Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
VIOLET
My eyes snapped open, heart slamming into my ribs. For half a second, I forgot where I was. The unfamiliar ceiling, the too-soft sheets, and the faint smell of detergent reminded me.
Griffin’s guest room. His house.
His daughter wailed beside my bed.
I groaned, pressing my fingers against my temples before pushing myself upright. The digital clock on the nightstand glowed an accusatory 2:17 AM. Hazel had lasted a whole three hours.
Kicking off the sheet, I stumbled over a stupid decorative pillow I’d shoved onto the floor earlier. My balance wobbled, and I caught myself against the nightstand, cursing under my breath. Hazel’s cries rose in pitch, escalating from annoyed to outright furious.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I whispered, hurrying to the car seat. “What’s wrong, sweet girl?”
The dim glow of the nightlight cast a soft haze over her scrunched-up face, tiny fists flailing.
I lifted her carefully, cradling her against my shoulder.
She was warm, squirming, utterly furious.
Her tiny body trembled with the force of her cries, her mouth open wide, gulping frantic breaths between each wail.
Nappy dry. No fever that I could detect. No obvious distress beyond the crying itself. Probably hungry.
“Alright, alright.” I rocked her as I padded toward the door. “We’re handling it.”
She did not care.
Her screams drilled into my skull as I stepped into the hall, bare feet quiet against the wooden floor. The house felt cavernous at this hour, all shadowed corners and too much space.
I’d barely made it halfway down the stairs before Griffin’s door opened and he stalked out, blinking, scrubbing a hand over his face. His hair was a mess, sticking up on one side, flattened on the other. Pajama bottoms hung low on his hips.
Hazel unleashed another furious wail.
“Is she hurt? Sick?”
“She’s hungry.”
I stepped around him, heading for the kitchen, but he followed, still watching Hazel like she might explode at any second.
“Right. So... what do we do?”
I bit back a sigh. “We feed her.”
He nodded, but the hesitation in his movements was impossible to miss. He was out of his depth. Completely, hopelessly lost.
Not my problem.
Except... it was.
I flicked on the under-cabinet lights, keeping the brightness low, and turned toward Griffin.
“Can you make a bottle?” I asked. “Like I showed you earlier?”
His expression twisted, somewhere between a wince and a scowl. “I screwed it up earlier.”
“And now you know what you did wrong, so—”
“Can you just—”
I sighed. “Fine. You’ll need to learn sometime.” I transferred Hazel to his arms, guiding his hands into position. “Support her head. Yes, like that.”
He cradled her with exaggerated care, his large hands dwarfing her tiny body. Hazel’s cries softened slightly, but she still fussed, her little fists waving in protest.
I grabbed the formula tin and a clean bottle, working quickly while keeping an eye on them. Griffin stood frozen, as if afraid the slightest movement might break her.
“You can rock her a bit,” I said. “She likes movement.”
He attempted a slow, awkward sway. It looked less like rocking and more like someone balancing on a tightrope.
“Relax. She can sense your tension.”
“Easy for you to say,” he muttered. “You’re not handling a sensitive setup with zero margin for error.”
I rolled my eyes, measuring formula into the bottle. “She’s a baby, Griffin, not a finicky suspension.”
“Same level of unpredictability.”
Despite his complaint, his movements gradually became more natural. Hazel’s cries faded to a grumble, her eyes fixing on his face with surprising focus.
“See?” I said. “You’re getting it.”
A tentative smile played at the corners of his mouth and awe filled his voice. “She’s looking at me.”
“Of course she is. You’re her father.”
The word hung between us, weighty and significant. Griffin’s smile slipped, then returned, a vulnerable look flickering across his face before he masked it.
I finished preparing the bottle, testing the temperature on my wrist. “Perfect. Ready for the next step?”
“There’s more after not dropping her?”
“Several, actually.” I moved closer, holding out the bottle. “Do you want to feed her, or should I?”
Griffin glanced between the bottle and Hazel, uncertainty written across his features. “Maybe you should. I don’t want to mess this up.”
I nodded, understanding his hesitation. “You can try next time.”
We migrated to the living room, where Griffin transferred Hazel to me and perched on the edge of the sofa, watching intently as I settled into an armchair. The bottle slipped easily into her mouth, and she latched on with hungry determination.
He let out a long, slow exhale. “That’s better. She’s really going for it,” he muttered. “That means she’s okay, right? I read something about babies not eating if they’re stressed.”
The cocky, reckless driver was gone. In his place was a father completely out of his depth.
“She’s fine. She eats like you race. All or nothing.”
Griffin snorted, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
“Just an observation.”
I kept my focus on Hazel, determined to ignore the way Griffin watched me. Like I was something he hadn’t quite figured out yet.
“You’ve watched me drive?”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, studying us with an intensity that made my skin prickle. The thin cotton of my sleep shirt suddenly felt inadequate under his gaze.
“Hard to avoid when my dad runs the team.”
Griffin hummed. “So, what do you think?”
“About?”
“My driving.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You want a performance review?”
His mouth twitched. “Might as well. Since you apparently have been watching.”
I considered him, then shrugged. “You’re aggressive. Calculated, but ruthless. You see gaps where other drivers wouldn’t dare, and half the time, I can’t decide if it’s brilliance or insanity.”
“You think I’m brilliant.”
I snorted. “Don’t confuse competence with genius.”
“Right. Wouldn’t want to mistake your approval for anything meaningful.”
“Good. We understand each other.”
“I always wondered what you thought of me,” Griffin said, voice lower now, more thoughtful. “Figured you saw me as just another overpaid playboy who likes fast cars and bad decisions.”
“You can be a good driver and an ass. Two things can be true at once.”
Griffin shook his head. “Brutal.”
“Honest.”
The truth was, I had watched him. More than I cared to admit.
Not just in races, but in press conferences, interviews, celebrations.
He was always the same. Cocky smirk, easy charm, zero accountability.
A man who looked at life like it was something to be conquered, not managed.
Nothing about tonight changed that assessment.
“Yeah, well.” He dragged a hand through his already-messy hair. “I guess I deserve that.”
I hummed, noncommittal. Hazel’s sucking slowed, her little hands going slack.
“How do you know all this?” he asked.
“I’ve always been good with kids. They make sense to me.”
“They make zero sense to me.” Griffin rubbed his eyes, groaning. “Adults are easier. They tell you what they want, what they’re thinking.”
“Children are honest. Adults lie all the time, even to themselves.”
His gaze rose back to mine.
Silence settled between us, broken only by Hazel’s soft suckling sounds. Griffin remained watchful, his presence filling the room despite his stillness.
“I never wanted kids,” he said suddenly. “Never saw myself as father material.”
I glanced up. “And now?”
He shrugged, a careful gesture that betrayed more than it concealed. “Now I don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Griffin.”
His jaw tightened. “Not this one. I’m not abandoning her.”
The vehemence in his voice surprised me. It shouldn’t have made my heart ache.
“That’s... commendable,” I said carefully.
He snorted. “Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked. I’m...” I searched for the right word. “Impressed.”
His brows rose. “Now I’m shocked.”
A reluctant smile tugged at my lips. “Don’t get used to it.”
Hazel finished her bottle, and I set it aside. The moment I held her out to Griffin, he stared at me like I’d asked him to hold a checkered flag while driving at full speed.
“She needs burping.”
“Why?”
“Babies swallow air when they feed. It needs to come up.”
“And if it doesn’t?” he asked, still not taking her from me.
“Then she’ll get gassy, and you’ll be in for another round of screaming.”
He grimaced. “Delightful.”
“Take her.”
He looked at Hazel, then at me. “I don’t—what if I do it wrong?”
“Then she’ll be mildly uncomfortable for an extra thirty seconds.”
Still looking uncertain, he leaned back on the sofa, letting me place Hazel against his chest. The concentration on his face would’ve been funny if I weren’t so tired.
“Support her neck,” I murmured.
“I am.” He frowned, adjusting slightly.
He tapped her back with careful, terrified movements. Hazel let out a surprisingly loud burp, and Griffin’s eyes widened comically.
“That came from her?”
I laughed, the sound escaping before I could stop it. “Yes, that came from her. Good job, Hazel.”
Griffin shook his head, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Impressive lung capacity. She’ll make a great driver.”
“Is that all you think about?”
His smile faltered. “It’s been my whole life. Until now.”
“It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” I said softly. “You can be both a driver and a father.”
His gaze met mine, searching. “How?”
“The same way anyone balances multiple roles. With help, with compromise, with effort.” I shrugged. “And by accepting that you’ll sometimes get it wrong.”
Griffin ran a hand over his face. “I can’t afford to get it wrong. Not with her.”
“Everyone gets it wrong sometimes. Even perfect parents, which, newsflash, don’t exist.”
He snorted. “Tell that to Julian.”
I stiffened. “My father is far from perfect.”
Griffin studied me, his gaze suddenly penetrating. “Daddy issues, Princess?”
“I told you to stop calling me that.” I scowled at him. “And don’t pretend to understand my relationship with my father.”
His eyes widened. “Touched a nerve, did I?”
“You have no idea what it’s like,” I said, keeping my voice low for Hazel’s sake, “growing up with Julian Carter as a father.”
“Try me.”
The challenge in his voice was unexpected, as was my desire to answer it. Maybe it was the late hour, or the strange intimacy of sharing this quiet moment with a sleeping baby, but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
“He has high standards. He built Aedris from the ground up. You don’t do that by coddling people. I’ve spent my life trying to prove I’m worthy of the name, not just a beneficiary of it.”
Griffin’s expression sobered. “That sounds familiar.”
“Your father?”
He nodded. “Different methods, same result. Never quite good enough, always chasing approval that never comes.”
The irony. To him, I was still the golden child who had everything he wanted, when in reality, we were fighting the exact same ghost.
I’d never considered that Griffin Michaels, with his perfect record and golden-boy status, might understand what it was like to feel perpetually inadequate.
“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” I said, attempting lightness. “Daddy issues all around.”
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “At least Hazel has a fighting chance. Between your competence and my stubbornness, she might turn out okay.”