Epilogue
GRIFFIN
I’d been managing the tires for three laps, saving just enough grip for this. I had one chance into turn nine to take the lead from Callaghan.
I lined him up out of turn eight, trapped in his dirty air. It was a bad line, a stupid risk, and completely worth it. I opened the DRS and the Aedris launched like it had been waiting for the command. The blue lights seared past the pit wall, chasing that single flash of red ahead.
He braked too early. Probably gambling I’d overcommit.
But he didn’t know me anymore.
I cut inside and the tires locked for a heartbeat before they bit hard into the tarmac.
Out of the corner, I floored it. The power surged and the rear twitched, the engine howling as the tires fought for traction. I corrected the slide, caught it, and slammed through the gears.
Callaghan darted across to reclaim track position, desperate and late. The bastard still had teeth. He swung left, forcing me toward the curb, but I stayed flat, side mirrors full of his front wing. His car wobbled, rear tires shot, grip gone.
He fought back hard, but I was already ahead.
For half a second, we were side by side under the lights. Adrenaline blurred the edges of everything until there was only instinct and noise and the knowledge that if I held the throttle one heartbeat longer, I’d break him.
I didn’t lift.
And Callaghan fell away.
The radio crackled. “Two laps remaining. Bring it home, Griffin.”
I grinned. Nah.
He’d love that, wouldn’t he? Julian Carter sitting up there in his ivory tower with the headset on, hearing me follow orders like some tame little company driver. Bring it home. Be neat. Be careful. Be theirs.
Not a chance.
If I wanted neat, I wouldn’t still be here. If I wanted safe, I’d have walked when he threatened my contract. When he tried to use my daughter as leverage.
No, I wasn’t bringing it home. I was going to win it so loudly he’d taste blood. Leave him standing on that podium knowing he’d lost the only driver he couldn’t manipulate.
I slammed through turn sixteen, the car twitching beneath me. Two laps from victory, one step from freedom, and every fiber of me screamed to drag this car across the line out of spite.
The car rolled into parc fermé under a blur of blue lights and noise. Mechanics were over the barrier in seconds, crew uniforms blending together in waves of black and blue and red.
I sat there for a second and just absorbed it.
Exhaustion and elation crashed through me. I almost couldn’t believe it. Al chatted to me over the radio confirming it, congratulating me, wishing me the best at Rekford, but I could barely hear him past my racing thoughts.
Six points. That was the difference between Jesse’s championship and mine. Six damn points.
The last ninety minutes and six points had made me a three-time world champion.
And Julian had done everything he could to sabotage it this year.
God, the sheer irony of that.
The heat still clung to me, heavy and alive beneath the fireproofs. Every inch of my body was coated in sweat and Violet would no doubt wrinkle her nose at the smell of me, but who the hell cared when I’d won?
For a moment, all I did was breathe.
Callaghan’s car rolled to a stop just behind me, and Nico pulled up behind him. Their engines ticked down in an exhausted sigh. One by one, everything went quiet, radios silenced and the chaos shrunk to white noise.
I finally unbuckled, threw the wheel up onto the dash, and climbed out. Tugging my helmet off, the first thing I saw was Nico pulling off his helmet, his grin wolfish even through the exhaustion. He looked lighter already, the way men do when they know this is their last fight.
Callaghan didn’t look at either of us. He sat a moment longer, visor still down, hands still tight around the wheel. Then he climbed out.
Surprisingly, there were no theatrics and no tantrums.
Nico and I shared a quizzical look as Callaghan walked straight past me toward the cooldown room without a word. We shrugged and waved to the crowd.
Nico fell into step beside me as we cut through the sea of cameras.
“You know,” he said, tugging at his gloves, “I could barely see your tail lights for most of that race.”
I snorted. “Old age catching up with you?”
He shook his head, grinning. “Old age and the fact that Axel’s been telling everyone he’s finally getting a new dog. One that doesn’t bark at strategy calls.”
“Good for him. Tell him to keep the leash somewhere safe. I don’t fetch.”
Nico barked a laugh. “Oh, he’ll find out soon enough. Though I’ve gotta admit, I’m glad it’s you taking my seat. Reckless bastard or not, you’re the right kind of problem to have.”
We reached the cool-down room and collapsed into the chairs. Water bottles waited on the low counter. I cracked one open and downed it in a single breath. The first swallow burned all the way down. Nico mirrored me, shaking his head with a chuckle.
“Got any advice for next season?” I asked, half out of curiosity, half to fill the silence vibrating between us.
Nico leaned back, expression thoughtful. “Get on Thiago’s good side early. He’s quiet, but once he decides you’re his person, that’s it. He’ll kill for you, or ignore you for eternity. No middle ground.”
“Good to know.”
Footsteps echoed down the hall. Callaghan appeared in the doorway, helmet in his hands now. His face was pale beneath the strip of sweat-slick hair stuck to his forehead.
For a moment, no one spoke as he walked over to the shelf and placed his helmet in the cubby next to ours.
Callaghan dropped into the chair beside me, grabbed a bottle, and drank like a man trying to wash the entire race out of his system.
None of us spoke for a while. No one needed to. The kind of exhaustion hanging in that air didn’t leave much room for words anyway.
Callaghan was the one who broke it, voice low and rough. “Hell of a drive, Michaels.”
I stared at him, my mouth almost hanging open. That had almost sounded… friendly.
For a second, I didn’t know what to say. Callaghan hadn’t spoken to me without venom since… hell, I couldn’t even remember when.
“Yeah?” I said finally, tone half disbelieving.
He took another sip of water and nodded, thumb tapping against the bottle. “You were faster in the middle stint. Thought I had you when you boxed early, but… you found something. Don’t know where the hell it came from.”
“Rage has good fuel economy,” I muttered.
Callaghan huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. “Guess so.”
“The pair of you were relentless.” Nico shook his head, grinning. “Best final race. Thanks, guys. You even had me switching tire compounds in my head, trying to work out who’d break first.”
“Wasn’t going to be me,” Callaghan said, quietly enough that no one could mistake it for arrogance. Just the truth.
I glanced at him and found something new there. The rage he’d carried for the last year seemed to have evaporated.
He met my gaze and winced. “Look, “I’m not proud of how I acted this year. Or last. Or…” He shrugged, turning the bottle in his hands. “You deserved better from me. You weren’t the enemy.”
I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. For him to twist it into another barb about my driving or my daughter or any of the thousand things he’d weaponized against me this season.
My brain refused to process what I’d just heard. Jesse Callaghan apologizing to me? I’d sooner believe Nico would forget how to drive than Callaghan could learn the meaning of an apology.
Yet he just sat there, shoulders slumped, looking kind of pathetic.
The Jesse I’d been battling all year had teeth. This version looked like he’d filed them down himself.
The shock of it left me adrift, searching for solid ground.
“I think I kept treating you like one because if I didn’t—” he swallowed hard, “—then I’d have to face that the problem was me.”
Nico snorted. “I said you two would kiss and make up before I retired. Maybe I need to buy a lottery ticket tonight.”
Callaghan rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth tightened with a weary smile. “Don’t push it, old man.”
“Old?” Nico smirked. “Three-time champion on one side, emotional breakthrough on the other. I’m the only balanced one left in this room.”
Callaghan laughed, the sound genuine for the first time since I’d known him.
He glanced at me again. “You earned it.”
“Yeah,” I said, unsure how to react. “So did you.”
“And I uh…” Callaghan rubbed a hand over his face. “I told my lawyer to drop the custody petition.”
Good riddance. Two judges had already tossed his petition before it could gain traction. The whole thing had been theater, Callaghan playing to prove some point I’d never understood.
He didn’t look at me. “It was a shitty move. I wanted a fight, and you were the easiest one to pick.”
“You weren’t going to win.”
He nodded once. “Yeah. Didn’t take me long to realize that. It’s not what I wanted, anyway.”
Could have fucking fooled me.
“Anyway.” Jesse set his bottle down and gave a tight, exhausted laugh. “It wasn’t my finest work.”
“Understatement.”
“Turns out all I proved was that I’m a prick.”
No one doubted that.
Nico whistled. “Character development in real time.”
“Fuck off,” Jesse muttered, but his mouth twitched.
The door swung open and an official poked his head in. “Gentlemen, podium in five.”
We stood, the exhaustion settling deep now that the adrenaline had burned off. Jesse paused at the door, turning back.
“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “you’re going to be brilliant at Rekford.”
Coming from Callaghan, that shook me. “Thanks.”
He nodded, then headed out. Nico clapped me on the shoulder. “Hell of a season, mate.”
“You too.”
The podium ceremony was bedlam in the best way. Champagne sprayed, the crowd roared, and the trophy felt solid and real in my hands. I lifted it high and let myself absorb the moment. Three-time world champion. No matter what else happened, they couldn’t take that away.
When the microphone appeared, I grabbed it without hesitation.