Page 47 of Racing for Redemption
“Alright, I’ll reserve judgment until I see photos and conduct a proper background check.” She winks. “But I’m glad you’re opening up to the possibility. It’s a good first step.”
I pull into the underground parking of my building. “I’m home now.”
“Good. Get some actual sleep tonight, okay? I worry about you.”
“Well, I’ll try.” I park the car, but don’t move to get out. “I’ve missed you, Annie.”
Her expression softens. “I’ve missed you, too. And don’t think I’ve forgotten that you bailed on our Bali vacation. You owe me a proper holiday.”
I tilt my head and smile at her. "I know. I won't forget."
“Good. Now, go rest. Love you, Vi.”
“Love you, too, Annie.”
The call ends, and I sit in silence for a moment, the car’s interior suddenly too quiet, too empty. Anna’s voice always leaves a vacuum when it’s gone—a reminder of how rarely I let myself relax, how few people see behind my professional mask.
I gather my bag and exit the car, the concrete of the parking garage cold and unforgiving beneath my feet. My penthouse waits above—elegant, pristine, and completely devoid of life beyond my sporadic presence. Another space I exist in rather than live in.
But as I step into the elevator, Anna’s words echo in my mind. Maybe it is time to try. To create something beyond work. To find connections that anchor me to more than just my father’s legacy.
Maybe I should explore this budding friendship with William.
Chapter 14
That’s What Friends Are For
William
Ispot the silver Mercedes in my driveway before I even turn in. Felix. Only he would show up unannounced, and deliberately block my garage. I ease my modest Volkswagen alongside the curb, shaking my head. Eight years in F1 has given Felix Becker the ego to match his talent, but underneath the championship points and designer sunglasses, he’s still the same quirky German kid who once split a candy bar with me when I couldn’t afford lunch at our first karting competition.
He’s lounging against his car, scrolling through his phone with that characteristic intensity that makes everything Felix does look important. At the sound of my car door slamming, he looks up, a wide grin splitting his face.
“Finally! I was about to call a search party. What kind of F1 driver takes so long to get home? Did you stop for tea with the King?”
“Some of us still have to do actual work,” I retort, but I’m smiling as I approach him. We clasp hands, and pull each other into a brief, back-slapping hug. “You could have called, you know.”
“And miss the surprise on your face? Never.” Felix steps back, looking me up and down in my Colton Racing polo and dark jeans. “Look at you, all official in team colors. It suits you.”
“Thanks.” I fish my house keys from my pocket. “How long have you been waiting?”
“Long enough to remember why I mock your choice of living in the middle of nowhere.” He gestures to the surrounding countryside. I’d chosen this place specifically for its isolation; a renovated farmhouse on five acres, far from the constant buzz of the racing world. My small sanctuary.
“And yet, here you are,” I point out, heading toward the front door.
Felix falls into step beside me, then suddenly veers off the path toward the back of the property. “Speaking of which, when are you going to invite me to race go-karts with you on that track you’ve got hiding back there?”
I roll my eyes. Felix discovered my secret project last summer—a small but precise go-kart track I’d built on the property, complete with timing sensors and varying corner types modeled after my favorite sections of F1 circuits.
“It’s not ready yet,” I lie.
Felix snorts. “It was ready three months ago. You’re just afraid I’ll beat your lap record.”
“You wish, Becker.”
“Ah, there it is.” Felix grins triumphantly. “William Foster, cool and collected in public, but still a bad loser in private.”
“I don’t lose on my own track,” I say with a hint of pride. “Even to World Destructors’ Championship leaders.”
