Page 22 of Racing for Redemption
Reeves leans forward, his gaze narrowed. “And what guarantee do we have that you won’t self-destruct like you did in F2?”
William doesn’t flinch. “No guarantees in this sport, sir. One day, we're heroes, the next, we're zeros. But I give you my word—I’m all in. One hundred percent.”
I step up beside him, sensing that I need to reinforce the point; otherwise, they’ll not take any of this seriously. “Gentlemen, this is our chance to turn things around. To show the world that Colton Racing isn’t done yet.”
The tension in the room is palpable as the board members confer in hushed tones. Finally, Reeves looks up.
“Very well, Ms. Colton. You’ve made your bed and chosen the person you’ll be sharing it with. Now, lie in it. But remember our deal—eighth place, if not better, or you’re out.”
I nod, relief washing over me. “Understood, Chairman.”
As we exit the boardroom, William lets out a low whistle. “Well, that was intense.”
I can’t help but let out a soft chuckle. “Welcome to Colton Racing, Mr. Foster. This is just the beginning.”
William grins, a spark of excitement in his eyes. “Bring it on, boss.”
As we walk down the corridor, a new energy hums between us. “So,” William says, breaking the silence, “when do I get to drive the car?”
I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Eager, are we?”
He shrugs, but I can see the anticipation radiating off him. “Just want to get a feel for what I’m working with.”
I check my watch, considering. “The mechanics should be finishing up the postseason checks. How about a quick seat fitting, then we’ll see about getting you some sim time?”
William's face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning as he eagerly awaits direction. "Lead the way, boss," he exclaims with a beaming smile.
As we enter the garage, the buzz of activity dies down. All focus shifts to us, curiosity and speculation evident on every face. I clear my throat.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet William Foster. He’ll be driving for us next season.”
A moment of stunned silence, then a smattering of applause. The mix of hope and skepticism is evident in my team’s eyes. They’ve been through so much disappointment.
William steps forward, his posture relaxed but determined. “I know I’m not who you were expecting,” he says, his voice carrying across the garage. “But, I promise you this—I’ll give everything I’ve got to this team. Every lap, every race, every point. We’re in this together. The board of directors doesn’t seem to like me, but they didn’t fire me, so it’s a start. I’ll charm them eventually.”
A couple of people laugh at his self-deprecating joke.
As his words sink in, there’s a subtle shift in the atmosphere. It’s not adoration or even full acceptance yet, but it’s a start.
As the mechanics swarm around William, getting him fitted for the seat, there’s a presence at my elbow. It’s Blake, his expression a mix of concern and cautious optimism. As if sensing my gaze, William looks up, flashing me a thumbs up from the cockpit. He’s a bit…goofy? Happy-go-lucky? Maybe it’s all a 'play pretend' thing, but that’s throwing me off a bit.
“Alright, Foster,” I call out. “Let’s see what you can do.”
The simulator room hums with anticipation as he settles into the rig. I stand behind the engineers, arms crossed, watching his every move. This is it—our first real test.
“Alright, we’ve loaded Silverstone,” the lead engineer says. “Take it easy on your out lap, and get a feel for the car. These are last year’s specs.”
William nods, his focus laser-sharp as the virtual track materializes around him. The room falls silent, save for the simulated engine noise, and the click of his inputs on the wheel.
As he completes his first flying lap, I lean in to check the time, and I’m pleasantly surprised. It’s faster than anything Nicholas or Kevin managed all season.
“Not bad,” I murmur, trying to keep my voice neutral. “How’s the balance feeling?”
“Bit understeery in the high-speed corners,” William replies, not missing a beat as he navigatesMaggottsandBecketts. “But nothing unmanageable. This thing’s got potential. And it’s certainly faster than an F2 car.”
I exchange glances with Blake, who looks equally impressed. “Push it harder,” I instruct. “Let’s see where the limit is.”
William doesn’t need to be told twice. His next lap is even faster, the virtual car dancing on the edge of adhesion. As he crosses the line, shaving another half second off his time, a ripple of excitement runs through the room.
