Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GRIFFIN
“You’re late.” Liam stood by his bike, arms crossed, looking far too awake for this ungodly hour.
I rolled my eyes, adjusting the strap on my helmet. “By two minutes.”
“Two minutes is the difference between pole and P20.”
“This isn’t qualifying, it’s a training ride.”
Liam grinned, already swinging onto his bike. “Everything’s qualifying with you.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d spent my life treating every interaction like a race. Something to win, to dominate, to control.
Except lately, I couldn’t seem to control anything. Not my life, not my career, and definitely not whatever was happening between Violet and me.
Which was pissing me off more than I cared to admit. I’d gone from podium finishes and champagne to crying babies and arguments about bottle temperatures. My life had become a surreal nightmare where nothing made sense and everyone had opinions about how I should be handling it.
I mounted my bike, grateful for the distraction. “Who else is coming?”
“Nico Kraus. Thiago Mendes.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Thiago? I thought he hated my guts after Brazil.”
Liam shrugged. “Probably does. But he hates missing training more.”
Fair enough. The Brazilian driver had a reputation for being utterly single-minded about his fitness routine. If riding with me was the price of keeping his edge, he’d pay it.
But Nico was the real surprise. The German veteran drove for Rekord, one of our biggest competitors. He was also famously private, rarely socializing with other drivers outside of official events.
Five years ago, he’d been me with his own scandal and his own unexpected kid. The media hounded him, his team threatened to drop him, sponsors almost pulled out.
But he survived it.
I needed to know how.
“Morning,” I said, pulling up beside Nico and Thiago outside the hotel. “Thanks for joining.”
Nico shrugged. “Better than running on a treadmill.”
Nico Kraus had the seasoned look of a driver who had been a staple of the grid for 15 years. If not for the slight graying of his blond hair and the crows feet framing his eyes, you’d never know he was one of the oldest drivers still competing.
“Cardio is cardio,” Thiago muttered, adjusting his gloves.
The Brazilian was in his third season, hungry as hell, and treated every training session like it was the race that would make or break his career. Dark hair, darker eyes, and the kind of permanent scowl that made rookies nervous in the drivers’ briefing.
“Spoken like someone who’s never had to stare at a hotel gym wall for two hours,” Liam said. “At least out here, there’s scenery.”
Thiago rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.
We set off, falling into an easy rhythm.
The route Liam had mapped out would take us along the Marina Bay, then north toward the reservoir before looping back.
About 40 kilometers total. A decent workout without pushing too hard before race weekend, particularly when we factored in the intense humidity.
For the first few kilometers, we rode in silence, focused on finding our pace. The city began to wake around us, early risers heading to work, delivery vans rumbling past.
“So, Nico, how’s the car handling now?” Liam asked.
Nico chuckled. “Nice try.”
“Worth a shot.”
Thiago increased his pace, pulling ahead. I increased my speed, slotting into the space he vacated beside Nico. If I was going to ask, it had to be now.
“Heard you’ve got a new trainer,” I said. “How’s that working out?”
He shrugged. “Different approach. More recovery, less strength. But I’m feeling good.”
“Recovery gets more important the older you get,” Liam shouted from behind us. “Not that you’re old, mate.”
Nico laughed. “I’m ancient by racing standards. Thirty-five and still competing? Practically a dinosaur.”
“Experience counts for something,” I said. “You’ve got what, thirteen seasons under your belt?”
“Fifteen. Started young, stayed longer than most.”
“And managed to keep it together off-track too,” Liam added. “Not an easy feat.”
Nico’s expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. “Not always.”
And there it was. The opening I needed.
“The media’s brutal,” I said casually. “One wrong move and they’re all over you.”
Thiago snorted. “Speak for yourself, Michaels. Some of us don’t give them anything to write about.”
I ignored the jab. “I’m just saying, living under a microscope takes its toll. Especially when personal shit gets dragged into the spotlight.”
Nico glanced at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “True enough.”
We reached a water station and slowed to a stop. I dismounted, grateful for the chance to catch my breath. The humidity was already climbing, sweat trickling down my back despite the early hour.
“You handled your situation well,” I said to Nico as we refilled our water bottles. “Few years back. The whole...” I waved my hand vaguely.
“Paternity scandal?” he asked, his voice neutral.
“Yeah. That.”
Thiago raised an eyebrow but said nothing, taking a long drink from his bottle.
Nico studied me for a moment. “Why the sudden interest in ancient history, Michaels?”
I shrugged, aiming for casual. “Just curious. Media’s always looking for the next big story to sink their teeth into. Good to know how to weather the storm if it comes.”
“If?” Liam muttered, just loud enough for me to hear.
I shot him a look.
Nico wasn’t fooled by my nonchalance, but he played along. “It was a nightmare,” he said, capping his water bottle. “Worst six months of my career. Sponsors threatening to pull out, team principal breathing down my neck, journalists camped outside my hotel.”
Christ. That was my future if I didn’t get ahead of this.
“How’d you handle it?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager.
He leaned against his bike, considering. “I didn’t wait for it to blow up.” He took a slow sip from his water bottle. “The moment the rumors started, I got ahead of it. Announced it myself, set the record straight. No speculation, no guessing games. Just the truth.”
I frowned. “You didn’t try to deny it? Or downplay it?”
“No point,” he said simply. “The press would’ve kept digging, twisting things to make it worse. If I acted like I had something to hide, they’d never have let it go.”
Liam let out a low whistle. “That’s risky.”
“It was calculated.” Nico pushed off from the railing, adjusting his gloves. “I controlled the story. Told them what I wanted them to know, then shut it down. After that, I stopped engaging.”
“And they just… let it go?” I asked, sceptical.
“Not immediately. They tried, but I gave them nothing. Eventually, they got bored and moved on.”
I turned that over in my head. Maybe I’d been going about this the wrong way.
Liam shot me a sidelong glance, like he could see the wheels turning in my head. “Sounds like it worked for you.”
“It did.” Nico tightened the strap on his helmet.
“But you need to mean it. You can’t announce it and then waver.
The second they smell uncertainty, they’re on you like sharks.
” He looked directly at me. “If you’re dealing with something, and you plan on facing it head-on, you better be ready to stand by what you say. ”
It sounded so fucking simple when he said it.
“Why all the questions, Griffin?” Nico asked, his voice gentle but probing. “Something you want to share?”
I forced a laugh. “Just making conversation.”
“Right.” He didn’t push, but his eyes said he wasn’t buying it.
We mounted our bikes again, setting off toward the reservoir. The sun was fully up now, the temperature rising with it. Sweat beaded on my forehead, but the discomfort was a welcome distraction from the conversation.
Thiago pulled ahead, clearly done with our heart-to-heart. Liam matched his pace, leaving me riding alongside Nico.
“The press stuff was the easy part,” Nico said after a while, “I could control that, but being a father? That’s the part I couldn’t script.”
“How do you do it? Be away twenty-four weekends a year and still be a good dad?”
“You redefine what being a good dad means,” he said. “Because you can’t be there for everything. You’ll miss important things. First words, school plays, random mornings when they just need you.”
My chest ached. “How do you live with that?”
“You make the time you have count. When you’re home, you’re present. Fully present. Not checking emails, not thinking about the next race. You’re on the floor playing, doing bedtime, making breakfast. You soak up every second.”
“And when you’re not home?”
“You stay connected. FaceTime before bed every night, no matter what time zone you’re in. You send videos. Stupid voice messages about nothing. You make sure they know you’re thinking about them even when you’re halfway around the world.”
I nodded. “Does it ever feel like enough?”
“No,” Nico said honestly. “Never. You’ll always feel like you’re failing at something.” He glanced at me. “But my daughter knows I love her. She knows I’d drop everything if she needed me. That’s what matters.”
“Even with the career impact?”
He smiled. “Turns out having something more important than racing makes you a better driver. When your whole identity isn’t wrapped up in lap times and podium finishes, the pressure eases. You drive cleaner, smarter.”
I turned that over in my mind. I’d spent my whole life believing racing was me. My identity, my purpose, the thing that made me worth something. Every choice I’d made, every sacrifice, had been to chase this one thing: lap times, podiums, titles.
And then Hazel showed up.
And suddenly, it wasn’t just about me anymore.
The shift had been slow, creeping up in quiet moments. Holding her bottle at 3 AM, watching her tiny fingers wrap around mine, the way she blinked up at me like I was someone important. Like I mattered because I was her dad, not because I was Griffin Michaels, two-time world champion.
And fuck, if that didn’t unnerve me more than any race ever had.
I couldn’t keep going like this. This state of limbo was driving me insane and it needed to end. I just had to decide if I was brave enough to end it on my terms.
Because if Nico was right, if controlling the narrative meant controlling my future, then maybe I could actually do this. Maybe I could be the father Hazel deserved and keep my career intact.
Or maybe I’d crash and burn trying.
Either way, at least it’d be my choice.