I hesitate, suddenly uncertain how he'll take this next part.
"Why what?" Felix prompts.
"I'm going to suggest you for the reserve driver seat at Colton Racing."
His face freezes. "What?"
"You heard me. There have been talks. The team needs an experienced reserve driver, especially with EJ racing alongside me. Someone who can step in if needed, help with development, mentor him if I'm tied up."
"That's"—Felix stands abruptly, pacing across my living room—"a terrible idea."
"It's the best idea I've had in months," I counter.
"Will, I was a Baretta driver for seven years. I've won races. I can't just... become a reserve at a midfield team."
"Former midfield team," I correct. "Soon-to-be frontrunner."
He scoffs. "You're delusional."
"And you're unemployed," I point out, not unkindly. "Look, I get the pride thing. I do. I was the most prideful motherfucker a couple of months ago. But this is a foot in the door back to F1."
"As a backup. A spare part."
"As someone with valuable experience and knowledge." I stand, too, facing him. "Felix, the sim work alone would be worth it—helping develop a car that's actually improving. Not to mention you'd stay race-ready if another seat opens up elsewhere."
He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "You make it sound so simple."
"It's not simple. It's a step back to take two forward." I move closer, dropping my voice. "Colton Racing is in a good spot, Felix. Growing, improving. The environment is welcoming—warm, like a family. Nothing like the corporate bullshit at Baretta."
His shoulders slump slightly. "Violet Colton doesn't even know me. Why would she want me on her team?"
"That’s where you’re wrong. She knows plenty about you. She keeps tabs on all F1 drivers—and other categories as well. You're one of the smartest drivers in the paddock, your technical feedback is worth its weight in gold, and you can help develop their car in ways most drivers can't even understand." I place a hand on his shoulder. "And she’ll consider you because I trust you. That means something to her."
He studies my face, searching for signs I'm bullshitting him, but finding none.
"You really believe in this team, don't you?"
"I do."
And I meant it. For all my initial skepticism when I first signed, Colton Racing has become more than just a paycheck; it's become something I genuinely want to fight for.
Felix lets out a long breath. "I don't know, Will..."
"Just think about it," I urge. "Better yet, come with me to Colton Racing next week. Before the HQ and factory closes for the holidays. We'll talk to Violet, no pressure. Just see the place, meet the team."
He hesitates. "And if I hate it?"
"Then you can tell me 'I told you so' and we'll look elsewhere." I grin, careful not to stretch the skin around my injured eye. "But you won't hate it. Trust me on this."
Felix shakes his head, but the ghost of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. "You're relentless, you know that?"
"It's why I made it to F1," I remind him. "And it's why you're going to make it back."
For just a moment, something akin to hope flickers across Felix's face—faint but unmistakable. Like the first rays of sunlight after a storm.
"Fine," he says finally. "I'll come. But I'm not promising anything."
I resist the urge to pump my fist in victory. "That's all I ask."
