Page 71 of Racing for Redemption
But from William—from this man who vented his anger at me when we met in Abu Dhabi last year, and who has slowly become pure sunshine for the team—it feels monumental. Even if he begged for the seat, and part of it might be a ploy to ensure the seat continues to be his for a while.
The band plays their final song, a slower, more melodic piece that acts as a comedown from the frenetic energy of the rest of the set. As the last notes fade, William’s arm loosens around me. He steps back, creating space between us again.
“Sorry,” he says, running a hand through his sweat-dampened curls. “Didn’t mean to be so… forward. That guy was just being a creep, and I thought—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt. “I appreciated it.”
The house lights partially come up, revealing the sweaty, satisfied crowd beginning to disperse. The energy that had been building during the show now hums around us like an electrical field.
“God, that was good,” William says, eyes bright with adrenaline. “Did you really enjoy it? Your first underground metal show?”
I nod, surprised by how genuinely I mean it. “Haven’t been to a live show in years. Any kind of show. This was… invigorating.”
“Come with me to the next ones,” he says suddenly, words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ll buy the tickets. My treat. Just… keep me company, Violet.”
The use of my first name, so casual and familiar, catches me off guard. In the paddock, it’s always “Ms. Colton” or “boss” from him, even after I’ve told him to call me Violet.
“I don’t want to impose,” I say, though part of me is already saying yes. “And work keeps me busy, but… I did have fun tonight.”
“You’re not imposing if I’m inviting you,” he counters. “Besides, your fun quota seems dangerously low. Someone’s got to fix that.”
I laugh despite myself. “My ‘fun quota?’”
“Yeah, it’s a scientific measurement. Very precise. You’re running at about nine percent right now, which is criminally negligent.”
“And what percentage are you at?”
He grins, and something in my chest tightens. “Seventy-eight and climbing. Could hit ninety if I get a beer soon. Wanna help me find out?”
Ten minutes later, we’re seated in a dark corner of a pub down the street. It’s the kind of place that looks like it’s been there forever, with deeply scarred wooden tables, and faded band posters on the walls. Two pints sit before us, foam sliding down the sides.
“So, verdict on your first underground metal show?” William asks after a deep pull that leaves a foam mustache on his upper lip.
I smile at the sight. “More enjoyable than expected. Though, next time, I might need those good earplugs you mentioned.”
“Next time,” he repeats, looking pleased. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Three drinks later, the pub has emptied considerably, and our conversation has shifted from the concert to more personal territory. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol, or the late hour, or the lingering high from the show, but I’m admitting things I rarely voice aloud.
“It’s just… lonely sometimes,” I say, tracing patterns in the condensation on my glass. “Being the one everyone looks to for answers.”
William studies me across the table, expression serious now. “Is it the Formula 1 thing? Or being the only woman running a team?”
“Partly,” I admit. “But it’s more than that.”
He nods, waiting. When I don’t continue immediately, he says softly, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just… curious about you.”
The gentleness in his voice opens something in me.
“After my parents died, I just… poured everything into work. It became my whole life, my personality. And then, suddenly, I looked up and realized I’d forgotten to build anything else. I’m not old, but still… At thirty-two,what do I have? Money. A Formula 1 team barely holding together. Not much else.” I take another sip of beer. “My best friend Anna lives in Japan—we met during middle school and instantly connected, like we’d known each other forever. She’s basically my sister. But with the time difference, we’re lucky if we get to video chat once a month.”
I smile, thinking about Anna’s face filling my screen, her apartment always chaotic in the background, her laugh that never fails to make me feel better no matter what’s happening.
“And Blake is great, but he’s older, has a family. It’s not like we can go clubbing on weekends.”
William furrows his brow. “So… no one else? No boyfriend, or…?”
I laugh, a short, sharp sound. “When would I have time to date? Between saving the team and fighting the board for every euro? I'm lucky if I have time to sleep.”
