Chapter 4
Fia
Livie had warned me that morning over breakfast, wiping porridge from Avia’s face. “I didn’t know Imre followed the team… I’m so sorry.”
There were a few quiet moments whenever the five of us were together, but I was grateful the conversation was over my overnight oats while everyone else was asleep.
I’d told her it was okay. I’d already considered that Imre, my birth father, might be about. I’d expected at most that he’d be a supportive friend for Zoltán, after they worked together at MotoBike.But for Imre to follow Zoltán to work on the same team?That was extreme.
But turning into the Veltar pit box, knowing he would be there, put me on edge.
And then Zoltán being there nearly threw me off the cliff he’d fucked me on.
I needed to get out.
Zoltán didn’t follow me despite his kind gesture, probablybecause I was so rude to his brother.
When I heard the footsteps behind me down the tunnel, I expected them to belong to him.
Only to turn and see Imre.
Running would be dramatic… but I picked up my pace as casually as I could manage.
He matched mine.
“Zsófia!”
I didn’t stop until we were in the open air by the trailers. It had been so stuffy in the white, windowless tunnel.
And, the last time things had been good between us, I’d been excellent at hide and seek because I’d been four feet tall. Maybe if I were to hide behind one of the trailers, he wouldn’t find me.
He called my name again, and I stopped, stepping back when he tried to come closer. I owed him nothing. Not my time, my energy, my conversation.
He was breathless, running his gloved hand over his bald head as he gathered himself.
“We should talk,” he said in Hungarian, the same soft tone he would hush me with when I scraped my knees in the playground.
“Fine,” I said. “Talk.”
His brows lifted in shock. Or hurt. “In English?”
Language had become emotional currency. When it came to his power over me, he was bankrupt. I wanted that to be true. As the strong thought built my confidence, I also knew by the pinching of my eyes that he had far too much power over me.
I’d rather bite my tongue bloody than let him know he’d gifted me with anything I cherished.
“Yes.” I crossed my arms. “That or French.”
My step-dad’s language. Imre’s jaw tightened.
The roar of qualifying laps sounded further and further away by the second.
“I’m glad to work together,” he said, stiffly putting his hands in his pockets. “We can fix things.”
“This is work, not therapy,” I snapped, appalled that he thought our relationship could be aside project. “Our interactions will be limited. I’m a translator. You’re a mechanic.”
“Reports are translated.”
“I just happen to be excellent at that, thankfully. I’m getting a master’s degree in languages. I won’t need your help.” I breathed in deeply, the anger settling in my chest. “Good thing too, seeing I haven’t had your help in years.”
