And he was here to commit to his action plan.
He didn’t even seem to notice when we passed the Veltar door.
Until a figure walked out of it.
Imre.He froze, oil-stained hand still on the doorknob. Zolt went to keep walking, but Imre called his name. Not mine.
“Zolt!”
He turned, putting himself between us.
“What?” he asked thickly.
His mouth opened, he tried to speak, but settled for, “Good luck.”
Zolt’s head inched back. His thumb rubbed the back of my hand. “Thank you.”
“And… and I’m glad to have you back, Fia.”
Now, Zolt wasn’t the only one who was stunned.
I’d left my masters after the hearing when Ciclati offered me a job without it. Nix was right — I was ready.
“It’s good to be back at Ciclati.” It was a dig, an immature move from me, because of how he’d acted about Zolt and me reuniting… going so far as to argue against Helena and Nagyi about it… because it‘looked awful on the family’.Yet nothing was mentioned about Benedek risking his brother’s life.
I tried to make it make sense in my head. I failed.
But I was at peace with it. I didn’t need him. Cris Bacque might not be my biological father, but he was my dad.
The final growl of bikes sounded for the end of qualifying as Zolt walked us forward and ushered me into one of the meeting rooms. Technically, I was a member of Ciclati, but Abbé was happy for me to be a part of Zoltán Farkas’s new vision for the racers like him.
He placed his briefcase on the table and flicked it open, stillholding my hand.
“Zolt,” I said softly as the door closed. “You’ve got this. They’re going to love it.”
He stood straight, tugged me closer, and sucked in his bottom lip, as if he was trying to believe me.“You think?”
I reached to kiss his cheek. “I know.”
He exhaled, and his shoulders relaxed. “No going back now, is there?”
“Only forward,” I agreed.
He slid his phone out of his pocket, and I tried to let his hand go, but his eyes met mine in complaint. He sighed and released me. “Sorry. I know I’m being annoying.”
“You’re being nervous. And that’s okay.”
I unlocked my iPad and connected it to the projector, showcasing Zolt’s PowerPoint that Julian Marchetti and Dr. Sannier had approved.
I was still in awe at how he’d managed to get them on board.
But they would be stupid not to.
“The plumbing is all sorted,” Zoltán said, tapping on his phone. “Should only be another week until we can house ten more.”
On the side of his long drive, Zolt had a team extending his house for a‘dog’s quarters’so that he could foster more four-legged friends. He’d set up an Instagram that was dog-based and hired a manager to scrutinise applications for the five more dogs that now lived with us.
Only the best would be given the chance to adopt the dogs Zoltán was fostering.
