Page 27 of Racing for Redemption
“How’re you holding up, Liam?” he asks when I pick up the call.
I chuckle. “Feeling like I’ve been hit by big dudes during a mosh pit, but loving every minute of it. The F1 cars are too powerful.”
“Good,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Because it’s only going to get more intense from here. The media is at your throats right now, every move overanalyzed, so be careful. Oh… and how’s Violet treating you?”
At the mention of her name, a strange flutter appears in my chest. “She’s… not what I expected,” I admit. “Tough as nails, yeah, but there’s a fire in her, and she’s fair, so I can’t complain. She really believes we can turn this team around.” Her steely determination, the flicker of hope I’d seen in her eyes during testing comes to mind. I made a ridiculous proposition. She was equally crazy for accepting it. That says a lot about how she’s betting it all on us working well together, and I’ll be damned if I let her down. She wants our team to be P8 in the Constructors’ Championship, so I’ll work my ass off for that. And hope our second driver is all in on that.
“And do you?” James asks, his tone serious.
I pause, considering. “Yeah,” I say finally. “Yeah, I think we can. It won’t be easy, but… I don’t know, James. There’s something special here. I can feel it. The car may be lacking—a lot—but there’s room for improvement even this year. I don’t know if we’ll be trailing P20 or P15, but my gut says we won’t see P20 as frequently as the team has seen in the past decade. At least not while I’m around.”
After we hang up, I scroll through social media. The reaction to my signing has been mixed, to say the least. Plenty of jokes at my expense, and memes about Colton Racing scraping the bottom of the barrel.Hey guys, even scraping the bottom of a Nutella flask would please you; I don’t understand the over-dramatic reception to this news.The scraps are not necessarily bad. They can still give a small pleasure to people. A spark. I am that spark.
But it’s good to see that there’s also curiosity, even a bit of excitement from some fans.
I want that curiosity to be the norm to quiet those doubting voices.
I want the supporters to be loud as fuck.
One comment catches my eye: “Foster and Colton? It’s either going to be a total disaster, or the comeback story of the decade. Either way, I’m here for it.”
I grin, screenshotting the post. Maybe I’ll show it to Violet tomorrow. She could use a laugh. Oh, now that I think about it… She doesn’t laugh much. I’ve caught glimpses of that sweet, warm smile at times, but she keeps it so serious, it seems she’s never entirely comfortable or trusting of anyone. Besides that friend I saw her with at that hotel in Abu Dhabi, and Blake, who I saw her side hugging, I really don’t see her hanging out with anyone.
Maybe she has a fulfilling life as a CEO and Team Principal, traveling the world, making money, and dating rich guys. I don’t know. That’s the norm in the paddock. Yet, she strikes me as alonely person. Like she wants to close herself in and fight her wars alone, even if she’s surrounded by people. Like she doesn’t want to crumble in front of anyone, not even herself. Like she doesn’t let people in, because she’s afraid of feeling pain.
A bit like me.
As I’m about to put my phone down, notifications pop up. It’s a set of messages from Violet:
William, Good work this week. Your performance in testing exceeded expectations, and you handled the media well. Keep it up.
We have a team dinner tomorrow night. Mandatory attendance. Casual dress. 8 PM at La Trattorica.
Don’t be late.
- V. Colton
I can’t help but smile at her terse tone. Always the boss, that one. But I’ve started to see glimpses of the woman behind the steely facade. The passion in her eyes when she talks about the team’s legacy. The way her lips twitch, fighting a smile, when I nail a particularly good lap.
I type out a quick reply:
Wouldn’t miss it for the world, boss. I’ll even wear my fancy black jeans. I’ll look extra pretty for you.
I hesitate for a moment before hitting send, wondering if the joke is too much. But then, I think of the spark I’ve seen in her eyes when we banter, and I go for it.
She replies:
Just make sure you’re on time, Foster. And leave the jokes at home. Also, “extra pretty” won’t win you points with the engineers.
I chuckle, imagining her rolling her eyes as she typed that response. There’s no real bite to her words, though. I’m starting to recognize when she’s genuinely annoyed versus when she’s just maintaining her tough exterior. She’s easy to read. She’s… pretty adorable.
As I set my phone aside and stretch out on the couch, I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s dinner. Not just for the food, or the chance to bond more with the team, but for another opportunity to chip away at Violet’s carefully constructed walls. I need to be her friend. That’s my goal now.
There’s something about her that intrigues me. Maybe it’s the way she carries the weight of her family’s legacy on her shoulders, never faltering even when things look bleak. Or perhaps, it’s the rare moments when her guard slips, and I catch a glimpse of the passionate, determined woman beneath.
Whatever it is, I’m drawn to her in a way I can’t quite explain. And it’s not just physical attraction, though I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed how striking she is. She’s absolutely gorgeous. A goddess. But there’s something deeper. A sense that we’re kindred spirits in a way—both fighting against the odds, both with something to prove. Both needing the other. And both—
Nah, I’m going to stop my thoughts from going there, or I’ll be entering a territory I should not explore now. I’ve got to prove myself on the track. Everything else can wait. After all, I’ve got a legacy to help rebuild, and my own reputation to salvage.
