Page 12 of Racing for Redemption (Backmarker Love trilogy #1)
The underdog story
Violet
T he next few weeks pass in a blur.
William throws himself into preparations with a fervor that surprises even me. He’s in the simulator every day, poring over data with the engineers late into the night. His dedication is infectious, breathing new life into the team.
On the other end, Nicholas is still on vacation and isn’t replying to any calls or messages, despite demanding a contract extension.
Our relationship with him is a bit unusual, given that he is the son of Gritt Tires' CEO. We can’t fire him without erupting the ire of his father and having them pull valuable resources from the team.
His absence tells me enough to understand his approach to this team.
And now, I wish Blake could scout that kid from F3 that everyone has been murmuring about in the paddock, but has yet to be snatched by a team.
If I can bring him in as our sim and reserve driver, that’d be perfect. But one thing at a time .
Today marks a milestone—William’s first real test in the car.
As I stand in the pitlane of our private test track in Silverstone, the anticipation thrums through the air.
The mechanics make final adjustments, their movements precise and practiced.
They’ve done this time and time again, but the smiles and the bright eyes are clear as day.
Last season, they were almost broken and defeated, but now… They have hope again.
And I won’t lie. My hands are sweaty with the excitement of seeing a new driver behind the wheel.
We’ve been working relentlessly in improving the car with his feedback from the sim and all data from last year, but simulations are just that.
Now, the real thing happens, and I’m worried the car will drag itself on track instead of improving.
Damn. Please tell me I won’t need to shake anyone’s hands, because it would be awkward to bathe them in my worries .
William emerges from the garage, already zipped into his driver’s suit. His eyes are bright with excitement, but there’s a focused intensity to his demeanor that is striking.
“Ready?” I ask as he approaches.
He nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “Well… It depends on whether you’ll praise me or not.”
Is he kidding me? “Mr. Foster?” My eye twitches. We’re not that close for this type of joke.
“Yes?” He smirks, knowing he’s getting on my nerves, but enjoying it all the same.
“I asked, are you ready?”
“Born ready, boss. ”
As he climbs into the cockpit chuckling, I lean in close. “Remember, this isn’t about setting lap records. We need clean, consistent runs to gather data. Understand?”
William’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I’m struck by the determination in his gaze. “Crystal clear. I won’t let you down.”
As the engine roars to life, I step back and take my seat at center garage, monitoring the time sheets. The car pulls away, and I turn to the monitors, heart racing despite my best efforts to remain calm. I’m not the one driving, but right now, I could puke.
The first few laps are cautious as William gets a feel for the car’s limits. But soon, he’s pushing harder, finding the edge of grip in each corner. The lap times start dropping, and the excitement builds in the engineers’ voices as they analyze the telemetry.
“He’s quicker than Kevin already,” one of them murmurs, disbelief evident in his tone.
I nod, allowing myself a small, nervous smile. “Let’s see if he can maintain it over a longer run.”
As if hearing my challenge, William’s pace becomes even more consistent. Lap after lap, he hits his marks with precision, providing invaluable data for the team. The engineers are having a field day with him. This is the busiest I’ve seen them since I took over the team.
After an hour, I give the signal to the team to bring him in. The car slides to a stop in front of the garage, and William climbs out, pulling off his helmet and balaclava. His face is flushed with exertion, but his hazel eyes are bright with adrenaline .
“Well?” he asks, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice. “Did I do well?”
I study the time sheets for a moment before meeting his gaze.
He blew Kevin’s and Nicholas’ performances out of the park.
He was running the car at midfield times.
Midfield times. Let that sink in, Violet.
This is insane. “Not bad,” I concede, fighting to keep my tone neutral.
The last thing I want is a cocky driver, so I won’t overpraise him; his head needs to fit the helmet, not outgrow it. “But there’s room for improvement.”
William grins, seeing through my facade. “Admit it, Colton. I impressed you. You’re just being tough, because you liked what you saw.”
I roll my eyes, but can’t quite suppress a smile. “Don’t let it go to your head. We’ve got a long way to go before we’re competitive.”
“The times say otherwise… boss .” He winks and taps my shoulder before joining the engineers.
William engages enthusiastically with them, gesturing animatedly as he describes the car’s handling, goes over the kinks that can be smoothed, and little tweaks needed to bring this car to life on track.
There’s an energy radiating from him that seems to infect everyone around.
Even the most jaded mechanics are smiling, caught up in his excitement.
You know when you bring a golden retriever to work, and everyone’s faces light up? That’s what happens with William around .
For a moment, I allow myself to hope. Wish. Dream. Maybe, just maybe, we can turn this around.
Blake shows up beside me, tablet in hand. “Impressive stuff,” he murmurs, nodding towards William. “But, we’ve got a problem.”
My stomach drops. “ What now ?”
He hands me the tablet, open to an email from our PR team. The subject line makes my blood run cold:
“ FOSTER SIGNING LEAK - DAMAGE CONTROL NEEDED ”
I skim the contents, gritting my teeth a little harder with each word. Someone on the team leaked William’s signing to the press before we could make an official announcement. Social media is already ablaze with speculation, and predictably, mockery.
“Shit,” I mutter, handing the tablet back to Blake. “How bad is it?”
He grimaces. “It’s us and Foster. What do you think, Violet?
The usual jokes about desperate teams, and washed-up drivers getting into bed together.
Memes about us being ticking bombs. How we’ve brought together the two worst things in the sport.
But, there’s also some genuine interest. People are curious to see how this plays out. ”
I nod, my mind racing. “Okay, we need to get ahead of this. Draft a press release, emphasizing William’s potential, and our commitment to rebuilding around him. And get me a meeting with our social media team. We need to control the narrative. ”
“Rebuilding around a driver on a one-year contract?” Blake questions as he holds onto the tablet.
Damn. I honestly forgot about that. “Well, then we have to confirm that the contract has a two-year option that we can opt-in if he performs well during the year, which we predict will happen. Put emphasis on that, please.”
As Blake hurries off, I turn back to the garage.
William is still deep in conversation with the engineers, oblivious to the storm brewing online.
For a moment, I consider keeping him in the dark.
Let him focus on driving while we handle the PR mess.
Even if I predict that “PR mess” is going to be the best way to describe us this season.
But no. That’s not how I want to start this partnership.
“Foster,” I call out, my voice cutting through the chatter. “A word?”
He looks up, surprise flickering across his face at my tone. As he approaches, the concern in his eyes is obvious.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, lowering his voice.
I take a deep breath. “The signing leaked. It’s all over social media.”
William’s expression darkens. “Oh… How bad?”
“About what you’d expect,” I reply, watching his reaction carefully. “Lots of jokes at our expense. But also some genuine interest. Emphasis on ‘some,’ but it is there.”
He nods slowly, processing the information. Then, to my surprise, a smirk spreads across his face. “Well, we knew they’d laugh at us. Might as well get it out of the way early, right? ”
I blink, taken aback by his response. “You’re… not upset?”
William shrugs. “What’s the point? Let the snakes sing. We can’t change what’s already out there. All we can do is prove them wrong on the track.”
His no-bullshit attitude is infectious, and some of the tension leaves my shoulders, which is… unexpected. “Well, I’m glad you’re taking it in stride. But we still need to manage this carefully.”
He nods, his expression turning serious. “What do you need from me?”
I consider it for a moment. “We’ll need to do some interviews, get ahead of the narrative. Are you up for that?”
“Absolutely,” he says without hesitation.
“Whatever it takes to make this work. Look, I’ll even share something with you: I’ve heard several times that I’m handsome, so I can charm the cameras all you want.
How many winks do you need me to do? Do I need to show my abs or something? Wear extra-tight jeans?”
His eagerness catches me off guard. Damn, he’s so ridiculous. A far cry from the volatile hothead I’d encountered in Abu Dhabi.
“Alright then,” I say, allowing myself a small smile. “Let’s give them something to talk about.” I pause. “But no abs flashing on camera, or extra-tight jeans, okay?” I don't want to add us becoming a thirst-trap F1 racing team.
He chuckles. “Not for them, at least.” He winks and goes to his driver’s room, leaving me speechless. I’m sorry, w hat?
Over the next few days, we launch a media blitz for the first time. On one hand, it shows how amateurish we are at this, but on the other, we’ve never had to do it in the past, because my dad was an amazing CEO and Team Principal. And I’m far from that.