Page 52 of Racing for Redemption (Backmarker Love trilogy #1)

Consequences

William

B ack in my hotel room, my phone lights up with Blake’s name. Not Violet’s.

I stare at it like it’s a snake about to bite, letting it ring once, twice, three times while I gather the courage to answer.

This is it—the call that ends everything.

I can almost hear Violet’s voice delivering the news through Blake: “We’re terminating your contract effective immediately.

” I answer and hold the phone to my ear, eyes closed, waiting for the axe to fall.

“William.” Blake’s voice is terse, but not cold. “You’ve really stepped in it this time.”

“I know.” My throat feels raw, like I’ve been screaming. I haven’t. Not yet.

“Violet’s furious.”

“I figured.” I drag a hand down my face. “Is that why you’re calling instead of her? ”

“Precisely.” Blake sighs, and I picture him pinching the bridge of his nose as he does in the garage when something’s gone wrong. “If she called you right now, you’d be out of a seat before you could say ‘sorry.’ I like you a lot, William. So I intervened.”

The knot in my stomach loosens just slightly. Not fired. Yet .

“Thanks, Blake.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I need to understand exactly what happened. The media’s spinning a dozen different versions.”

I stand, pacing the small confines of my hotel room. Outside, the city buzzes with activity as team members pack up and check out, the weekend’s racing finished. For some, anyway.

“Harrington approached me after the medical center cleared me,” I begin, keeping my voice low. “Said he’d been watching my driving. Offered me a seat at either Vortex Satellite or Vortex Racing.”

Blake remains silent for a bit, as if theorizing, assessing the next steps, trying to understand where all of that came from. “Vortex Racing? Alongside Farrant?”

“Yeah.” The irony isn’t lost on me. The offer of a lifetime transformed into a career-threatening disaster in the span of ten minutes.

“And you turned it down?”

“Of course I did. I told him to speak to my manager if he was serious, that I was fully committed to Colton Racing.”

“So what went wrong? Why did you punch him? ”

I swallow hard. “He didn’t like that answer. Started trashing the team. Called our car a shitbox. Said the only reason we weren’t last in the championship was because of me.”

“That’s just Dominic being Dominic,” Blake says dismissively. “He’s been throwing barbs at Colton Racing since Frederick’s days.”

“Then he started on Violet.”

The line goes quiet. Blake knows Harrington’s history with the Colton family better than most.

“What did he say?” Blake finally asks, his tone careful. It's in moments like this that he resembles a father. Protective of Violet even if she's his boss, just like her father was.

I curl my free hand into a fist at the memory. “Called her incompetent. A trust fund kid playing at being Team Principal. Said she was accelerating the team’s downfall.”

“And you defended her honor by punching him in the face?” Blake’s tone is difficult to read—somewhere between exasperation and understanding, I can't really tell.

“Not just that.” I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. Blake is Violet’s confidant, has been for years, even before she took over the reins at Colton Racing. How much does he know about what happened in Melbourne? “He… insinuated things. About Violet and me.”

Another long silence. “What sort of things?”

I drop onto the small sofa against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “That I was sleeping with the boss for career advancement. That she was manipulating me. That I wasn’t the first driver she’d—” I break off, unable to repeat the words.

“And that’s when you hit him.”

“Yeah.”

Blake exhales heavily. “William, you realize he was baiting you, right? Dominic Harrington doesn’t say anything without calculating exactly what response he wants.”

“I know that now,” I admit. “Too late.”

“He wants to destabilize Colton Racing. He’s had a vendetta against this team since Frederick beat him to multiple championships in the 90s. And you played right into his hands.”

The truth stings worse than my bruised knuckles.

“I’m sorry, Blake. If Violet wants to fire me, I understand.

I’ll release a statement taking full responsibility.

” My hands are trembling, brow furrowed so deep it hurts, and my voice is quivering.

I'll accept the consequences, but seeing my dream die due to my own stupidity is…

frustrating. This isn't the ending I wanted.

That I dreamed of. Damn, I feel like crying right now.

“That’s not why I called,” Blake says. “I also called, because I noticed something, William. After Melbourne.”

My heart rate picks up. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve known Violet since she was a kid, hanging around her father in the garage. I know when something ’s changed in her life.” His voice softens. “Or when someone has.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “Blake, I—”

“I’m not asking for details,” he interrupts.

“That’s between you two. But, I noticed how you both were after Melbourne.

How you couldn’t stop looking at her during the flight to Dubai.

How she seemed… lighter. Happier than I’ve seen her in years.

Work has taken over her life to the point there are no longer any lines left to blur.

Work is her life. Her identity. If you take her away from there, even for a moment, you're a good thing in her life.”

I close my eyes, remembering. Violet’s soft smile as she tried to be professional on the flight. How she stole glances at me when she thought no one was watching.

“This situation with Harrington isn’t just about a punch,” Blake continues.

“It’s about why you threw it. And that’s why I called instead of Violet.

Because she’s too emotional right now with all the stress of trying to keep this team on track, not resting and having her career on the line, and she might make a decision she’d regret. ”

“Emotional?” I repeat, latching onto the word. Violet Colton, the woman who negotiates multimillion-dollar deals without blinking, who stares down the F1 old boys’ club without flinching—emotional about me?

“She’s been wearing your watch, William. Well, I'll assume it's yours, since I recall you had a similar looking one.”

The words hit me like another 51 Gs impact. “My watch?” A lump forms in my throat.

“She hasn’t taken it off in weeks. Keeps touching it during meetings when she thinks no one’s looking. ”

The vintage Omega my grandfather gave me when I won my first karting championship. I’d left it on Violet’s bedside table that night, my clumsy excuse to see her again.

“She wears it?” My voice sounds strange to my own ears.

“Every day.” Blake pauses. “Look, I don’t know exactly what’s between you two, and I don’t need to.

You’re both adults, and what you may or may not be doing isn’t affecting the team.

But I do know that Violet doesn’t let people in easily.

Not since her father died. Not since her mother passed away last year, right after she gave up on the promotion at Gritt Tires she worked so hard to get, and joined the team as it was sinking.

Actually, before all of that. The fact that she’s kept that watch, that she wears it… It means something.”

My chest aches with a feeling I haven’t allowed myself to name. Hope, maybe. I want to see her so badly.

“We haven’t seen each other since Melbourne,” I say quietly. “Just texts. Brief ones.”

“She’s been caught up in board meetings and sponsor negotiations.

Trying to save this team, William. The very few minutes she has free, she tries to rest. All this travel around the world is making her look like a zombie just going through the motions.

She’s not avoiding you. She's just incredibly busy.”

Is that true? The distance in her messages suggested otherwise. She's colder, more analytical, less teasing and weird deadpan humor there. She hasn't changed how she addresses me, but everything else is off right now. Like she's deliberately pushing me away .

“The board’s been watching her like hawks,” Blake continues.

“Ready to replace her at the first sign of failure. Yes, they're more open to her at the moment. That Melbourne result bought her breathing room, but they still don’t fully trust her judgment. Losing the points because of this incident has put her back on the chopping board. And now, with this Harrington situation…”

“I’ve made things worse,” I finish.

“Yes, and no. You’ve created a PR mess, certainly. But you’ve also shown loyalty to the team—and to her—that won’t go unnoticed. Once she cools down.”

I run a hand through my hair, trying to process everything. “So, what do I do now?”

“First, rest. That crash with Nicholas was serious, and you need to heal.” Blake’s voice takes on the paternal tone he sometimes uses with younger team members. “Second, prepare for the European triple-header. Imola, Monaco, Barcelona. Violet will be back in the paddock for those.”

My heart skips at the thought of seeing her again. “And then?”

“Then, you show her—and the world—why Colton Racing was right to sign you. Drive like hell, keep your head down, and don’t punch any more Team Principals, no matter what they say.”

A surprised laugh escapes me. “Solid advice.”

“I’m full of it.” Blake’s tone softens. “She’ll come around, William. Just give her time. ”

After we disconnect, I sit in the quiet of my driver’s room, turning Blake’s words over in my mind. Violet wearing my watch. Touching it during meetings. Being “emotional” about the Harrington incident.

Maybe I haven’t lost her yet. Maybe I was overthinking.

I pull out my phone and type a message, delete it, type again. What can I say that won’t make things worse? That will cross the professional divide without crossing lines she’s not ready for?

Finally, I settle on simplicity: I’m sorry. I’ll make it right.

I send it, not expecting a reply. Not right away. Maybe not at all.

But as I stand to leave, my phone buzzes. One word appears on the screen:

Monaco.

Not a dismissal. Not forgiveness, either. But a location. A meeting point. A second chance, perhaps. Or, the end of it all.

I press the phone to my chest, something like relief washing through me. The European triple-header. Imola, Monaco, Barcelona. Three races to prove myself. To Colton Racing. To the F1 world. And to Violet.

I slip the phone into my pocket and begin gathering my things. The season is far from over. And so, it seems, is my time with Violet Colton. Time to put my head in the game, filter out the distractions, and hope this bad juju is over for this triple header.