Page 89 of Racing for Redemption
Of vindication.
Of redemption.
Of a burden slightly lightened after years of crushing weight for this team.
I move without thinking, pushing through the crowd until I reach her. She looks up at me, mascara slightly smudged, vulnerability raw on her face in a way I’ve never witnessed before.
“Violet,” I say softly, extending my hand.
She takes it, allowing me to pull her to her feet. And then I’m hugging her, pulling her against me with a desperation I don’tfully understand. She’s rigid for only a moment before melting into it, her arms wrapping around my back.
“I did it,” I whisper into her hair. “I fucking did it, Violet.”
Her hands fist in the back of my race suit, simultaneously grounding and taking me to heaven in a split second. “You did it,” she confirms, voice thick with emotion.
We stand like that, oblivious to the cameras capturing the moment, to the team watching with knowing smiles, to the world outside our bubble.
When I pull back slightly, it’s only to look at her tear-streaked face. “I’m cashing in that hug,” she says with a watery laugh.
“Good.” I grin, framing her face with my hands. “Because I want to cash in my reward from winning our bet. I scored points—a lot of them.”
Her eyes shine with tears and something else—something that makes my heart race faster than any straight-line speed.
“I guess you did,” she acknowledges. “A metal show it is.”
“Next weekend,” I confirm. “After Bahrain. I know a place.”
We’re still too close, still touching in ways that cross the nebulous boundary between professional and personal. Neither of us seems inclined to step away. It’s too comfortable, and to me… it feels like a deserved reward for my hard work. Another excuse to hold her close against me.
“I should let you go,” she says finally, making no move to do so. “The media pen is waiting. They’ll have a thousand questions.”
“Let them wait,” I reply, gently wiping tears from her cheeks. “This is more important.”
I bury my head in her neck and cry for this win. For this team. For her. This is for her. This is for all the assholes that wrote us off.
She caresses the back of my head, goosebumps all over my skin as I sneakily brush my lips on her neck. Her arms tighten around me, her hand dropping to pat my back.
“William,” she begins, then stops, seemingly unable to find words.
“I know,” I say simply, because somehow, I do.
I reluctantly drop my hands, aware that the moment has stretched beyond what can be explained as professional celebration. But I can’t bring myself to regret it. I wipe my tears on my sleeves. I'm a mess right now.
“Go charm the press,” she says, composing herself. “It's your moment—enjoy it!"
“Oh, you know that's my thing.” I wink and make a promise. “This is just the beginning, Violet.”
I’m not talking about points or positions anymore, and from the way her breath catches as I touch her hand, she knows it.
As I turn toward the media pen, heart still thundering in my chest, I take one last look at her—Violet Colton, standing amid the celebration she’s fought so hard to create. Going to my parents’ side to hug them. That's a view I could get used to.
God… This fire burning inside me can’t be contained any longer.
Chapter 25
Craving
Violet
