Page 141 of Racing for Redemption
The words hang between us, acknowledgment of the dual relationship I’ve found myself navigating with William. I nod once, not trusting myself to speak. And I silently thank James for not judging any of that.
After he leaves, I remain at my desk, tracing the partially signed contract. Only William’s signature left. But that’s one piece of the puzzle secured.William stays.The thought brings a warmth that has nothing to do with business strategy.
My phone buzzes with a message from Blake, reminding me about the press release for Ethan’s announcement. We’ve prepared it carefully, emphasizing Ethan’s potential while thanking Nicholas for his contribution to the team. Not that Nicholas deserves much gratitude after his childish reaction to being replaced. Or the years he spent with the team enjoying more DNFs than race finishes.
I send back a quick confirmation, then pull up the mock-up for our new livery with the Belforte Construction logo prominently displayed. Silas Belforte had been unexpectedly charming during our negotiations—dangerous in that distinctly Italian mafioso way, but with a genuine passion for racing that makes me trust his commitment to the team.
The sponsor is lined up.
The drivers are secured.
The technical department is finally making real progress after years of stagnation.
For the first time since taking over this team, we’re truly moving forward rather than just treading water. The board ofdirectors can’t touch me now—not with these developments, not with the upward trajectory we’re on. Only if something freaky happens will I again be under the looming threat of being sacked.
There’s one more thing I want to do. Something I’ve been feeling, thinking about more and more over these past months. Something that has nothing to do with contracts, or sponsors, or team management.
After the contract was promptly signed by an ecstatic William, I stand at the head of the table, champagne flute in hand, surveying the faces around me. My team. My family, in many ways. The glow of the private dining room softens their features, casting warm light over tired smiles and bright eyes. Abu Dhabi is behind us now—not our finest showing, but not our worst, either. What matters is that we’re here, together, at the end of a season that began with whispers of failure, and ended with the promise of something better.
Nicholas is notably absent, already seen cozying up to the Vortex Satellite crew before we’d even left the paddock. His empty chair is a reminder of changes to come. Good changes.
I clear my throat, and the hum of conversation dies down. All eyes turn to me, expectant. William’s gaze is particularly intense, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Before we dive into this excellent food that I’m absolutely not paying for out of my own pocket,” I begin, drawing chuckles from around the table, “I want to thank each of you for your extraordinary work this season.”
Blake raises his glass in a silent toast, and others follow suit.
“When we started this year, the board gave me an ultimatum—improve, or get out. I was bold and promised P8.” I don’t sugarcoat it; they all know the stakes we’ve been playing for. “And while we might not have set the world on fire, we’ve moved from P10 to P8 in the Constructors’. That’s progress after years being in last place.”
A small cheer erupts from the engineering corner of the table. Johnson, our head engineer, beams with pride despite the exhaustion evident in the lines around his eyes.
“We scored points in Melbourne—” I continue.
“Even if they were technically disqualified,” Tom interrupts with a grin, causing William to roll his eyes dramatically.
“Yes, well.” I smirk. “Some people just have very punchable faces, don’t they, William?”
The room erupts in laughter as he raises his hands in mock surrender. “In my defense, Dominic had it coming.”
“He absolutely did,” I agree. I’ve been holding it in for months, and honestly, I would have loved to have my fist connecting with Dominic’s jaw. “And let’s not forget Silverstone—our first podium in a decade. This was a year of many ‘firsts in a decade’ for us.”
More cheers, and Ethan watches William with blatant admiration. The kid has integrated seamlessly with the team, his enthusiasm infectious.
“We’ve laid the groundwork for this year,” I say, my voice softening with sincerity. “Next season, we build on it. With new partnerships, new talent”—I nod toward Ethan—“and the continued dedication of everyone in this room, Colton Racing is on its way back.”
I raise my glass higher. “To Colton Racing. To each of you. And to what comes next.”
Epilogue
After months of relentless traveling around the world, I’m finally able to take a breather.
I let out a deep sigh as I sink into the sofa. The lights are dim, and the rain is pouring outside, droplets hitting the window and slowly sliding down, reflecting neon hues on the marble floor next to the fireplace. I wrap myself up in that silly blanket with the number 64 on it as a vinyl plays in the background. This is perfect.
"Where do I put my shoes?" I turn my head, and—wearing a band T-shirt and tight black jeans—there he is, the man I've been letting into my life. Slowly. Carefully. Earnestly.
"You can leave those on that rack, William." My gaze follows his frame as he walks around my house, the first time I’ve brought him here. This place barely felt like home until recently. Maybe a pit stop between travels, but never home. Home is cozy, warm, and lived in.
During this winter break, I've decided to not travel abroad. To start focusing a bit on myself. Taking Anna's advice to the letter. Letting Blake's nagging be useful. And William has been invitingme to do stuff with him, seeing as we're both in town, and we're sort of loners for the most part.
