Page 115 of Racing for Redemption
“Fucking hell, William!” Tom shouts in my ear. “That was incredible! Overtake of the season! P10, two laps to hold on!”
The final laps are a masterclass in defense. My tires are starting to go off, but I manage the grip, placing the car perfectly to prevent any counterattack. When I take the checkered flag in P10, securing another point for the team, the relief is so intense, I let out a whoop of celebration.
“Brilliant drive!” Tom’s voice is jubilant. “Absolutely brilliant! The team is going crazy here.”
I pump my fist as I pass the pit wall, seeing the crew members jumping and cheering. This is what we race for—these moments where strategy, skill, and courage come together perfectly. After the mess of the previous races, it's good to see there's more to us.
Back inparc fermé, I climb out, pulling off my helmet and balaclava. Sweat pours down my face, my race suit clinging to my body, but I couldn’t care less. Another points finish. More proof that Colton Racing is climbing back from the abyss. We’re getting there. With hiccups, but we’re getting there.
The garage is electric when I return. Mechanics high-five me, engineers clap me on the back. Tom pulls me into a bear hug.
“That final stint was inspired,” he says. “Absolutely inspired.”
I scan the celebration, looking for her. For Violet. But she’s not here. Neither is Blake, or that Belforte guy. Something deflatesslightly inside me. I’d wanted to see her face when we secured another point. Wanted to share this moment with her.
“They had to see the potential sponsor out,” Johnson explains, noticing my searching gaze. “But they were watching the whole race. Violet couldn’t take her eyes off the monitors. The Belforte guy almost became your cheerleader.”
I nod, forcing a smile. “Business first. I get it.”
And I do get it. But I don’t have to like it.
The celebration continues, and I let myself enjoy it. The team deserves this; they’ve worked miracles with this car, transforming it from a backmarker into a points-scorer. I pose for photos, give a quick interview to the waiting press in the media pen, and praise the strategy and execution.
But underneath it all, there’s a hollow feeling. After months without seeing her, she returns, only to disappear again. This is exactly what she warned me about in Melbourne—that work would always come first. That anything between us would always be secondary to the team, to Colton Racing.
Either way, I have to chin up and take what I can get, because the alternative—not having her in my life at all—is unthinkable.
Chapter 33
Gnawing at me
William
I’ve been to Monaco ten times in my racing career, but this is the first time my heart’s thumped this hard against my ribs. Being in the same city, breathing the same salty Mediterranean air as Violet, but still not touching her—it’s a special kind of torture I never signed up for. At least we will finally find some time to talk.
Imola was hell. Seeing her across the paddock, watching her walk with purpose, her brown curls bouncing with each confident step. Close enough to call out to, too far to touch. I kept my distance. She did, too. Our eyes met twice the entire weekend, and each time, it was like a blow to the chest.
The Monaco hotel lobby gleams with polished marble. Porters in crisp uniforms hustle around with expensive luggage. I drag my carry-on toward the check-in desk and spot Blake, his gray hair neat as always, scrolling through his phone.
“William!” Blake’s face lights up when he sees me. “How was your flight?”
“Uneventful.” I drop my bag at my feet. “Which is exactly what you want in air travel.” Traveling in economy class is a special kind of hell. I'm just happy I didn't have to tell someone to shut up, or stop kicking the back of my seat.
Blake chuckles, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Ready for this weekend? Monaco’s always special.”
“Special and terrifying. One wrong move, and you’re kissing the barrier.” I lean against the counter. “But yeah, I’m ready. Car felt good in the sim.”
“That crash in Bahrain still bothering you?” Blake narrows his gaze slightly, scanning my face. “Nicholas really did a number on you there.”
My shoulder twinges at the memory. 51 Gs. The medical team said I was lucky. “I’m fine. Nothing physio couldn’t fix.” I can't tell him about the tremors. The anxiety—from a previous accident—I thought I'd dealt with… crawling back. I'll do everything to rein it in. Control it before it controls me. My therapist has been helping.
“Good man.” Blake claps my shoulder. “We need you at one hundred percent. P9 in the Constructors’ isn’t perfect, but certainly not a fluke, and we’d like to keep it that way.”
I nod, trying to look focused on racing when my mind keeps drifting elsewhere. Blake collects his room key and heads toward the elevator bank. As the doors slide open, my breath catches.
Violet stands inside, one hand clutching a long dress cover that obscures most of her body. Her hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail, dark circles visible under her eyes. Even exhausted, she’s beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache. My fingers twitch, and I put my hands in the pockets of my trousers to not give away how my body reacts to her presence.
Our eyes lock for exactly three seconds before Blake steps in, greeting her with a comfortable side hug. The doors close, and she’s gone again.
