By 2 AM, Hazel’s temperature was down to 37.9. By 4 AM, it had broken completely, and she was sleeping peacefully for the first time in hours.
Griffin and I sagged against each other, emotionally and physically drained. His arm tightened around me, and I let myself enjoy the solid comfort of his embrace.
“She’s really okay,” I whispered.
His lips brushed my temple, so soft I might have imagined it. “Christ, I never want to go through that again.”
“You will, though. Babies get sick. It’s part of the deal.”
“Don’t tell me that.”
His chest shook with tired laughter, and I smiled. This easy intimacy, the way we fit together, it was insidious. It made me want things I couldn’t have.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
GRIFFIN
The bike’s chain caught as I shifted down for Turn 1. Circuit of the Americas sprawled ahead, empty tarmac wavering in the Texas heat.
I’d crashed here last year. Not that I’d ever remind Violet of that fact.
Callaghan had won. He wouldn’t again.
“Fresh surface through the esses,” Al said, keeping pace beside me on his own bike. “Grip should build through practice.”
I nodded, legs burning as we climbed the infamous uphill approach. My engineers pedaled behind me, the data analyst already muttering about grip levels while Al saved his breath for the technical corners. Liam wheezed something about normal people using their feet.
My phone buzzed against my ribs. Violet, probably. She’d been keeping me in the loop despite the endless stream of media commitments and team meetings. Updates on Hazel’s naps,photos of her giggling at the telly, little snippets that made me smile when everyone around me was deadly serious.
“You’re grinning like a lunatic,” Liam said, pumping harder to keep up. “Either you’ve spotted something we’ve missed, or you’re thinking about?—”
“Shut it.”
“Definitely thinking about her.” He wiped sweat from his forehead.
The electric whir of a scooter cut through our banter. I glanced back and barely suppressed my scowl when I spotted Callaghan gaining on us. He rode a sleek Sorel-branded ride, not a drop of sweat on him while we worked like proper athletes.
“Afternoon, Griffin.” Callaghan pulled alongside without invitation, that familiar smirk already in place. “Bit warm for cycling, isn’t it? Though I suppose you need all the practice you can get.”
My jaw clenched. Here we bloody go.
“Piss off.”
The engineers fell silent behind us and Al tensed up next to me, throwing me side-eye warnings. Why, I couldn’t say. It wasn’t like I was the one who had up and punched someone in the middle of the paddock unprovoked.
“Touchy. How’s your preparation going? Must be difficult finding focus with all the new... responsibilities.”
Okay so maybe I’d spoken too soon. The casual way he mentioned Hazel did make me want to deck the fucker.
“I’m focused.”
“Are you? Because your times in practice have been inconsistent. Losing those tenths here and there.”
We approached the technical section, esses that separated the good drivers from the great ones. Every crack and ripple in the notorious surface jarred through the frame, a constant reminder that COTA didn’t coddle anyone.
Al dropped back with the other engineers, leaving just Liam close enough to hear. Smart of them to create distance from whatever this was building toward.
“Though I suppose when you’re juggling so much at home, something has to give.”
