Page 137 of Racing for Redemption
“Your lack of faith wounds me.” I drop onto the sofa beside her and flip open the first container, revealing perfectly arranged sushi. “Ta-da!”
Her face lights up, and something in my chest tightens at the sight. “You remembered.”
“Of course, I remembered. You demolished an entire platter at lunch in Monaco after—” I pause, the memory of that night sending heat through me. “After our second round of extracurricular activities.”
She laughs, reaching for a pair of chopsticks. “I worked up an appetite.”
“You were insatiable.” And she smirks back at me. Fuck, I was exhausted when I got on the plane that afternoon. My legs were like a baby buck trying to walk for the first time. The food was good, as well.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the rain outside, and the occasional appreciative murmur from Violet. My gaze wanders to the trophy I placed on the sidetable when we arrived—the physical proof of today’s achievement catching light from the lamp. It’ll have to be handed over to Colton Racing for their storage. A pity, because this trophy would look especially beautiful in my living room.
Violet follows my look, then her gaze moves to the shelf behind it, where other trophies stand in neat rows. She sets down her chopsticks and rises, moving to examine them more closely. Funny how, last time, she didn’t pay much attention to this side of the living room. But now, it’s almost like it’s a beacon calling for her.
“Regional Kart Champion, European Kart Champion, FRECA, F4, F3...” She reads the inscriptions, fingers trailing over the metal and crystal. “Impressive collection.”
“Started early. Never stopped.”
She pauses at an empty space on the shelf, next to my three F2 runner-up trophies. “What goes here?”
I join her at the shelf, standing close enough to feel her warmth. “That’s for my F1 Driver’s Championship trophy.”
She turns to me, surprise evident in her eyes. “You’re that confident?”
“I am.” I hold her gaze steadily. “And I’m going to win it with you. With Colton Racing.”
The declaration hangs between us, bold and perhaps foolish, given our team’s current position. But after today, after that podium, it doesn’t feel impossible. It feels like destiny. History in the making.
Violet doesn’t laugh or dismiss the statement. Instead, she studies my face with an intensity that makes me want to look away—and simultaneously never break her gaze.
“I believe you,” she says simply. “But we’re still far away from being competitive. We may take some years to get there.”
We return to the sofa with a fresh intensity between us. I grab a blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over both of us as she curls against my side, fitting perfectly.
“This was a good day,” she murmurs, head resting on my shoulder.
“The best,” I agree, tightening my hold around her.
We sit in comfortable silence, the rain creating a cocoon around us, the world beyond my windows ceasing to exist. In this moment, there is no team politics, no media scrutiny, no rival drivers. Just us. And it’s perfect.
Chapter 41
Looking forward, not back
William
Iclench my fist around the steering wheel, counting to ten as the car limps back to the pits. Another technical failure. Another race gone. By the end of the season, it’s normal for things to be on their last legs. The disappointment hangs heavy, but beneath it, something else flickers—pride in how far we’ve come, even on these broken wings. I shut off the engine and exhale, just a moment before the team swarms the car.
The American leg of the season has been brutal. The street circuits already exposed our car’s weaknesses, but the gearbox problems in Miami, and the battery issues in Austin, have turned potential points into painful what-ifs. I climb out of the cockpit, my race suit sticking to my back with sweat, and hand my helmet to the nearest mechanic as I arrive at our garage.
“Sorry about that, William,” Tom says, clapping my shoulder. “P12 isn’t terrible, considering.”
“Considering the car was practically begging to be put out of its misery?” I force a smile. “We need that new power unit yesterday.”
Tom nods, his clipboard tucked under his arm. “Johnson’s already pulling the data. We’ll get it sorted.”
The highlights of the season feel like a distant memory now—those magical points in Melbourne, the podium at Silverstone. Glimpses of what Colton Racing could be with the right development. With me behind the wheel. The thought sends a flush of pride through me. I can make amazing things happen with this team. I know it. I feel it.
I trudge back toward the motorhome, muscles aching from fighting the car for ninety minutes. The cool air inside is a relief, but it’s the flash of violet in my peripheral vision that truly lifts my spirits. I still can’t believe what we’ve become.
