Page 39 of Racing for Redemption
Johnson smiles. “Exactly what I said. We can adjust with setup, of course. Won’t be perfect, but it’ll do.”
I circle the car again, mentally comparing it to what I know of our competitors. Vortex Racing will still have the power advantage; their engine program is second to none. ProTech Energex Racing and Scuderia Nova will be strong as always. But this car… There’s serious potential here. Maybe not for wins—not yet. But to climb out the back of the grid? Absolutely.
These are the conversations I live for. The technical details, the endless pursuit of milliseconds. Nicholas has drifted back to his phone, scrolling with bored indifference. How can he not care about the machine that has his life riding on it every race weekend?
“What about the rear suspension?” I ask, moving to the back of the car. “Last year’s model had serious issues with tire degradation on the left rear.”
“We’ve addressed that,” Blake says. “New geometry entirely. Plus, a damper system that should be more responsive to changing track conditions.”
Nicholas finally seems to wake up. “We didn’t have tire degradation issues.”
What?It takes all my control to not let out an expletive. During my sim time when I joined the team, it took me exactly three laps to identify the problem.
“It was pretty significant,” Johnson explains diplomatically. “The left rear was wearing about twenty percent faster than it should have been. Created major balance issues in the second half of races.”
Nicholas shrugs. “I didn’t notice anything special.”
That’s because you crashed out of half the races before the tire wear became critical, I think, but don’t say. Instead, I move to the cockpit, running my fingers along the edge of the monocoque.
In my head, I’m already driving this car. Imagining how it might respond through Eau Rouge, how it might handle the slow hairpins of Monaco, and the high-speed sweeps of my favorite track, Silverstone. Every circuit presents its own challenges, its own opportunities.
A good driver adapts.
A great driver anticipates.
A bad one… Well… A bad one scrolls on their smartphone, not giving two fucks about what’s happening.
Johnson looks at me with new respect. “William, most drivers wouldn’t bother with that level of analysis before even driving the car.”
I shrug. “I’m not like most drivers. I like engineering and being prepared for anything.”
Behind us, the door to the technical area swings open. There’s a subtle shift in the room’s energy—a straightening of spines, a sharpening of attention. I turn, and there she is.
Violet Colton enters with purposeful strides, her dark curls framing her face in a way that somehow looks both perfectly styled, and effortlessly natural. She’s wearing a tailored charcoal suit with violet accents, and a white blouse that makes her eyes seem even more intense. She means business.
“Gentlemen,” she says, her gaze sweeping over us. “How’s the introduction going?”
“Very well,” Blake answers. “William here has already identified half the technical changes we made.”
Violet’s gaze finds mine, and for a moment, I’d swear sweat was trickling down my spine. There’s something about the direct way she looks at people—like she’s reading code only she can decipher.
“Impressive,” she says, the slightest lift at the corner of her mouth. Not quite a smile, but something. “Though, I wouldn’t expect any less from someone who convinced us he’d memorized every piece of telemetry data from our test sessions.”
My face warms. “Just doing my homework, Ms. Colton.”
“Violet,” she corrects, and my heart does a strange little sidestep. “We’re not formal around here. At least, not with each other. I want us to be a family, and those formalities ruin the mood completely.” I'm still trying to understand how professional I should be around her.
She nods, her attention moving to the car, then to Nicholas—who’s still on his phone, quite possibly texting someone—and finally, to me. Our gazes lock for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Something flutters in my chest—a wingbeat of nervousness I haven’t felt since my first F3 race.
“What do you think as a whole, William?” she asks.
The sound of my name from her mouth does strange things to my concentration. I swallow. “It’s impressive. The aero package especially. This car seems much faster in comparison. But, I haven’t tried it, or seen the detailed specs, so I’ll hold my enthusiasm for when I get behind the wheel.”
She smiles—a small, controlled gesture that nevertheless transforms her face. “I’ll pass that along to the design team. They’ve been working around the clock.”
Nicholas finally pockets his phone. “Looks fast,” he offers. “Can’t wait to drive it.”
Generic answers that could apply to any year’s car. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
