The accident.
I remain silent. Shocked. Broken. Empty.
The truck was supposed to hit Thomas.
That same day, I took Henry’s car to the mechanic to repair the fog lights. We were supposed to pick it up the day after. That night, Thomas offered me to take his car as his girlfriend was driving him back to his place.
My father had orchestrated the truck that hit us.
It wasn’t my fault.
He is the one that killed my brother.
I burst out of my chair, hitting the wall vehemently with my fist. Blood all around my knuckles, I fall into the wall, not even feeling the pain. At that moment, I want to kill André, to hurt him for taking my brother from me because of his hatred for my mother. But it would mean I would be offering him a quick death, and he needs to agonize his soul out. I spent the past three years blaming and hating myself and all the while it was because of him. And fate. The cheating of my mother, my birth, the broken light on Henry’s car, the succession of small events had created a devastating outcome. André destroyed the only thing he ever loved, Henry.
“The light was green,” I rumble.
“Yes. When he died, I couldn’t lose you, too. I wanted you by my side.” He breathes heavily. “Because you felt guilty, I let you believe it was your fault, so you wouldn’t leave me. That’s why I allowed Thomas to live, for now. You grew close to him, and if I had taken him away, you’d have lost it. It was better to turn everyone against you, so you’ll come work with me.” He pauses. “I can’t lose that too.”
Everyone.
Was it his fault too about my contract being in danger? And about the sponsors stopping their investment on the team? It was his plan all along—to take Formula 1 away from me, to be stuck with him. André is selfish and wanted to ease his own pain, by blaming and tearing down others like puppets to his misery. He replaced his child with his Empire, probably thinking that having his name on a building will make him better.
“You sick bastard! You killed Henry! You killed your own son!” I roar. My fury spring to life. I’m nearly suffocating on my own rage. Chaos stabs me. I’m on the verge of letting my pain consume me, but I won’t give André the pleasure.
And for the first time, I see a tear sliding into André’s ghostly expression. A freaking tear. Like that could forgive it all?
“I bet you’re happy now,” he says as if he is about to say his goodbye. Happy? Happy to realize how twisted and blinded by revenge he was? “I could have died without telling you the truth.” It wasn’t out of love he did this, it was because he is scared to go to hell—and he will. “I loved Henry.”
Another fucking tear.
“I pity you, André.” He broke his own heart, he destroyed my innocent brother. “You’ll never meet Henry again. Never.”
“I know. But I’ll meet you.” He stares at the ceiling, the monitor hammering, the doctors rushing toward his bed to try to save him. “See you in hell,son.”
André takes his last breath.
I walk into the hall like a soulless ghost, struggling to even stand. The blood on my fist has dried, and yet nothing can make me forget the truth. I didn’t kill my brother, none of it has been my fault. My whole life is falling at my feet. André is cruel. A liar. A man who had a heart once and ended up using it to create chaos. He isn’t my blood, my genes. But his darkness tarnished me.
Elle runs toward me, calling me, probably seeing how defeated I look. She’s like an angel encircled by light, while I feel like a mess. A bastard. She hugs me tight, speaking to me, but I don’t hear her. Everything is blurry. I fall to the ground, sitting against the wall, staring and thinking about Henry. He was the only good thing in all of this mess, and he died. I see my life in front of me, my head spinning as if I’m high. Elle kneels before me, kissing me, trying to bring me back, and for the first time in my life, I let myself get consumed. I allow my feelings to rush back into me. I allow myself to feel and be vulnerable.
I cry.
I cry my bleeding fucking heart out.
Goddess-like
The funeral of André LeBeau. Multibillionaire. A tyrannical boss. A public figure. You’d expect a lot of people to have come, and yet, no one is here—apart from his business associates. But they aren’t here to mourn the man. They are here to fight for the pieces of his company and the money he left behind. (Truth is, I wanted to destroy it and watch it burn to the ground, but someone named Elle brought me back to my senses.) So, imagine their surprise when I told them I gave my share of LeBeau’s hotels to Monica. LeBeau’s hotels should have been Henry’s heritage. He was the smart one, the one interested in business. He and Monica were planning on opening their own business together—in fact, she had founded a successful start up, but her financiers bailed when Louis leaked her pictures, and she left the business world. She deserves to have it, and I know she’ll be a better boss than all of these ancient pricks. As for André’s billions, most of it went to the foundation I created in Henry’s memory. Helping kids to have a future, that would have been Henry’s wish.
I’ve also gathered my courage to visit for the first time my brother’s grave. He’ll always be with me. But, I’m ready to let him go. For the first time, I finally feel at peace. I stand in front of André’s grave. I did accomplish the last wish of his will. He is isolated from the other graves in Monaco’s cemetery, next to his favorite and only blossoming tree. There is no point in hating the dead, you’ll let them haunt you. I did learn a lot from him after all. He ran after wealth and power all his life and look at him now. Insignificant to everyone. Miserable during his living life. I won’t make the same mistakes as he did. I won’t die alone.
I spot Thomas standing awkwardly in the middle of the cemetery. As usual, he is wearing his lumberjack outfit. We haven’t talked since I asked him to take a paternity test and the results were positive. André had at least the decency to speak the truth. Thomas, the man who always acted like a father in my racing career is indeed my blood. It was shocking news for both of us. Thomas married but never had children. We never talked about this, I just assumed that racing was taking all of his time. And now that he’s in his late fifties, it’s probably too late for him.
We walk toward each other, and I’m determined to let him know things between us don’t have to change. I don’t expect him to be my father. “Hi, Thomas.” He salutes me with restraint. “You don’t have to feel cornered, it’s a shock for me, too.” He stays silent, not even daring to look into my eyes.
Thomas and I both suck at expressing our feelings with words. During all these years working together, we never had any sweet words toward the other. And yet, I know even if I’m making him go through hell with my reckless driving and my temper, he cares for me. He always had my back.
“I never knew Monique was married, and even less to André. We’d met at the beach, she was taking pictures there, and one thing led to another.” He clears his throat. “It was just a short affair. She hid everything from me, I never knew. I never saw her again.” He looks away, taking a deep breath, excusing himself for something that isn’t his fault. I never mentioned my mother’s name since the day she abandoned me. “André came to see me a long time ago, telling me to stop managing you. I obviously told him to fuck off, since you were at an age to do what you wanted and had a great season in Formula 1. I was smoking at that time, he probably used that for a sample, or maybe a piece of my gum. I have no idea.”
