Page 60 of Racing for Redemption (Backmarker Love trilogy #1)

Change the trajectory

Violet

My watch shows two hours until our own practice session begins.

William’s been holed up with the engineers since dawn, poring over telemetry data like it might reveal the secrets of the universe.

His dedication would be admirable if it didn’t come with a perpetual scowl whenever I enter the room.

Progress, but slow. Like everything with Colton Racing these days.

The hospitality area is quiet now—most of the team is scattered between garage and paddock.

Perfect. I arrange two bottles of water, and a plate of food on the table—nothing fancy, just race day fuel—protein, complex carbs, the works.

The kind of spread that says “we care about our drivers” without having to actually say it.

When Ethan Jordan walks in, he darts his blue eyes around the motorhome like he’s cataloging escape routes. His racing suit is unzipped to his waist, the sleeves tied around his hips. The Pritchett Racing logo emblazoned across his chest looks temporary, like a placeholder.

“Ms. Colton,” he says, extending his hand. His grip is firm, but not aggressive, carrying the strength of a future Formula 1 driver. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Violet, please.” I gesture to the table. “And thank you for coming. Impressive session out there.”

His cheeks flush slightly. “Could’ve been better. I missed the apex in Turn 7 twice.”

I smile. Self-critical. Another checkmark in his favor .

“Sit. Eat. I promise this isn’t an interrogation.” I push the plate toward him. “Our chef beats anything in the paddock, even Scuderia Nova’s. One of the few advantages of being a smaller team—we actually remember our people need to eat tasty food.”

He laughs; a genuine sound that momentarily strips away the professional veneer. He takes a sandwich, eyes widening after the first bite.

“Told you,” I say, settling into my chair.

“So,” he mumbles around a mouthful, then swallows. “Sorry. So, how’s your weekend shaping up?”

Smart move. Deflecting attention. Gathering information before revealing anything about himself.

“After Monaco? We can only go up.” I shrug. “William’s been in simulator hell all week. Nicholas is…” I pause, careful with my words. “Nicholas is doing his best.”

“Foster’s got real pace,” EJ says. “Everyone in the junior categories talks about him. Says he should’ve been in a top team years ago.”

“Everyone’s right.” I take a sip of water. “How are you finding F3? Big jump from F4?”

He nods, relaxing incrementally. “The cars feel like they’re trying to kill you in a completely different way. More power, less forgiveness.” His eyes light up. “But man, when you get it right? When everything clicks, and you hit every apex perfectly? It’s…” He trails off, looking for words.

“Like dancing with a tiger,” I finish. “Terrifying, but exhilarating. ”

“Exactly!” He leans forward. “Did you race? I mean, before—”

“Before I became the suit trying to save my father’s team?” I curl my lips into a half-smile. “Regional Kart Champion in the UK scene. Never made it further. Different era, different challenges.”

“That’s still impressive.”

I wave the compliment away. “We’re not here to talk about my dusty trophies. I’ve been watching you, Ethan. Not just today. Your race in Bahrain. Qualifying in Jeddah. You’ve got something rare.”

He sets down his sandwich, face suddenly serious. “What’s that?”

“You don’t just drive fast. You drive smart. Most rookies try to outbrake everyone into Turn 1. You’re setting up passes three corners ahead.” I lean forward. “Intelligence behind the wheel can’t be taught. Raw speed, plus strategic thinking—that’s the golden combination in F1.”

He stares at me, sandwich forgotten. “Ms. Colton—Violet—why exactly am I here?”

No point drawing it out. “Because I’m planning Colton Racing’s future, and I want you to be part of it.”

His shocked expression is genuine. I push forward.

“We’re finalizing a major sponsorship deal for next season. More resources, more development—and a refresh of our driver lineup.” My voice is even. “William stays. He’s our foundation. But Nicholas…” I spread my hands. “His contract ends this year, and we’re looking toward the future.”

“Me?” The word comes out almost inaudible.

“You.” I nod. “Not immediately for the race seat. That would be irresponsible. What I’m proposing is bringing you on as our reserve driver for the remainder of this season, while you continue in F3.

You’d work with our simulator team, attend briefings, get to know the engineering staff.

Learn how an F1 outfit operates from the inside.

Most importantly, you’d earn super license points during free practice sessions. ”

His breathing quickens. I sense the calculations happening behind his eyes.

“By season’s end, assuming your F3 performance continues on trajectory, and you consistently participate in free practice sessions in F1, you’d have enough points to qualify for an F1 license. We’ll finance the price of your license. And we’ll have a seat waiting for you.”

“That’s…” He shakes his head. “That’s a lot to process.”

“I know.” I give him time, taking another sip of water.

“Why me? There are drivers with more experience. Guys who’ve been in F2 for years.”

“Experience isn’t everything. Some drivers peak early in junior formulas.

Others…” I gesture toward him. “Others have growth trajectories that suggest they’ll excel at the highest level way before others.

Your technical feedback is exceptional—I checked with your current team boss.

You’re adaptable, coachable, and hungry. ”

He runs a hand through his tousled hair. “And William? He’d be okay with this?”

“William’s a professional. More than that, he’s brilliant with technical setup. You could learn more from him in six months than from five years in junior categories.” I smile. “Besides, having fresh talent on the team would push him even harder. Competition brings out his best.”

“What about… I mean, I have commitments to—”

“—Pritchett Racing. I know. We’d handle that diplomatically. Formula 1 is the goal for every young driver. No one would fault you for taking this opportunity.”

He takes a deep breath. “And if I struggle? If I’m not ready?”

“We provide support, not just expectation. This isn’t a sink-or-swim proposition, Ethan.

It’s an investment in your development, and our future.

” I lean back. “Look, I’m not asking for an answer today.

Talk to your manager. Consider your options.

But know this—other teams are starting to notice you.

I’d rather not be bidding against Kilp Motorsports, or Baretta Racing, six months from now. ”

A small smile tugs at his lips. “This feels surreal.”

“The best opportunities usually do.” I match his smile. “Racing is both brutal and beautiful, because everything can change in an instant—on and off track. One moment, you’re in F3, the next, you’re discussing an F1 future.”

“Can I ask why you’re doing this personally? Most teams send scouts or sporting directors for these conversations.”

Sharp question. Another checkmark .

“Because Colton Racing isn’t most teams. We’re smaller.

More connected. I believe in knowing every person who wears our colors.

I’m awful with names, but I love knowing everyone on the team.

” I pause. “And because talent recognition isn’t something you delegate when you’re fighting for survival in this sport. ”

He nods slowly, processing. “I should talk to my manager.”

“Absolutely. Have him call me directly.” I slide my card across the table. “My personal number’s on the back. Not my assistant’s. Mine. Promise me we’ll talk during the summer break, okay?”

He takes it carefully, like it might disappear. “I don’t know what to say, except thank you so much for the opportunity.”

“Don’t thank me yet. If you join us, the real work begins.” I stand, extending my hand. “We’d push you hard, Ethan. F1 isn’t just a faster car—it’s a different world. The pressure, the scrutiny, the politics. But I think you have what it takes.”

He rises, shaking my hand firmly. “I’ll call you. Soon.”

“I hope so.” I walk him to the door. “And Ethan? Whatever you decide, that was impressive driving today.”

His face breaks into a bright, genuine smile that reminds me of how young he is. Seventeen. The age when most people are worrying about college entrance exams, not million-dollar career decisions.

“Thank you, Ms.—Violet.”

“Good luck in qualifying tomorrow.”

After he leaves, I sink back into my chair, exhaling slowly. The motorhome door swings open again, and Blake walks in, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Well?” he asks, dropping into the seat Ethan just vacated.

“He’s perfect for the role.”

“Perfect is a strong word in this business.” Blake steals a sandwich from my plate. “But?”

“Smart. Self-aware. Asks good questions.” I tick off points on my fingers. “Doesn’t have an inflated ego. Technical understanding beyond his years. And did you see his sector times?”

“I did. Impressive.” Blake chews thoughtfully. “I can already imagine the board complaining about his results and blaming his age.”

“The board can look at Oliver Lenox’s championship trophies if they have concerns about age.

His championships were all in his late teens, early 20s.

” I lean forward. “We need this, Blake. William needs a teammate who can push him, and ease the burden of scoring points. The team needs fresh energy. And, I need to show the board I’m not just maintaining; I’m building for the future. ”

“Nicholas won’t take it well.”

“Nicholas has had three seasons to prove himself.” My voice softens. “He pisses everyone off in the team. Is disrespectful towards our female staff. Arrives drunk to practice sessions. Barely does sim time. He’s an awful driver. And ‘awful’ doesn’t get us points.”

Blake nods slowly. “You think the kid will say yes? ”

“His eyes gave him away. He wants this.” I smile. “Wouldn’t you, at seventeen? F1 is the dream.”

“For some, it’s a nightmare.” Blake’s expression grows serious. “We’d be responsible for him, Vi. Not just his career—his well-being. The media scrutiny, the pressure from sponsors... It changes people.”

“Which is exactly why he needs a team that cares.” I reach for my phone as it buzzes with a message. Belforte, catching up. Might as well tell him I have my eyes on the replacement for Nicholas I'd promised him.

One conversation. Sometimes, that’s all it takes to change the trajectory of a team. Of a career. Of a legacy.

I hope I just had that conversation.