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.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
VIOLET
“No. Absolutely not. I’m not wearing that.”
Cleo’s grin only got wider as she dangled the red t-shirt in front of me. “Live a little, Vi. You can’t be the only person in this paddock not in team colors.”
I hadn’t worn Aedris merch since I was thirteen years old and my father caught me cutting up a t-shirt to make it more my style. I got a pass after that.
I hadn’t planned on that ever changing.
“I’m not team and I’m not a fan. Why would I wear the merch?”
“Right.” Imani’s brow arched. “And I’m not drinking before noon.”
“That’s different. You’re on holiday.”
“And you’re in denial.” Cleo rolled her eyes and picked up a baby romper from the array of options she’d laid out on the table.
“I don’t know how to break this to you, babe, but you’re holding the team mascot.” Imani smirked, barely blocking her expression with a glass of champagne. “Even if you want to pretend your dad doesn’t run the team and you’re not getting lucky with you know who, that cutie’s earned you honorary status.”
If I’d known they planned to gang up on me, I wouldn’t have let the pair of them into our suite.
Hazel giggled in my arms as Cleo danced a matching romper in front of her.
I pursed my lips, not even remotely swayed. “I’ll look like a groupie.”
Imani snorted and Cleo clucked at me disapprovingly.
“Correction,” Cleo said, flipping the t-shirt around with a flourish. “You’ll look like the world champion’s personal good luck charm.”
She held up the back: MICHAELS 7, bold and white across the shoulders.
