“He’s threatening to challenge custody.” I paced in a tight circle as I filled her in. “He’s got lawyers, Iz. He’s serious.”
Izzy swore on the other end of the phone. “I haven’t changed my mind. You’re better for her than me. She belongs with you.”
Relief flooded through me so fast it made me dizzy. “You’re sure?”
“Completely. Griffin, I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was planning this.” Anger crept into her voice. “But I’ll handle him. I’ll make it very clear that if he tries to take Hazel from you, he’ll lose any chance of having a relationship with either of us.”
“Good.” I bit off the word like a curse. “Because if he comes near my daughter again, lawyers will be the least of his problems.”
“I’ll call him now. I’ll fix this. I promise.”
The line went dead. I stood there for a moment, phone in my hand, still shaking with adrenaline and fury and the bone-deep need to protect what was mine.
“Better?” Liam clapped me on the shoulder.
“Getting there.” But my hands were still trembling, my nervous system still firing on all cylinders. The image of Callaghan’s smug face, the casual way he’d threatened to take Hazel, burned behind my eyes.
“Gym?” Liam asked, his tone more order than suggestion. “Few hours with a heavy bag before you head back to Violet?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. Because if I went back to the hotel like this, with rage still coursing through my veins, I’d terrify her. And Hazel deserved better than a father who brought this kind of darkness home.
But first, I needed to hit something. Hard. Repeatedly.
Until the shaking stopped.
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.
