Page 7 of Racing for Redemption (Backmarker Love trilogy #1)

This doesn't have to be the end

William

I cried everything I had in me as soon as I reached my hotel room. I sat in silence, feeling like a husk. A couple of hours later, my parents did their best to comfort me through a video call, but nothing made that moment on track make sense to me.

The moment I lost everything.

James is already in the car, typing furiously on his phone.

Probably damage control after my earlier outburst. A sigh escapes my lips as I run a hand through my hair.

I exit the hotel's elevator, duffle bag in hand, swinging it casually as I make my way towards the lobby.

The soft hum of chatter fills the air, mingling with the gentle clinking of glasses from the bar area nearby.

As I round the corner to the exit,a familiar figure catches my eye, hunched at the bar, her silhouette illuminated by the warm glow of the dim lights giving life to the intimate bar.

It's her; a rush of memories come flooding back as I freeze in place, unsure of how to react .

Violet Colton—the woman I humiliated in the paddock. Even from here, the tension in her shoulders is obvious, and her fingers grip the glass too tightly. Her friend leans in, her demeanor soft, and her facade cracks for just a moment.

I freeze, struck by the raw vulnerability on her face.

It’s like looking in a mirror. Not even half an hour ago, I was the one breaking into tiny little pieces.

Crack by crack, slowly revealing a fragile person who didn't ask for any of the shit we deal with.

It comes with the territory, but it doesn't make it any less painful.

“Liam? You coming?” James calls.

I tear my gaze away, throat tight. “Yeah, just… give me a sec.”

Instinct tells me to move toward the bar, to apologize.

But I force myself in the opposite direction.

What would I even say? ‘ Sorry for being an ass earlier. Looks like we’re both having a shitty day.

Wanna bond over a beer ?’ She’d shoot me down immediately.

And with good reason. That’d be insensitive.

It seems she’s dealing with more shit than even I’m aware of.

And I punched the wall next to her during my outburst, so…

I'm someone she doesn't want to see around, that’s for sure.

The weight of disappointment settles heavily on my shoulders, making me slump as I sink into the car seat.

My muscles are tense, as if they are carrying the burden of not just this one loss, but all the previous defeats as well.

The familiar ache in my chest—a mix of frustration and sadness—spreads through my body like a heavy fog.

Yet, this time around, it hurts more than ever.

My previous title fight losses? Oh, boy, I'll admit it.

I was an ass, caused problems in the paddock, wasn't focused, was fined by the FIA for my hot-blooded behavior towards other drivers and ended up losing the title because of… me. I can accept that.

But this time around? I fought tooth and nail. I tried to clean up my act. To focus more on driving than anything else. I clawed my way back to first place in the F2 championship. And all for what? To have it stolen from me by a pampered prick with a big team supporting him.

My heart beats erratically. Each beat seems to echo the taunts and jeers from social media, the cruel words seeping into my veins like poison, and making me wonder if this is even worth it.

“You okay?” James asks, eyeing me warily.

I grunt, staring out the window, neon lights passing by in a blur as the hotel shrinks in the rearview mirror, and I can’t shake the image of Violet’s defeated posture. I mirror it without even putting in an effort.

“Think any F1 teams will still take me after today’s mess?” I mutter as I fiddle with the helm of my T-shirt.

The hum of the car's engine is all there is. Empty. Vague. Cold. And James’ silence is the punchline.

I clench my jaw, anger bubbling up. “It wasn’t even my fault. Those Vortex bastards took me out on purpose.”

James sighs, his gaze flicking to me before returning to the road. “Liam, even if it’s true, you can’t prove that.”

“Come on, James. You saw it. That wasn’t racing, that was a hit job." I face him. "Trust me, man! That fucker dive-bombed into my car. No one approaches a turn that way unless they wanna die, or take someone else out.”

The streetlights flicker across his face, casting shadows that make him look older, more tired. “Maybe. But accusing Vortex and their F2 academy team without actual proof won’t do you any favors. You’re just inviting more criticism, and you’ll look desperate.”

I slump in my seat, frustration coiling in my gut. “So what, I’m just supposed to roll over and take it? Wasn't there any radio chatter from their side we can use to support what I just said?”

"Unfortunately, they were tight-lipped about that during the race. They were speaking in what we can only assume was code, but then again, they were using racing lingo, so we can't just accuse them of something that sounds only slightly suspicious."

"So, I'm royally fucked, is that what it is?"

“No, but—” James hesitates, then plows on. “Look, forget those guys, they're a lost cause. About that altercation with Violet Colton…”

My cheeks burn at the memory. “What about it?”

“It was harsh, Liam. And not just to her. You’re burning bridges left and right. Everyone saw that.”

I want to argue, but the words stick in my throat. The image of Violet Colton at the bar flashes through my mind again. I should have apologized.

James’ voice softens. “I know you’re upset, but lashing out won’t help. At this rate, even reserve driver spots might be off the table. ”

The truth of his words hits like a punch to the gut. I close my eyes, fighting the sting of tears. “So, that’s it, then? All the hard work, and it’s all for nothing? A decade of sacrifices for nothing?”

James doesn’t immediately answer. When he does, his voice is heavy. “I don’t know, Liam. But right now, no one on the F1 paddock wants to touch you. You’re damaged goods.”

Damaged goods. I went from a promising talent in my first F2 season to damaged goods in my third.

I slump lower in the seat, my mind racing. I’m always the bridesmaid, seeing my dream of F1 slipping further away with each passing season. And now this—a meltdown in the paddock for all to see as the cherry on top. I’ve reached extra levels of recklessness. No. Stupidity.

“But, we’ll figure something out,” James says, his tone carefully neutral. “There are still options—”

“Like what?” I snap. “Begging for a seat with a desperate backmarker team? Racing in Formula E or being dragged to DTM? Being shipped to Super Formula in Japan?”

James sighs. “William, you’re one of the most talented drivers I’ve ever worked with, if not the most. But talent isn’t always enough in this sport.

We need to be smart, strategic. You need sponsors.

You need results. And you’ve been too eager, desperate even.

And because of that, you’ve been more reckless than ever.

" He sighs. "As you can tell, that isn’t paying off like it does with other drivers.”

I turn to stare out the window again, watching the Abu Dhabi skyline blur past. James is right. But knowing that doesn’t ease the ache in my chest, the gnawing fear that I’ve blown my shot at Formula 1.

Violet Colton’s face flashes in my mind again. The weariness in her eyes, the slight tremor in her hand as she gripped that glass. For a moment, a sense of kinship settles over me.

Two people drowning in a sea of expectations and disappointments.

Two people mocked left and right in the paddock.

Two people desperately searching for redemption.

It’s almost ironic how similar we are. She’s trying to save her backmarker team, and here I am, trying to save my ass and find a seat in Formula 1, as everyone avoids me like the plague.

“Any word on what happened with Colton Racing today?” I ask, trying to sound casual, but curiosity gets the better of me.

James raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you care about paddock gossip?”

I shrug, avoiding his gaze. “Just heard things in passing when we left the paddock.”

He eyes me suspiciously, but pulls out his phone and hands it to me. “Rumor is, Nicholas went rogue and tried to block Farrant while defending P20. Colton’s denying any team orders.”

This is next-level ridiculous. Defending P20? What? That's messed up. I nod, remembering the chaos I’d glimpsed on the screens. “Think she’ll survive this? ”

James snorts. “Doubtful. Word in the paddock is that the board’s already gunning for her, and now this? She’ll be lucky to last the month.”

Something twists in my gut. I think of Violet’s determined stride through the paddock that many commented on, the fire in her eyes when we collided. It seems wrong, somehow, for that fire to be snuffed out.

I pause, an idea forming. “James, hold up. I need you to set up another meeting next week.”

He frowns. “With who?”

I take a deep breath. “Violet Colton.”

James stares at me as if I asked for slicks during a wet race. “Violet Colton? Are you insane? You punched a wall next to her, raised your voice at her, and offended her and her team while everyone in the paddock watched. And you want to talk with her?”

I nod, my mind racing. “Look, I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out.”

“It’s not that it sounds crazy. It is crazy. But okay, I’m all ears,“ James says, his tone skeptical.

I lean forward, energy surging through me. “Colton Racing needs a driver. I need a seat. It’s not ideal, but—”

“Not ideal?” James interrupts, incredulous. “William, they’re dead last. They haven’t scored a single point all season. Actually, in an entire decade. They are the mockery of the paddock.”

“Exactly,” I press on. “Which means the only way to go is up. If I can drag that car into the points, even once—”

James shakes his head. “It’s career suicide. The media will trash both of you. I can’t imagine a worse partnership than you joining Colton Racing. You’d be better off waiting for a reserve driver spot with a midfield team.”

“And how long would that take?” I counter. “Another year? Two? I can’t afford to wait, James. You said it yourself—my options are running out. And, I know some sponsors want to pull out if I remain stuck in F2.”

He sighs, rubbing his temples. “Even if I thought this was a good idea for your career—which I don’t—what makes you think Violet Colton would even consider it? After your little performance earlier?”

I wince at the memory. “I’ll apologize. Grovel if I have to.

I’m good at groveling. Or, be extra nice and attentive and charm her.

Make her like me so much that she'll wonder why she hadn’t brought me in earlier.

My contract is cheap. They struggle with money.

Think about it—she’s as desperate as I am. This could be a win-win.”

James studies me for a long moment. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

I nod, my jaw set. “Dead serious.”

He sighs again, but I sense the wheels turning in his head. “Fine. I’ll see what I can do. But Liam?” His eyes lock onto mine. “If you get this meeting, don’t screw it up. This might be your last shot to get a seat in F1.”

As James pulls out his phone, I lean back, my heart racing. It’s a long shot, I know. But something about this feels right. Like maybe, just maybe, Violet Colton and I could save each other. I have a feeling. And my feelings have never failed me.