Page 16 of Redeeming Melodies

The reporter was still talking: "Sources suggest the split may have influenced Elliot Blue's shocking departure from racing. Mrs. Blue, any comment?"

"I think Elliot's decisions speak for themselves." Vanessa's voice dripped with careful concern. "I just hope he finds whatever he's looking for."

My fist connected with the wall before I even realized I'd moved. Pain shot through my knuckles, but it felt better than the knife she'd just twisted in my gut.

"I heard that," Cassidy said sharply. "Stop punching things and listen to me. This changes our strategy for the custody hearing."

"Strategy?" I laughed, and it sounded crazy even to my own ears. "She just blew up my life on national TV, Cass. What fucking strategy could possibly-"

"The one that keeps you from losing your son." Her voice cut through my rage like cold water. "Think, Elliot. She's playing this perfectly - the concerned mother, the supportive ex, while painting you as unstable and unpredictable."

My phone buzzed with incoming messages. Sponsors, probably. My agent. Maybe even Tommy, if Vanessa let him watch the news.

"I need to talk to my son," I said, already pulling up his number.

"Not tonight. Not until we know what Vanessa's told him." More papers rustled. "Look, I'm heading to my office now. Meet me there in thirty minutes. And Elliot?"

"Yeah?"

"Ice that hand first. We need you looking stable, remember?"

The call ended, leaving me alone with Vanessa's voice still coming from the TV: "Tommy and I are just trying to move forward with our lives."

I killed the power, but her words kept echoing. Moving forward. Like I was something to leave behind. Like I hadn't given up everything to stay still, to stay close, to be the father she claimed I never was.

The mini-bar called out like an old friend, promising numbness I couldn't afford right now. Instead, I pressed my throbbing hand against the window, letting the cool glass ease the ache. Below, the city lights blurred into a sea of judgment, each one feeling like another eye watching my life unravel.

My phone kept lighting up with notifications:

“Blue Family Confirms Split"

“Racing Champion's Marriage Hits the Wall"

"Vanessa Blue Speaks Out"

Each headline was another nail in the coffin of my privacy, another weapon Vanessa could use in court. She'd played it perfectly, like she played everything.

My keys sat heavy in my palm, the familiar Porsche fob catching the hotel's dim light.

Fuck it.

The parking garage echoed with my footsteps, concrete and fluorescent lights creating a tunnel that led to my car - sleek, black, powerful. Not my racing machine, but it would do. The engine roared to life, the sound bouncing off the walls like a caged animal finally set free.

Fuck the meeting. Fuck damage control. Fuck everything.

The city streets blurred past, traffic lights creating streaks of color in my peripheral vision. I hadn't driven like this since my rookie days, when speed was the only answer I had to life's questions. The highway opened up before me, empty and inviting at this hour.

My phone kept lighting up the passenger seat. I ignored them all, pressing the accelerator harder. The engine responded like a faithful friend, eating up asphalt and distance in equal measure.

The speedometer crept higher. Not racing speeds, but fast enough to feel alive, fast enough to outrun the thoughts chasing me. Trees and guardrails became dark smears against a darker sky.

A curve appeared in my headlights. I took it harder than I should have, feeling the tires grip then start to slide. For a split second, muscle memory kicked in - countersteering, adjusting, bringing the car back in line. Just like old times, except now I had more to lose than just a race.

Vanessa's interview played on repeat in my head, each word calculated for maximum damage. "While I support Elliot's choices" - like I'd chosen anything except trying to be there for our son. She'd always been good at that, turning my best intentions into weapons. Back when we first met, I'd thought it was clever how she could work a room, spin any situation to her advantage. Funny how the same skills that had once protected our image now threatened to destroy mine.

The empty road stretched ahead, a black ribbon cutting through nowhere. Out here, there were no cameras, no reporters asking about my "emotional state," no carefully crafted statements from Vanessa's PR team. Just me, the engine's purr, and enough darkness to swallow every shitty headline she'd generated.

A sign materialized in my headlights:"Welcome to Oakwood Grove - Population 2,847."

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