A slight nod. Then the door closed, leaving me alone with my daughter and the crushing realization of how much I still didn’t know.
I looked down at Hazel, who blinked up at me with sleepy eyes.
“Looks like your old man still has a lot to learn, kid.”
She yawned, her tiny fist curling against my chest.
I carried her back to the cot and laid her down. She was asleep before I finished tucking her blanket around her.
I climbed back into bed and stared at the ceiling. The sheets were cold, the bed too big. Three nights ago, I could have just rolled over and asked her what to do. Three nights ago, I hadn’t fucked everything up.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
GRIFFIN
Idragged myself out of the car, yanked off my helmet and handed it to one of the mechanics.
“Tough session.” Al appeared beside me, tablet in hand.
That was putting it mildly.
P8 in Practice 1. Fucking P8.
My arms ached. My neck throbbed. And I’d gotten maybe six hours of sleep in the last two nights combined because Hazel woke up every time I finally managed to drift off.
Violet had been right. Of course she’d been right.
I needed proper rest. I needed her handling the night feeds. I needed to not be a stubborn asshole who thought he could do it all just to prove a point.
I raked a hand through my sweat-soaked hair.
“We’ll review the data,” Al said carefully. “Figure out where we can?—”
“What the hell was that?” Julian’s voice boomed across the garage.
Every head turned. Engineers froze mid-conversation. Mechanics stopped what they were doing.
Julian strode toward me, fury radiating off him in waves.
What the hell was he doing?
You didn’t dress down drivers in the garage. Not in front of the entire team. Not where cameras from the paddock could pick up audio if anyone raised their voice too loud. We got media training for this. Keep the drama behind closed doors. Present a united front to the press.
If I pulled a stunt like this, I’d lose my contract.
But Julian didn’t seem to care.
“Seven-tenths off Stefano’s pace.” He stopped right in front of me, arms crossed.
The entire garage was watching. I could feel their eyes on me, on us. The awkward silence pressing down.
My jaw clenched. “It’s Practice 1?—”
“P fucking 8, Griffin.” He bit off each word. “You’re behind both Rohan cars.”
Fury burned through me and heat flooded my face.
Why the fuck was he shouting at me like I was some rookie who didn’t know which end of the car was the front. With my entire team watching?
