I was the one in the wrong? For the only thing that had felt real in the last two years? After what he had just admitted to?
“Walk away from this mess you’ve made, Benedek. I promise you do not want to be in the same room as me right now.”
“You’re right,” he said, voice full of venom as his lip curled. “I don’t.”
He turned and left me breathing rapidly through my nose, barely keeping my feet grounded.
We wanted the same thing.
To make Apó proud wherever he was.
Our understandings of our grandad were very different.
Maybe he was firmer like Benedek remembered — maybe I was pathetic for not racing. I’d never triggered an accident. I rode clean.
But I was down on the leaderboard. On weeks that were good, I was often on the podium. On weeks that were bad, I crashed. Or refused to race.
It had been a brazen move, but one out of necessity.
I’d gone to the medical bay and been told it was viral, butevery time I got up, the room spun.
Racing would have been negligent.
Or maybe I was overthinking things. In a month, I was set to race on the same track I’d crashed on.
I rubbed the sweat of my palms on my shorts, counted my breaths to ten, and went inside to grab my grilled salmon before asking for a pineapple and ham pizza for my girl.
Not that I said that last bit aloud.
Waiting, I surveyed the dining hall. Veltar ate together. I knew it happened. But I had only joined them a couple of times.
It made me feel worse than eating alone.
My brother and Imre had been there, but they easily fell into conversation with the others, and I… just sat there.
Now, I shared every meal with Fia. I never had to eat alone again.
They laughed, digging into their food. Henrik ended up choking with his laughter, and our team director slapped him on the back.
It was something I’d never have.
Because they didn’t understand me.Literally.
The isolation had been painful at MotoBike, but never as prevalent as at StormSprint. No one other than my family spoke my language.
“Time?” I asked in English to the kitchen staff. I hadn’t pre-ordered her pizza because I’d been preoccupied with eating her.
They replied with something about my trailer.
But they might hear Fia if they came knocking.
I pointed to myself. “Waiting.”
And I knew it would seem rude, but my brain was toofrazzled to consider a language that used up my entire bandwidth.
Some phrases I knew — and had learned specifically to toy with Fia — but they were normally about taking her clothes off or about gas consumption. Bikes and sex.
Other than that, I was level two on my phone app, still learning what the colours and days of the week were, despite using it for months.
