Burn

Lance sat in front of the fireplace, the golden flames licking the stone of the chimney and the heat radiating off burning his face.

An open wooden box, beautifully carved from the finest walnut wood, sat open next to him, sheets of paper, delicately folded to fit, were scattered about the floor.

I saved every letter you wrote me,

From the moment I read them I knew you were mine,

You said you were mine, I thought you were mine.

Lance stared into the flames, watching them dance and play within the grate. He picked up the letter at the very bottom of the box.

Do you know what Sergey said, when we saw your first letter arrive?

He said, "Be careful with that one love, he will do what it takes to survive."

Lance caressed the letter, the paper was as pristine as it was May 22nd, at 4:23 in the afternoon when he took it out of the envelope.

You and words flooded my senses,

Your sentences left me defenceless

You built me palaces out of paragraphs,

You built cathedrals.

Lance brought the letter up to eye level, reading over the lines, handwritten in blue biro. Words he had read over and over again suddenly felt unfamiliar, alien. Like he didn't know the meaning, the context.

Like he didn't know the writer.

I'm re-reading the letters you wrote me,

I'm searching and scanning for answers in every line

For some kind of sign

Of when you were mine

The fire crackled and Lance placed the letter on the ground. He picked up the box and tipped the rest of the letters out.

The world seemed to burn

Burn

His hands gripped the pamphlet Sergio had shown him that morning when he walked in. The Mexican's eyes were hard, but full of sorrow as Lance read the account his fiancé had written.

In a few sentences, his entire world had crumbled.

You published the letters he wrote you

You told the whole world

How you brought Pierre into our bed

In clearing your name, you have ruined our lives

Sergio had comforted Lance, and had taken him to the Mexican's driver's room before the press could grab hold of him.

Lance re-read the pamphlet over and over, eyes lingering on each word, tears dripping from his cheeks and staining the paper.

He wiped his tears from his face, his expression set in stone and headed out to his pre-race interviews. Looking at his engagement ring, he slipped it off and placed it in his pocket.

Do you know what Sergey said

When he read what you'd done?

He said, "You'll marry an Icarus,

He has flown too close to the sun."

Unexpectedly, the affair wasn't mentioned, but no-one missed Pierre's uncomfortable expression when Lance had entered the room with an expression that could rival Kimi Raikkonen's.