Chapter 37 Hidden Injuries #2
“I’m not ending things with her.”
“Dominic.” Vance clicked something with his mouse. “This isn’t a game. One mistake on the track can cost lives.”
Dominic waited until his father met his gaze. The smell of cinnamon potpourri and orange pomade was almost cloying.
“Fine,” Vance said slowly. “You love her. Where does that get you? You crashed out at qualifying. You’ve ruined your shot at the championship, and you’ll be lucky if your team doesn’t drop you next year.
So let me ask you this.” He held Dominic’s gaze.
“Is she worth throwing away everything you’ve worked for? ”
“There’s more to life than racing.”
Vance’s gaze was almost sad. “Not for people like us.”
His father went back to typing. Dominic shifted his weight. Something burned in his chest, frustration or humiliation or both. Why did he always feel like this? Why did he transform into a naughty child cowering before the school principal?
Dominic studied the wooden desk. His father used to leave presents in a similar place at home in Paris, whenever he went away on business trips: remote-control cars, LEGO sets, an expensive pair of trainers…
Now you won’t miss me, Vance had explained.
You’ll have something to open every day while I’m gone, waldi. It’ll be like I never left.
But Dominic had never opened the presents. Instead, he’d counted them.
Ten more sleeps until he comes home.
Eight more sleeps.
Two more sleeps.
Had Vance realized that? Had his father ever known?
Doubtful.
But that was just the thing, Dominic thought, his chest burning; Vance had never seen him as he was. He had seen Dominic only as he could be, and loving the potential of him was not the same thing as actually loving him.
“What if I didn’t want to race anymore?” Dominic asked.
Vance stopped typing. “What?”
Blood pounded in his ears. “What if I said that I’m giving it all up? Would you still want me as your son?”
“If you recall, I’ve wanted you to do that for months.”
“That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be…” Ashamed. “Just answer the question.”
Vance paused. Something swelled in Dominic’s chest—something fragile, something stupidly hopeful—only to be swiftly crushed when his father resumed typing. “This is pointless. My legal team will call you in the morning.”
It was a clear dismissal. And yet, Dominic couldn’t bring himself to move.
“Do you know,” he said quietly, “why I wanted it so badly? Why I worked my arse off to be the best racer in the world?”
His father cast his eyes skyward. “Dominic.”
“I did it for you. Not for me. For you.”
Vance made a noise. “That’s not—”
“I just wanted to make you proud,” Dominic said. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” I wanted you to love me, he thought desperately.
His father looked at the computer. The screen cast his face in an eerie glow, hollowing out his cheekbones.
It made him look older, somehow. More skeletal.
Dominic balled his hands. The moment balanced on a knife’s edge, still wet with his blood, a self-mutilation that he presented like an offering.
“Break things off,” Vance said finally. “For your own sake.”
His father went back to typing. Dominic stared. Something great and terrible blazed in his chest, burning everything in its path.
“No.”
Vance looked up. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said,” Dominic said, enunciating the words, “no.”
Vance picked up his phone. “Let me be clear: I’m not offering you a choice. End things with Juliette Marchmont, or I get on the phone with her sponsors and end her career.” His thumb hovered over the screen. “It’s your choice. The same choice I gave you all those years ago.”
Something in Dominic broke.
“Here’s an idea,” Dominic said, his voice rising. “Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”
He hurled the words like a spear to the gut.
His father flinched. Blood sang in Dominic’s veins; he felt slightly feral, like an animal loosed from its cage.
I have no idea what I’m doing, Dominic thought, and it was frightening and exhilarating in equal parts.
This wasn’t him speaking, and yet it was.
What a thrilling thing, to realize that you were an entirely different person than you thought you were.
Slowly, Vance lowered his phone. “You can’t speak to me that way.”
“Why not?” Dominic’s heart pounded. “Because you’re my father?
You’ve ruined my life.” The word echoed in the silent office.
“For years, I’ve put up with your bullshit.
Don’t make friends. Train hard. Keep your head down.
And for what?” He spread his arms. “For the shot at winning a piece of glass?”
A pulse jumped in Vance’s forehead. “There’s no need for hysterics.”
“Oh, you don’t want to see hysterics,” Dominic said darkly. “Trust me.”
“You were supposed to be sensible.” Vance’s knuckles were tight on his pen. “When I dismissed you from the team, you were supposed to—”
“And you were supposed to love me.”
Dominic felt the words rip from his chest, from some fleshy underbelly that he’d worked so damn hard to exterminate.
He was breathing hard, his fingers digging into the wooden chair.
He felt like the time he’d driven his hand into the wall, the sharp pain masked by the satisfying smash of pent-up rage.
Vance was staring. “I don’t…I never…”
“You were supposed to love me.” Dominic’s voice broke. “No matter what. That’s what fathers are meant to do.”
A terrible silence filled the room. Dominic let out a breath.
His heartbeat was slowing, his grip loosening on the chair.
Clarity settled over him, as obvious as an exclamation mark.
He needed to see Juliette. He needed to tell her everything, now, before he made the same mistake that he’d made two years ago.
With that in mind, Dominic turned for the door.
He had to see her. He had to explain.
Before it was too late.