bar and scroll together?”
He grinned. “Never thought we’d raid the bar together again.”
We found another bottle of champagne, shared his glass, and I logged back into my StormSprint email. The report opened. Zoltán’s name was the first thing I saw.