Page 7 of Heart of the Race

“Wait,” he rasped, and I heard all the effort that took.

“I’ll be back when it’s quiet,” I promised over my shoulder. I walked out as I glanced back and saw everyone surging around him, and waited down the hall for Mr. and Mrs. Dacien to come out of the room and greet me.

I felt like crap because they were both so thankful. If they knew what I really wanted, needed, was dying to claim and could barely breathe around… they would be sick. I was a fake, a phony, masquerading as their son when I yearned to be a son-in-law instead. Only Nico’s vigilance kept me from bolting. He sat with me in the hall.

“There’s a race through the Atlas Mountains in Morocco,” he said absently.

I had no idea why he was telling me that.

“That’s where he’s going next.”

“He’s brilliant.”

“That’s what I said,” he scoffed, sipping the coffee he’d gotten out of an ancient machine.

We were quiet for a bit.

“They want you to call them Mom and Dad, but you never do.”

I turned from staring at the wall to meet his gaze.

“You’re not blind. You know why I can’t.”

“Because if you do, if they really are your parents….” He sighed. “Then you’ll really be his brother.”

I didn’t even have to agree. We both knew it was true even though neither of us ever gave the secret voice.

“But if you were with him, wouldn’t they be your folks anyway?”

“That would be different.”

“I guess. But he misses the hell out of you, he tells me all the time. It’s not fair the way you punish him for your weakness.”

“I know,” I retorted irritably and went back to staring at the cracks in the wall.

Later, Mrs. Dacien, the only mother I had ever known, stood with me.

“You love your job so much?”

It was an odd conversation to start. “I’m moving up,” I explained. “That’s good, right?”

“Yes,” she agreed, her eyes clouded. “That’s good.”

There was obviously something on her mind. “What?”

“The time when anyone else could take your place,” she said, “that’s long past. Even Ancel and I… our words carry little meaning.”

“What are you⁠—”

“Varro. We’re talking about Varro.”

“Yeah, but what about him? I don’t⁠—”

“Only you, Brian, not us,” she stated.

“Wait, you’re saying you don’t think he cares what you and Mr. Dacien think about the racing? That’s not true. He⁠—”

“Not just about the racing. About anything.”