Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GRIFFIN
Hazel’s eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, and I held my breath.
Don’t wake up. Please don’t wake up.
Not because I didn’t want to see her eyes open, hear her coo, hold her against my chest. But because Violet would actually kill me if I woke her, and I’d spent six hours on a plane from Baku thinking about this exact moment.
I’d dropped my bag at the door and come straight here, bypassing my own room, my own bed, everything that made sense after another four-day stretch away from home. Exhaustion pulled at every muscle, turning my brain to sludge, but none of that mattered.
I needed to see her.
She’d changed. I’d only been gone four days, but her face looked different. Fuller. Her hair had grown, dark wisps sticking up at odd angles. She slept on her back, fists tucked near her face, mouth hanging slightly open.
God, I wanted to wake her.
Wanted to scoop her up, feel that weight settle against me, hear those little sounds she made when she recognized my voice. But I couldn’t. Violet had texted me increasingly terse updates about how Hazel wouldn’t settle or eat, how she’d screamed for forty-five minutes straight.
Instead, I wrapped my fingers around the crib rail and watched my daughter sleep. Any sane person would’ve walked away and gone to bed. But four days of FaceTime screens and pixelated images hadn’t been enough. I needed to see her little face with a desperation I couldn’t understand.
The guy who’d stumbled out of Zandvoort hungover and pissed off five weeks ago? Gone. Replaced by this. A man who’d turned down team celebrations and raced to the airport instead, desperate to get home to a seven-week-old who didn’t even know he’d won.
Sixteen points clear in the championship now. Every analyst was calling this my year. But standing here, staring at sleeping form, none of that mattered.
The shower shut off down the hall and I tensed.
I should’ve moved. Violet would not be impressed to find me in her room. But my feet wouldn’t cooperate, and my hands wouldn’t release the rail, and Hazel’s tiny chest kept rising and falling in that rhythm that made everything else disappear.
The door creaked open and Violet walked in, towel wrapped around her body, wet hair dripping onto her bare shoulders. For a second, she didn’t notice me and started brushing her hair out in the mirror.
Her gaze caught mine in the reflection and she froze.
“Jesus Christ.” Her hand flew to her chest, eyes going wide.
I held up a finger, pointing at the crib. “Shh. You’ll wake her.”
“What the hell are you doing?” she whisper-shouted. “How did you—when did you—”
“Got in about twenty minutes ago.”
“And you came straight here?”
“Where else would I go?”
“Your room. Your bed. Literally anywhere that isn’t standing in the dark in my room.”
“I just needed to see her and the door was open so I…” I rubbed my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Violet grabbed my arm and dragged me into the hallway. I went willingly, because arguing would wake Hazel, and that would make this ten times worse.
The door clicked shut behind us. Violet released my arm and crossed hers over her chest, water droplets still trailing down her collarbone.
Focus.
“What were you thinking?” Her voice stayed low, but fury bled through every word. “I spent an hour getting her down, Griffin. An hour.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because I haven’t seen her in four days.”
“You FaceTimed me seventeen times this weekend.”
My face heated. “Why did you count?”
“Because it was excessive.” Her brows rose as if she expected me to agree, but I did not.
“I missed her.”
Violet’s arms tightened across her chest. “Griffin—”
“Come to Singapore.”
Shit. That wasn’t how I’d meant to ask.
“I mean…” My brain scrambled for better words. Smoother delivery. Some way to make this sound less like begging. But nothing came.
Violet blinked. “What?”
“Singapore. Next week. Come with me.”
“I don’t—”
“Please.” I pushed off the wall, closing the distance between us. “I can’t do another four days. I can’t leave her again. So come with me.”
“Griffin, I don’t—”
“I know what you’re going to say. I know it’s a lot. I know you hate the track and the media and all of it. But I’m asking anyway.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m missing it all.”
Her brows pulled together and I ran both hands through my hair, searching for the right words. The ones that would make her understand without making me sound like a complete lunatic.
“I’m missing her first smile, her first laugh.”
“She too young for any of that.”
“Now, sure, but what if she does those things and I’m not there? What if I’m in some hotel room halfway across the world and you text me about it and I—”
I stopped. Swallowed hard.
Christ, I was begging. Actually begging. But I didn’t care anymore.
“I need to be there, Violet. For all of it. Not the FaceTime version. Not the highlight reel. I need to be the one holding her when she does these things.”
Violet’s jaw worked. “It’s not that simple.”
“Sure it is. You’re already managing her routine here. Do the same thing in Singapore. Austin. Brazil. Wherever.” I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep from shaking sense into her. “You’re already with her twenty-four seven.”
“In a house. With facilities. Not bouncing between hotel rooms and airports.”
“First-class everything. Private cars. Whatever you need.”
“Griffin—”
“Three months. That’s all I’m asking. Until the end of the season.”
Her arms tightened across her chest. “You’re asking me to uproot her entire life.”
“I’m asking you to bring her with me so I don’t have to leave her.” My throat tightened. “I can’t do another four days. I won’t.”
“You’re a racing driver. Travel is part of the job.”
“And she’s my daughter. Being there has to be part of it too.”
Violet studied my face for a long moment. “You really can’t handle this.”
“No. I can’t.” My throat tightened. “I hated every second. Every briefing, every lap, I was thinking about what she was doing. Whether she’d smiled. Whether you were managing. Whether she missed me.”
She chewed her lip and I rushed on, uncaring of how desperate I sounded.
“She’d changed when I got home from Monza.” I swallowed hard. “What if I come home next time and she doesn’t recognize me? What if I become the stranger who shows up between races?”
“That’s not how babies work.”
“Isn’t it?” I pulled my hands free, flexing my fingers. “You said it yourself. Attachment matters. Consistency matters. What if I miss the window?”
She rolled her eyes, but the fight bled from her posture and I had no idea what to do with it. People didn’t respond like this. They told me to toughen up, get over it, remember what I was paid for.
“You’re making it worse than it is.”
“I’m being realistic.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Probably.” I exhaled. “But I’d rather be dramatic than miss everything important.”
Silence stretched. Her gaze dropped.
“I don’t know,” she said finally.
My chest tightened. “That’s not a no.”
“It’s not a yes either.”
“I’ll take it.” Relief crashed over me. “Just think about it. Please.”
I’d spent my entire career refusing to beg for anything. I’d earned every seat, every contract, every ounce of recognition or, I’d walked away. But this? I’d have gotten on my knees if she’d asked. And the terrifying part was how little I cared about the humiliation.
“How much time do I have?”
“Friday.”
Her head snapped up. “That’s three days.”
“Flight leaves Saturday morning.”
“Of course it does.” She shook her head, but something that might’ve been amusement flickered in her eyes. “You’re insane.”
“Desperate. There’s a difference.”
“Not much of one.”
I grinned despite everything. “So you’ll think about it?”
“I said I would.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She turned toward her door. “I haven’t agreed to anything. Go to bed, Griffin.”
“But you’re considering it.”
I could work with that.