She tried to calm herself with a shaky breath through pursed lips. “Okay. Okay.”
“You… believe me?”
Her hands still trembled on my shoulder. “I’m so sorry. This is… wow. I can’t even imagine.” She blinked multiple times, staring down at the suitcase. “Give me your phone.”
I handed it to her unlocked, and she started talking as quickly as her sister did when she was hungry. “This only changes certain things.” She steadied herself with a breath, eyes hardening again. “Whether you knew this or not, you still risked her career and… I will tell her what I think if she asks. If she doesn’t, I don’t. All I know is you didn’t know the extent of your injuries and I… I can’t risk her heart, her hopes, telling her something I don’t know to be fact. She’s broken.” She handed my phone back. “So prove it’s a fact, Zoltán. Prove it.”
30
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.”
