Page 122 of Start Your Engines

“Don’t make me change your pre-race song to ‘Ego.’”

“I came to race, boss. And that’s what I intend to do. Trust me. Now, tell Tawny to stay close because we’re here to show the rest of the racing world what Coulter is capable of.”

I hold my head in my hands. I don’t know whether I should be happy that he loves racing again and wants us to be the best or panicked that he’s risking everything.

A finger pokes my shoulder. “Senna, can we talk?”

I meet my dad’s eyes. They droop, and his mouth turns down. He was always the most powerful man in the world to me, but he’s aged. There’s still wisdom and experience there, but something else, too.

“Yes, we can. But does it have to be now? It’s the last nine laps.”

“Please.”

Maybe it’s the distraction I need.

Niki joins him, and Ralf appears, too. I pull down my headphones so they hang around my neck. “I can’t leave this space, but I’ll listen. I have nothing more to add since the last time I spoke to you.” I nod at Niki, so he knows I mean him, too.

Dad swallows loudly. “I want to give up the team.”

“I know,” I reply. I glance at the screen, where Connor continues to fly down a straight and risk his tyres with every passing second. That fucking beautiful demon of a man.

Dad clears his throat. “I decided the best way to give up the team was to sell to someone like Antoine and his dad. I was stupid and didn’t see what was in front of me all this time. Connor made me come today, as he said I needed to witness what I was giving up regarding my future and the futures of those who have worked for me for years. He also said I was giving up the future you worked for, too.”

I smile softly. “Of course he did. He’s always believed in me.”

“And I didn’t, not enough. I thought I needed to protect you and give you a good life. But today was a revelation. This teamadores you. I saw how you get the performance out of them that I hadn’t in years. I’ve underestimated you for a long time, not just this year.” I nod. I’m not going to make him feel like shit. “I believed I was being a dad, but I wasn’t. I was an arsehole.”

“Yep,” Niki adds, and I shoot him a glare.

“You’ve been an arsehole, too.” I point at him.

“She speaks the truth,” Ralf says.

I grin. “Maybe we all need to listen to Uncle Ralf more.”

“No. We all need to listen to you more,” my dad replies, and I lean back in my chair, my eyes wide. He takes my hand and smiles when he sees my tattoo. “Your fastest lap time at Silverstone. I was so proud of you that day, although I was terrified. Over the last few years, I forgot to be proud of you and your skills. I’m so sorry. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and there is a lot to forgive, but I shall try and earn it over time.”

I swallow loudly. “Of course I forgive you, Dad. You make me so pissing angry, but I should’ve spoken up more. I tried so hard to be the person you wanted that I forgot who I really was. But that doesn’t mean you can’t still try harder. This is the first step.”

“Do I get your forgiveness, too?” Niki pipes up.

I roll my eyes. “You haven’t said sorry yet.”

“Oh yeah. I’m sorry, Senna,” he says as a blond curl drops onto his forehead. Although he sounds blasé, sweat beads his brow as he pushes the curl back under his cap.

“I should have believed in you as Connor did and believed in him, too. He’s a good man for you,” Niki says. “He told me you never needed our protection but, rather, our belief. He saw what I wouldn’t. I shouldn’t have needed to hear it from others or have the proof I saw today. You are incredible; in fact, I probably needed your protection more than you needed mine. I haven’t been able to protect myself.”

I stare into his eyes. His subtext is lost on me, but I vow to press him later.

I thumb the collar of my blouse as I survey my family. “The next time either of you treat me like that, we’re done. I will burn all my bridges and declare I have no family except Mum. Okay?”

They nod sheepishly. I glance at the screen. Connor is in second place, with Tawny behind him in third. Sickness fills my belly, and I kick my shoes off and pace a couple of steps.

“Macca?” I say into my radio mouthpiece.

“You can’t argue with him, and you shouldn’t, anyway. He knows what he’s doing,” Macca replies.

I grumble.

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