Convert Felix to rock music.
I grin as I write it. He's been stubbornly devoted to his electronic dance music for years, claiming it has the "perfect beats per minute for rhythm training." I've been slowly introducing him to my playlists whenever we're at the gym together. Last month, I caught him humming Ember’s Edge's new song under his breath. Progress.
Bring EJ and Oliver to rock concerts.
Our youngest driver could use some cultural education beyond whatever Gen Z considers music these days. And Oliver—despite his Ice King reputation—actually has decent taste. He recognized an Emporium of Souls riff playing in my headphones once. He wears Diamond Wrath’s t-shirts from time to time. There's potential there.
I add the next item with a grimace:
Train neck muscles more intensively (even though it hurts like hell).
The G-forces in the new car are brutal. Every driver feels it, but at my height, the leverage is worse. Felix and I compared bruises after Silverstone testing last year—our necks looked like they had been mauled by a bear. The price we pay for speed.
My pen stills as I look back at Violet. She's shifted again, her face now turned fully toward me, one hand tucked under her cheek. The soft morning light catches on her eyelashes, impossibly long against her skin. The sight of her in my bed—our bed—still takes my breath away.
Our journey flashes through my mind—from her skeptical expression when I first begged for a seat at Colton Racing, to the reluctant respect that grew between us during those early races. Melbourne. Monaco. Tokyo. Singapore. This summer.
I remember our first kiss, our first night together, the surprising softness of her beneath all that professional armor. The way she says my name when we're alone. The look on herface when I'm pushing the car to its limits on track—proud and terrified at the same time.
I think about our countless hotel rooms across the globe, stolen moments between races. Her hand finding mine under tables during tense meetings. The determined set of her jaw when she's defending me to the press, to the board, to anyone who doubts.
And now, she's here. Permanently. Her clothes hanging beside mine. Her books on the shelves. Her scent embedded in the sheets. Her future entwined with mine.
An idea flashes through my mind. I know exactly what I want more than anything this year.
I put pen to paper and write:
Marry the love of my life.
The words stare back at me, both terrifying and exhilarating. I've never even thought about marriage before Violet. It wasn't on my radar, wasn't part of the plan. But looking at those words, I know they're right. I want her—not just for now, but for all the days that come after. I want to call her my wife.
I want forever with her.
I close the notebook and tuck it back into the drawer, switching off the lamp. My heart pounds against my ribs. Not now, not yet—but soon. When the moment is right. I need to find a ring. Plan something special, something worthy of her.
The bed dips as I slide back under the covers. Violet immediately gravitates toward my warmth, her naked body finding mine even in sleep. I wrap my arm around her, pulling her close, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
Her eyelids flutter, not quite opening. "Mmm, time is it?" she mumbles, the words slurred with sleep.
"Early," I whisper. "Go back to sleep, gorgeous."
"What're you doing up?"
"Just thinking."
"'Bout what?" Her fingers curl against my chest, seeking warmth.
I smile against her hair. "The new year. Goals. The future."
"Hmm. Good thoughts?" She snuggles closer, eyes still closed.
"The best." I brush my lips against her cheek. "Happy New Year, Vi."
She smiles, that soft, unguarded smile I never saw before we were together. "Happy New Year, Will," she whispers, already drifting back to sleep.
My heart feels too big for my chest, expanding with everything I feel for her. One day, I'll ask her. One day, I'll tell her that in all my years of chasing dreams—from karting championships to F1 glory—she's the most incredible thing I've ever fought for. But for now, I'm content to hold her in our bed, in our home, on the first morning of what promises to be the most important year of my life.
