“What the fuck is happening with you?”
I closed the trailer door quietly behind me, stepping out into the late evening air, my finger to my lips. “Shh.”
If Benedek woke Fia, there would be hell to pay. She more than deserved her sleep.
“Oh, do not get me started onthat,” he barked, scowling.
I tiptoed down the steps to the lot, dragging him by the arm.
On the concrete, he pushed me off. “No, we need to talk, Zolt.”
“So walk with me,” I said, gesturing at his perfectly capable legs. “And speak at a volume where we’re having a normal, private conversation.”
Just before she drifted to sleep, Fia had gone on a ramble about how glad she was that I was starting to enjoy pineapple on pizza and how cute she found it that I was a new fan of scones.
“Just the thought of you loading up a scone with jam isadorable,”she’d said.
I didn’t understand it, but the quiet, fast-paced nonsense talk — and the fact it was about food — told me one thing. She was going to wake up ravenous. So I was on the hunt for dinner.
“I’ll fucking talk however I want,” Benedek snapped, shaking his head at me, but walking at my side. “You seem to be doing whatever you want. Even at the risk of your career and family.”
If Benedek ever shut up, the world might stop spinning.
“Go on then,” I sighed, opening the door for him into the tunnel. “Talk.”
My response seemed to enrage him, but the tunnels echoed, so he hissed, “You crashed again today.”
“Yes.”
The tunnels always made me feel safe. They were a home away from home. Sure, they were a bit suffocating. Okay, they were hospital-bright, what with the fluorescent lights — so bright I had to narrow my eyes — and, yes, they could be like a maze at times, but… they meant I was racing.
Something I’d spent so long thinking wasn’t a possibility.
Benedek’s anger wasn’t going to phase me while I was here, on track, and my girl was sleeping in my trailer.
“You were ‘too ill’ to race last week,” he said, his air quote nearly as passive-aggressive as the baby voice he used to mock me. “Your points are minimal, Zoltán. You’re not focused.”
“Someone took me out this week,” I laughed.What did he want me to do?That was racing. Shit happened.“Last week, I was so lightheaded, it would have been unsafe for me to race. I would have been a track risk.”
In my peripherals, Benedek rolled his eyes. Nothing was going to bring me down. Not crashing. Not how illI’d been feeling. Certainly not his opinions.
“When are you going to get over this?” Benedek tried to stop me at the door to the dining hall.
I only let him because I didn’t want a scandal to spread beyond the doors. Through the glass circles, I could see and hear multiple teams sitting and eating.
“You’re fine,” he dismissed. “You have bad days. As does everyone. People push through it. Apó would be telling you the same.”
Our grandad. My fists tightened.
“Apó would care more about my health than championship points,” I told him, trying to keep my voice light. “I’m still in recovery—and before you panic about the family name—my contract is for next year, too. Veltar knew I wasn’t going to be back to full health.”
Benedek looked away, peering through the windows of the door.
“Didn’t they?”
As my manager, he was the one who had been in talks with them.
“They didn’t realise you’d be stepping back from a race because of a headache.”
