Page 3 of Redeeming Melodies

The conference roomlights were unforgiving as ever, their fluorescent glare bouncing off every polished surface like they were trying to expose every flaw, every crack in my carefully maintained facade. I adjusted my racing jacket - the oneplastered with sponsor logos that probably cost more than my first car - and took a deep breath.

Showtime.

I'd used to love these pressers. Back when I had something real to smile about, when going home meant more than empty rooms and unanswered texts to my son. Now it felt like wearing a mask that was getting heavier by the second.

"Mr. Blue! Over here!"

The voices started before I even reached my designated seat at the long table. Microphones pointed at me like accusatory fingers, camera lenses tracking my every move. I flashed them my signature grin - the one that had graced countless magazine covers and cereal boxes. The one that felt more like a grimace these days.

"After that incredible finish today, Elliot! How are you feeling?"

I settled into the chair, adjusting the microphone with practiced ease. "Still running on adrenaline, if I'm being honest. The team gave me a perfect car out there, and everything just clicked."

Lilah Straus from the New York Press was there - because of course she was, probably hoping to dig up some local dirt. Her keen eyes fixed on me like a hawk spotting prey. I'd have to watch my step with her. One wrong word and Vanessa would have more ammunition for the custody battle.

"That last lap was breathtaking," a reporter from Racing Weekly called out. "Talk us through what was going through your mind."

I leaned forward, letting out a laugh that sounded natural enough to fool anyone who didn't know better. "No secret - just hard work, an incredible team, and maybe a little luck." My fingers drummed against the table's surface, a nervous tick I couldn't quite control. "Though I'd say the real secret is thecoffee they serve in the pit. Strong enough to power the car itself."

The room rippled with appreciative chuckles. Good. Keep them laughing, keep them comfortable. A comfortable reporter was less likely to ask the questions that hurt.

"Speaking of power," another voice piped up, "how do you maintain such a high level of focus with everything else going on in your life?"

My stomach clenched. Shit. Here we go.

"Racing demands complete concentration," I replied smoothly, years of media training kicking in. "When I'm behind the wheel, nothing else exists except the track and the car. That's the beauty of it, really."

"Your stable family life has always been credited as part of your success-"

"Let's focus on today's victory," I cut in, perhaps a bit too sharply. The room tensed slightly, and I forced myself to soften my tone. "I mean, that's what we're all here for, right?"

A commotion at the back of the room made my heart stop. Because of fucking course she'd do this now. Vanessa glided in, her designer heels clicking against the floor like a countdown to disaster. But it was the sight of Tommy beside her that sucker-punched me right in the gut.

My son's face lit up the moment he spotted me, and damn if that didn't make everything else fade away for a second. His racing jersey - my number, my name across his back - was slightly too big for him, the sleeves rolled up just like I'd shown him. Eight years old and already the spitting image of me, right down to the mess of ginger hair that never stayed put.

"Dad!" Tommy broke free from Vanessa's perfectly manicured grip and bolted toward me. The reporters parted like the Red Sea, cameras whirring to life. This was exactly what Vanessa wanted - the perfect family photo op.

I caught Tommy in a bear hug, lifting him off his feet. "Hey, champ! Didn't know you were coming today."

"Mom said it was a surprise!" He pulled back, green eyes sparkling with excitement.

Vanessa approached, each step calculated for maximum effect. Her smile was picture-perfect, the same one she'd worn when we first met - before the fame, before the money, before everything went to shit.

"We couldn't miss daddy's big moment, could we, sweetie?" Her voice dripped honey, but her eyes were Arctic cold when they met mine.

The reporters ate it up, their cameras capturing every moment of this carefully orchestrated performance. Vanessa knew exactly what she was doing, positioning herself close enough to look supportive but not so close that it seemed desperate.

"Mrs. Blue, how does it feel supporting Elliot's career during this transition period?" Lilah fucking Straus again, pushing boundaries like always.

Vanessa's laugh tinkled like expensive crystal. "Oh, please, call me Vanessa. And family always comes first, doesn't it, Elliot?" She placed a hand on Tommy's shoulder, her fingernails - painted the exact shade of my racing team's logo - digging in slightly. "We're all so proud of what Elliot's accomplished."

Tommy nodded enthusiastically, oblivious to the undercurrents. "Dad was amazing today! He's the fastest! He's the best there is!"

"With you cheering me on? No doubt about it."

The questions continued, but now they were all family-focused. Each answer felt like walking through a minefield. One wrong step and everything would explode.

During a brief pause while the photographers adjusted their equipment, Vanessa leaned close, her perfume - still the same brand from when we were married - making my head spin.

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