Chapter 34
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
GRIFFIN
“Radio check, Griffin.”
Al’s voice crackled through my helmet as I rolled out of the garage. Out on the track, the Texas heat baked the tarmac into a shimmering haze.
“Loud and clear.” I flexed my gloved fingers on the wheel. “Car feels solid.”
“Right. Don’t overcook the first attempt.”
“Copy.”
The logical part of my brain was already running calculations, considering tire temperatures, fuel load, the slight crosswind into Turn 1. But Callaghan’s threats lapped at the edges of my focus.
You just have to hand her over.
Like hell.
I brought the tires up to temperature with no surprises and settled in for a qualifying lap.
“Callaghan’s about ten seconds behind,” Al said. “He’s on a push lap too.”
Course he was. Couldn’t let me have five minutes of peace.
I hauled the car up the blind rise into Turn 1, the brutal elevation change compressing the suspension. The track fell away beneath me as I crested the hill.
I took a deep breath, pushing it all down. Sector one was perfect, the car dancing through the fast esses that demanded commitment.
“Good pace. Keep it clean.”
But as I approached the back straight, my mirrors lit up with Sorel’s distinctive livery. Callaghan had closed the gap impossibly fast, his car rushing at me faster than any sane driver would attempt during qualifying.
“What’s he playing at?” I muttered.
“Ignore him, Griffin. Focus on your own lap.”
Easy for Al to say. He didn’t have a psychopath using his slipstream to make a point.
I tried to hold my line, but Callaghan stayed glued to me, mirroring my every move. It was like having a particularly vindictive shadow.
“Your times are dropping. You need clear air.”
“He won’t back off, Al,” I snapped, my voice tight. “He’s boxing me in.”
I slowed more on the back straight, an invitation for him to go by. He slowed with me. The message was clear: this was a pissing contest.
Bollocks to backing down.
I floored it out of Turn 15, the engine screaming as it launched the car forward. If he wanted to play games, fine. But I was getting my lap first. I attacked Turn 16 harder than I’d ever attempted, the rear tire complaining but holding.
“You’re on the limit.”
I was past it. But that’s where the time was. Especially on a surface that felt more like a rally stage than a purpose-built circuit.
Callaghan matched my aggression. As we hurtled toward the final corners, he dived up the inside. An absolute lunatic’s move for qualifying.
No one pulled stupid stunts like that unless they were trying to cause a wreck.
The racing line was mine. I held it.
For a split second, we were locked side-by-side at over two hundred miles an hour. His front wheel edged past my rear tire. My car’s aerodynamics went haywire.
The back end snapped loose.
Time warped. The world outside the cockpit blurred into streaks of color as the car spun. The wall rushed up to meet me. My arms moved without conscious thought, a flurry of opposite lock, trying to catch a slide that felt terminal. I was just a passenger.
Then the tires bit. The car straightened with a violent lurch, and the wall flashed past my sidepod with inches to spare.
I was alive. Shaking. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to break free.
“Red flag. Session stopped. Griffin, are you alright?”
Al’s voice seemed to come from far away. I tried to answer, but my throat had closed up. The taste of metal filled my mouth.
“Griffin, respond.”
“I’m fine.” The words came out as a croak. “Car’s fine. Just... give me a sec.”
I coasted toward the pits, the adrenaline crash leaving me hollow.
Christ. I’d nearly binned it completely. Nearly thrown away everything because I couldn’t keep my temper in check around Callaghan.
The garage came into view, and I spotted Violet immediately. She was sheet-white, Hazel clutched to her chest. Even from a distance, I could see her hands trembling.
The guilt sliced into me, sharper than any impact with a barrier. I had promised her I’d be careful.
The car rolled to a stop. Engineers swarmed me, their voices a meaningless wash of sound. Someone checked the car for damage. Someone else asked if I was hurt. All I could see was Violet’s face.
“Good save.” Liam appeared at my elbow as I climbed out of the car, his usual humor gone. “Bit closer than we’d like, though.”
“Yeah.” I pulled off my helmet, my hair plastered to my head with sweat. “Where did I qualify?”
“P5. Not bad for a pirouette.”
P5. Fifth on the grid. Satisfaction should have filled me. Normally it would have. Now, it felt like nothing.
“Stewards want to see you,” Al said, tablet in hand. “Callaghan’s been called up, too.”
“Good. He could have killed us both.”
“Could say the same about you. That move into Turn 18 was mental.”
I nodded at Liam. I’d been just as reckless as Callaghan, just as willing to risk everything for the sake of pride. The realization sat in my stomach like a stone.
“I need to see V—” I choked on her name, realizing at the last second how it would look if I near crashed into a wall and my first thought was Violet. “Hazel.”
“Press conference first. Then stewards. Then you can—”
“No.” I was already walking toward the back of the garage where she waited. “Everything else waits.”
I found Violet in the small hospitality area behind the garage, still clutching Hazel, still pale. She looked up, and the raw relief in her eyes almost buckled my knees.
“You’re alright,” she whispered, her gaze scanning me for injuries.
“I’m alright.” I reached for her, needing to feel the solid proof of her in my arms. “I’m sorry. That was—”
“Terrifying.” She leaned into me, her free hand gripping my race suit. “Griffin, I thought… when I saw you spinning…”
“I know.” I kissed her hair, breathing her in. The scent of her and the faint, sweet smell of Hazel was the only thing grounding me. Hazel gurgled between us, oblivious. “I know, gorgeous. I’m sorry.”
“What happened out there? Why did he...”
“Stupidity.” I pulled back to look at her properly. “Callaghan was playing games. I should have backed off, but… I let him get to me.”
Her expression sharpened. “So you proved your point by nearly crashing?”
“That wasn’t the plan.”
“What was the plan, Griffin? Because to me it looked like you were trying to get yourself killed.”
The accusation hit its mark. “I couldn’t let him win.”
“It’s qualifying! What was he going to win?”
The desire to make her understand, to explain the burning need for retribution, died on my lips. Looking at her terrified face, at my daughter staring at me, I had no defense.
She took a shaky breath. “Did you think about her while you were proving your point?”
The question twisted in my gut. No. In that moment, there had been nothing but the track, Callaghan, and a red-hot surge of pride. I’d handed my rival exactly what he wanted: a way inside my head.
“The stewards will probably give him a penalty,” I said, grasping for something to fix this.
Violet pulled out of my arms, a soft sigh of pure frustration escaping her.
“I don’t care about penalties. I care about you not ending up as a smear on the tarmac.
” Her voice dropped, fierce and low. “If you drive like that again, I’m done.
I’ll quit, Griffin. I’ll walk away. I won’t stand by and watch you destroy yourself for pride, and I won’t be part of it. ”
The air left my lungs. “Vi…”
“I’m serious. Win by being the better driver. Not by proving who’s more willing to die.”
“He’s threatening her, Vi. I can’t just roll over.”
“Then you deal with it off the track. Through lawyers, the team, Izzy. Anything but you risking your life in some testosterone-fueled pissing contest.” Her hand came up to cup my cheek, her touch gentle but her eyes unrelenting. “You have a daughter that needs you to come home. Remember that.”
She was right. Of course she was right. But the part of me that had been racing since I was eight years old, the part that had been conditioned to never back down, rebelled against the idea.
“Mr. Michaels?” A steward stood at the entrance. “The officials are ready.”
I nodded, but didn’t move immediately. Instead, I looked at Violet, at the woman who’d somehow become my anchor in the storm of professional racing.
“Promise me,” she whispered. “Promise me you’ll be smarter.”
“I promise. We’ll talk after this.”
She nodded, but the guarded look didn’t leave her eyes. “Just... promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Promise me you won’t let him bait you into doing something stupid tomorrow.”
I wanted to promise. Wanted to give her the reassurance she needed. But racing was unpredictable, and Callaghan was nothing if not creative in his psychological warfare.
“I promise I’ll try to be smarter about it.”
It wasn’t the unconditional promise she wanted, but it was honest. And honesty was all I had to offer.
She nodded, accepting it for what it was. “Go deal with the stewards. We’ll be here when you get back.”
I kissed Hazel’s head. I wanted to kiss her but with the steward watching, I had to settle for breathing in the scent of them both. My family. My reason for coming home.