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I will keep these things forever, as well as your secret. If you never tell what happened here, neither will I. And don't worry. I'm sure our paths will cross again.
Forever yours,
Lance
"What's wrong? Mr. ---? Are you okay?" The nurse came forward.
Primoz quickly crumpled up the letter, shoving it and the letter back in the envelope.
"Fine!" he snapped. "It's nothing. I'm fine!"
He clutched the letter to his chest, pulling away from the nurse.
She held her hands up and smiled. "It's okay. I'm sorry."
The final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. Primoz's assumption had been correct; Lance had been taking video and photographs. He'd put Primoz into enough compromising positions, had made him say so many things he could never take back. All to look like they had run off together. If he told the police the truth, Lance would just show these pictures and tell them about some imaginary love affair. He couldn't breathe.
"Mr. ---, look at me. Mr. ---," the nurse took his hand and locked eyes with him. "Focus on my voice. Breathe in slowly, Mr. ---. Take a deep breath in and out," she started breathing slowly, showing him how to do it.
It calmed him somehow, and he mimicked her. Deep breath in, deep breath out. He kept staring into her eyes until his breathing steadied, and he didn't feel dizzy anymore.
"Primoz," he finally managed to say.
"Sorry?"
"My name."
"All right, Primo. You feeling better now?"
She made his name sound Italian, and he smiled, then frowned and shook his head.
"What was in the letter?"
He shook his head.
If you never tell what happened here, neither will I.
He could never say, never tell a soul. The game was over, and Lance had won.
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