I’d spent my life surrounded by noise: engines, applause, the hum of the paddock, but this unraveled something I didn’t want to name.
And I had no fucking clue what to do with it.
“Mate, that’s an actual baby,” Liam said when he stepped into my living room ten minutes later.
I hadn’t moved since we hung up, too afraid to jostle Hazel awake. The only thing keeping me tethered to reality was the steady rise and fall of her tiny chest against mine.
A baby. My baby.
I was completely and utterly fucked.
Liam raked a hand through his hair. “Where’s the manual? They do have manuals for these things, yeah?”
I shot him a deadpan look. “Yeah, they hand them out at the hospital. Right next to the gift shop.”
“Brilliant. And yours is…?”
“Missing.” I glared at him.
Liam whistled low. “So, what’s the plan?”
I stared at Hazel, my fingers twitching at my sides. “Haven’t figured that out yet.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, just shoved his hands into his pockets and studied me like I was a particularly difficult pit stop.
“Alright. First question, have you called Selene yet?”
Selene Voss, head of PR for Aedris Motorsport. She was ruthless, sharp as hell, and terrifying in a way that made rival team bosses stammer when she walked into a room.
I sighed, pressing my fingers against my temple. Calling Selene was at the absolute bottom of my to-do list. Somewhere below figuring out how to hold a baby without breaking her and not having a full-scale mental breakdown in the next five minutes.
But it couldn’t be avoided. Nothing in my career, not a single sponsorship deal, press conference, or off-track appearance happened without approval. She controlled the narrative. She told me what to say, when to say it, and how to look while I said it.
This was a fucking PR disaster waiting to happen.
“I will.”
Liam made a noise that immediately pissed me off. Half laugh, half scoff.
“It can wait until the morning.”
His brows shot up. “Oh yeah. Brilliant idea. Sleep on it. Wake up refreshed. Maybe have a smoothie. Meanwhile, some prickwith a long-lens camera gets a shot of you holding a baby, and the internet implodes before you’ve even had your coffee.”
I scowled. “Who the hell is outside my house at this time of night?”
Liam shrugged. “Dunno. But are you willing to bet your entire career that it’s no one?”
Fuck.
He crossed his arms. “You think I enjoy being the responsible one here?”
“That’d be a first.”
“And yet,” he said, “you’re forcing me into the role.”
I dropped my head back against the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
Fucking hated it when he was right.
