Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
GRIFFIN
Tap-tap-tap. Tap. Tap-tap.
The chopsticks made a satisfying crack against the edge of the hotel breakfast plate. I drummed out a rhythm I couldn’t name, staring at the remains of my lunch while Hazel dozed in her Moses basket beside the table.
Twenty-four hours in Singapore. One day of being trapped in this beige suite with its beige walls and beige carpet and I was already crawling out of my skin.
I’d already done my training. Woke at five, ran intervals on the hotel gym treadmill until sweat soaked through my shirt and my lungs screamed. Worked through my neck routine until the muscles trembled. Then I’d come back here, showered, tried to sit still.
It hadn’t worked.
Violet had taken Hazel to Jewel this morning to check out the indoor waterfall attraction at Changi Airport. She’d texted me photos of Hazel with that unfocused newborn stare like she was trying to figure out what the noise was.
Meanwhile, I’d been trapped thirty floors up. Alone. Because Griffin Michaels couldn’t take his own nine-week-old daughter to see a bloody waterfall without some prick with a camera turning it into tomorrow’s headline.
Can’t even take my kid out in public.
Down in the lobby, I’d watched families wander through. Parents with toddlers heading to the zoo, the gardens, normal places where normal people did normal things. And here I was, hiding like some kind of fugitive.
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
“Are you trying to summon a demon?” Violet asked, her voice strained. “Or just testing my patience?”
I didn’t stop. “Neither.”
“Then what are you doing?”
“Thinking.”
“Think quieter.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She snapped her book shut. “Griffin.”
I set the chopsticks down with exaggerated care, meeting her gaze. “Better?”
“Marginally.” Her eyes narrowed, that sharp, assessing look she got when she was trying to figure me out. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been pacing since you got back from training. You reorganized Hazel’s nappies by size. Twice. And now you’re assaulting dinnerware.”
I shoved back from the table, needing to move, needing something. I paced to the window and stared down at the city sprawling below. Glass towers. Green spaces. People living their lives.
And me, stuck up here.
“We could go to the Night Safari,” I said, not turning around. “It’s outdoors. Low lighting. Hazel would probably love it.”
Silence.
“Or the Botanic Gardens. Or Liam mentioned this hawker center with authentic street food. We could—”
“Stop.”
I turned. She’d stood, arms crossed, expression somewhere between exasperated and concerned.
“You know none of that is an option.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you listing tourist attractions?”
Because I was losing my fucking mind.
Because I couldn’t stop noticing things I had no business noticing. Like the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she concentrated.
Or how her fingers traced the spine of her book when she was thinking.
Jesus, even the curve of her neck when she bent over Hazel. Was she ticklish there or would it make her shiver in delight?
I’d spent the entire night replaying that almost-kiss. Analyzing it like race telemetry. And no matter how I looked at it, it still blindsided me. Where had that tension come from?
One second we’d been arguing, the next I’d been close enough to feel her breath, and I still couldn’t figure out what the hell had happened.
Training this morning hadn’t helped. I’d pushed harder, faster, trying to burn it out. But the second I’d walked back into this suite and seen her curled on that sofa, it had all come rushing back.
Worse, actually. Because now I couldn’t stop noticing her body. The lean lines of her legs tucked beneath her. The way her shirt dipped at her collarbone. How her lips moved when she read, mouthing words she probably didn’t realize she was saying.
I dragged a hand through my hair. “I need to do something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Anything that doesn’t involve staring at these same four walls.”
Violet’s gaze slid past me to where the Xbox sat beneath the TV, controllers gathering dust. “You could play that.”
I followed her gaze and pursed my lips, considering. The team had set it up before I’d arrived, part of the whole decompression package. I’d forgotten it was there.
“Not really a solo activity.”
“So play online.”
I turned back to her, brows raised. “You want me to play video games?”
“I want you to stop driving me insane with your restless energy.” She picked up her book again. “Do whatever you need to do. Just do it quietly.”
I considered the Xbox. When was the last time I’d actually played? Months ago, maybe. Usually I was too wired after races, too focused on training between them.
But right now, with nothing else to do and this buzzing under my skin that wouldn’t quit...
“Ever play?
Violet looked up, surprised. “Video games?”
“Yeah.”
“Not really.”
“Not really, or not at all?”
She shifted, something almost defensive in her posture. “I played some PC games when I was younger. Nothing like that.”
I bit back a grin. “What kind of PC games?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Princess.”
“Barbie Detective,” she muttered. “And Sabrina the Teenage Witch.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Full and genuine, the first time all day the tightness in my chest eased.
“Oh, fuck off.” But her mouth twitched, fighting a smile.
“I’m sorry.” I held up my hands. “It’s just… Barbie Detective? Really?”
“I was nine.”
“Did you solve crimes? Catch bad guys in pink convertibles?”
“I’m going back to my book.”
“Wait.” I grabbed the controllers, tossing her one. She caught it on reflex, staring at it like I’d handed her a live grenade. “Come on. One game.”
“I don’t know how to play.”
“I’ll teach you.”
“Griffin—”
“You just said you wanted me to do something.” I booted up the console, scrolling through the games. “And you clearly need a hobby beyond reading and judging my life choices.”
“I don’t judge your life choices.”
I shot her a look.
“Fine. I judge some of them.”
Mario Kart loaded on the screen, the bright colors and cheerful music filled the suite. I grabbed a pillow, dropping it on the floor beside the coffee table before settling in.
Violet stayed on the sofa.
“Scared?” I asked.
“Of a children’s game? Hardly.”
“Then sit.”
She sighed, that long-suffering sound she made when I’d worn her down, but she moved. Sank onto the floor beside me. Not too close. Maintaining that careful distance.
The same distance she’d been maintaining since the plane.
I selected her character. “You can be Princess Peach.”
“How fitting.”
“Thought you’d appreciate it.”
We loaded into a practice track. I kept it simple. Rainbow Road could wait.
“Right,” I said, angling toward her. “Left stick steers. A button accelerates. That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
The race started. Violet’s cart immediately veered off track, slamming into a wall. She overcorrected, spinning out into the grass.
I pressed my lips together.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re thinking it very loudly.”
Her cart finally straightened. She made it maybe ten seconds before hitting another wall.
“How are you this bad? It’s literally two buttons.”
“Maybe if someone explained properly—”
“I did explain. Left stick. A button.”
“Your instructions were terrible.”
I reached over without thinking, adjusting her grip on the controller. “You’re gripping it like you’re trying to choke it. Relax.”
The second my fingers brushed hers, that same electric awareness from the plane shot through me.
She stilled. May have even stopped breathing.
I pulled back. “Try again.”
She did. This time she made it through a turn without crashing. Then another.
“See? Not so hard.”
“I’m driving in a straight line, Griffin. Don’t get cocky.”
But her cart was moving smoothly now so she was improving. We raced through another lap. I held back, keeping pace just ahead, watching her figure it out.
“There’s a shortcut here,” I said as we approached a jump. “Hit it at an angle and you’ll—”
Her cart sailed past mine, landing perfectly.
My jaw dropped. “Did you just—”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“You just learned to drive ten minutes ago!”
“It’s not that complicated.” But there was smugness in her voice. Satisfaction.
Right. So that’s how this was going to go.
“Next race,” I said. “Full track. No mercy.”
“Promises, promises.”
We loaded into Mario Circuit. The countdown started. Violet’s fingers flexed on the controller, her jaw set in concentration.
The race started.
I shot forward, taking the lead easily. But Violet held her line behind me, not great but not crashing either. She made a steady improvement lap after lap.
A red shell flew past my head. I swerved, barely avoiding it.
“Did you just throw a shell at me?”
“The game said I could.”
“You’re ruthless.”
“You said no mercy.”
Fair point.
We raced through another lap. Then she hit me with a banana. My cart spun out. By the time I recovered, she’d passed me.
“That’s cheap!”
She laughed. Grumbling, I gunned it, catching up quickly. We were neck and neck going into the final turn.
I had the better line and more experience.
This was mine.
Then the blue shell hit her.
But we were so close together that the blast radius caught us both. We spun across the finish line in a tangle of smoke and shells.
The screen flashed: DRAW.
We stared at it.
Then Violet dissolved into laughter. Real, unguarded laughter that transformed her entire face.
I couldn’t look away.
“That was—” She gasped for breath. “Did we really just—”
“We drew.”
“I can’t believe—” Another laugh. “A draw.”
I grinned. “Rematch.”
“Absolutely.”
We loaded another track. Then another. Somewhere along the way, the awkwardness from the plane faded. The careful distance collapsed. We argued over tracks, threw shells at each other, celebrated victories and cursed defeats.
Normal. Easy.
Except I was attracted to her and sitting this close, watching her competitive streak emerge, hearing her laugh...
Focus. Game. Not her.
We joined an online lobby. Twelve players from around the world.
The race loaded. Violet immediately ate dirt, falling to last place within seconds.
“This is different,” she muttered.
“They’re faster.”
“You could have warned me.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
She shot me a glare but focused on the screen. Slowly, she started climbing positions. Eleventh. Tenth. Ninth.
I stayed in the lead pack, trading places with two other players. One of them drove aggressively, taking risks most people wouldn’t. Late braking into every corner, forcing others wide, threading gaps that barely existed.
The username caught my eye: BrakeCheck_King.
I snorted. Cocky bastard.
But the driving style... I’d seen it before. Not just aggressive—calculated aggressive. The kind of controlled chaos that came from years of knowing exactly how far you could push before it all went sideways.
“How do I—” Violet’s question died as her cart got hit by three red shells in succession. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”
“Welcome to online racing.”
“This is rigged.”
“You’re just bad.”
“I was in eighth!”
“Was being the key word.”
She grumbled something I couldn’t hear but didn’t stop playing.
The race entered the final lap. I was second, right behind BrakeCheck_King. We’d been trading the lead for three laps, neither giving an inch.
Going into the last corner, I had the inside line. This was it.
Then he slammed on the brakes, forcing me wide.
Of course he did.
I cursed, recovering too late. BrakeCheck_King crossed the line first.
BrakeCheck_King wins!
I stared at the screen. That move. I’d seen Barrett pull it in Monza last year, forcing Sebastian wide in the final chicane. The stewards had investigated it for three hours before declaring it legal by a hair.
If that wasn’t Barrett, I’d eat my helmet.
“That was bullshit,” Violet said, still focused on her own battle for tenth. “He brake-checked you.”
“Yep.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“In real racing, yeah. In Mario Kart?” I shrugged. “Fair game.”
She managed to claw her way back to ninth before crossing the line.
“I got ninth,” she said, like she’d just won a championship.
“You did.”
“Out of twelve.”
“Still counts.”
She turned to me, eyes bright with competition. “Again.”
We raced three more times. BrakeCheck_King stayed in the lobby, and every time we ended up battling for the lead.
Violet gradually improved, finishing seventh in the last race. When the lobby finally disbanded, she set down her controller and stretched, her shirt riding up to expose a strip of skin above her waistband.
I looked away. Studied the TV. Very interesting TV.
“That was...” She trailed off.
“Terrible? You’re still terrible.”
“I was going to say surprisingly fun.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “But sure. I’m terrible. You’re a delight.”
“I’m aware.”
“Your ego is showing.”
“It never left.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled. Actually smiled at me.
The suite felt smaller suddenly. We were sitting on the floor, controllers abandoned, and she was looking at me like I was a person instead of a problem to manage.
Dangerous.
Hazel stirred in her basket, letting out a soft whimper.
The spell broke.
Violet moved immediately, all business again. She scooped Hazel and checked her nappy, falling back into nanny mode.
I checked my phone. Nearly five PM. We’d been playing for over two hours.
Two hours where I hadn’t thought about the plane. About what almost happened. About this mess with Julian and the team and my career balancing on a knife’s edge.
Two hours where I’d just... existed. With her.
“She needs feeding,” Violet said, already moving toward the kitchen.
I stood, joints protesting. “I’ll warm the bottle.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Violet.” I caught her arm gently. She stopped. “I’ve got it.”
She hesitated, then nodded. Transferred Hazel to me.
Our hands brushed. That same electric awareness.
Neither of us moved.
Hazel fussed, and the moment passed.
I took my daughter to the kitchen, cradling her against my chest while Violet prepared the bottle. We worked in silence, settling into the easy rhythm we’d developed.
When the bottle was ready, I tested it on my wrist. Perfect temperature. Look at me, learning.
I settled on the sofa. Hazel latched on immediately. Violet curled up on the opposite end, book in hand, but I didn’t think she was reading. Her eyes hadn’t moved in five minutes.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
She looked up. “For what?”
“The distraction. I needed it.”
Something softened in her expression. “You’re welcome.”
Hazel’s eyes drifted shut, milk-drunk and peaceful.
And for just a moment, sitting in this too-beige suite with my daughter in my arms and Violet Carter six feet away pretending to read, I felt something I hadn’t felt in weeks.
Not trapped.
Not restless.
Just... settled.
Which should have been comforting.
Instead, it scared the hell out of me.