I adjust my grip on William's hand, careful not to disturb the IV line attached to the back of it. The steady beep of his heart monitor continues; a metronomic reminder that he's still here, still with me.
"I love you," I whisper against his skin. "You're not allowed to leave me. That's an order, Foster."
I don't remember falling asleep. One moment, I'm watching the rise and fall of William's chest, counting each breath like a prayer, and the next, I'm drifting in darkness. Years of international travel have trained me to sleep anywhere and in any conditions.
The sensation of something warm and soft against the crown of my head pulls me back—gentle pressure, the faintest brush of breath. Lips. A kiss. My eyes snap open, body jerking upright in the uncomfortable hospital chair, every muscle protesting the awkward position I've been in for hours.
William looks back at me, his eyes half-lidded but open, a lopsided smile on his bruised face. His left hand—the one not immobilized by surgical pins and bandages—reaches for mine.
"Hey," he says, voice raspy from disuse. Just one word, barely audible over the steady beeping of the monitors, but it's enough to shatter what remains of my composure.
I'm on my feet instantly, cradling his face between my palms, mindful of his injuries but desperate for contact. "You're awake," I whisper, then press my lips to his—gentle, careful, but filled with all the fear and relief coursing through me. "Thank fucking god."
He smiles against my lips, his left hand finding my cheek. "You came to see me." He traces my jawline with feather-light touches, as if reassuring himself that I'm real.
"Of course I came," I say, pulling back just enough to see his face properly. "Nothing could have kept me away."
William's smile widens slightly, then he winces. "Everything hurts," he admits. "My head feels like it's in a vice. And there'sthis weird thing where the room spins if I move too fast." He blinks slowly. "A couple of minutes ago, while you were sleeping, the doctor said that's normal with concussions. That, and the nausea. And sensitivity to light. Fun stuff."
I smooth my thumb across his cheekbone, careful to avoid the bruising. "You're lucky to be alive. The doctor said the impact was 67 Gs." My voice breaks slightly on the number. "Do you remember what happened?"
He closes his eyes briefly. "Not all of it. I remember the tunnel. The car dying. Then being terrified I was about to get hit, and..." He shakes his head slightly, then immediately regrets it, judging by his grimace. "Next thing I knew, Oliver was there. He'd stopped his car.Can you believe that?He gave up his race to check on me."
I make a mental note to send Oliver something—a gift, a thank-you note, whatever is appropriate for potentially saving William's life. Then William's gaze catches on my right hand as I reach to adjust his pillow.
"What the hell happened to your hand?" His tone sharpens with alarm, eyes widening as he takes in the bandages covering my knuckles. "Violet, what—"
"Dominic had it coming," I say simply.
William's expression shifts from confusion to dawning comprehension to horror."You didn't."
"I did."
"Tell me you didn't attack Dominic Harrington in the middle of the paddock."
I shrug one shoulder, a gesture that feels both defiant and slightly embarrassed. "He was watching your crash. Replaying and laughing about it."
William's face pales beneath his bruises. "Violet..."
"He's fine.Unfortunately.Split lip, bloody nose, bruised ego. Nothing permanent." I flex my fingers, wincing slightly at thepull of scabbed skin beneath the bandages. "Though not for lack of trying on my part."
"Jesus Christ," William whispers, brows furrowed with concern. "The FIA will—"
"Suspend me? Already done." I meet his gaze steadily. "I'm banned from the paddock, effective immediately. Six races."
"Six?" He looks stricken. "That's almost half of the rest of this season! What about the team? What about—"
"Blake will handle things trackside. I can still run operations remotely." I take his hand again, squeezing gently. "And right now, the only thing we should worry about is you. I want you better, William. I need you to heal."
"And I need my girlfriend not in jail for assault," he counters, but there's no real heat in his words. Just worry.
"I’ll be fine. The team will be fine." I bring his hand to my lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckles. "But I'm not going home without you. I'm staying here until they discharge you, and then we're going back to the UK together."
He studies my face, something soft and wondering in his expression. "You know, I never imagined my badass Team Principal would be throwing punches to defend my honor. It's kind of hot, in a terrifying way."
A laugh escapes me despite everything. "Shut up."
"Make me," he challenges, echoing our words from two nights ago—a lifetime ago, it feels like now.
