Redline | L.Norris

twenty six

The hotel was quiet, the hum of Zandvoort fading into memory under the soft glow of overhead lights. Most of the Red Bull team had long since gone to bed, or were out celebrating. But Isla sat across from her father in the lounge by the window, the distant buzz of the city far quieter than the storm in her chest.

She had her arms crossed, her posture stiff, like she was trying to make herself smaller. Kimi sat opposite her, elbows resting on his knees, eyes steady on hers.

The silence between them wasn't quite uncomfortable, but it was heavy with the weight of things unsaid.

Then, finally, in that gravel-deep voice that rarely wavered, Kimi asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Isla blinked down at her hands. Her voice barely came out. "I didn't know how."

His gaze didn't soften. "Didn't know how or didn't want to?"

She looked up quickly. "It's not that," she said. "I did want to. I just..." her voice caught and she shook her head, frustrated. "I was scared, okay? Scared if I told anyone, especially you, it would all fall apart. My seat, my sponsors... everything I've worked for. He made it sound like he could ruin me with a single phone call."

Kimi leaned back slightly, arms folding across his chest. His face stayed unreadable, but his voice dropped, low and pointed.

"You think I care more about racing than about you?"

She flinched. "No. I know you don't. But I worked so damn hard just to get to F3. And he was the only one willing to back me. Without that, I wouldn't even be on the grid. And I've seen what happens to girls who speak up. They get labeled emotional. Problematic. Disposable. People forget them before Monday."

Kimi's jaw tensed. "You were never going to be forgotten," he said flatly. "And you're not just some girl to me. You're my daughter."

Her eyes brimmed. "I didn't want to disappoint you."

That hit him. He leaned forward, voice rougher now. "You think I'd be disappointed that some asshole tried to intimidate my daughter?"

She said nothing, eyes lowered.

"I'm not mad at you," he went on. "I'm mad at me. That I didn't see something was wrong. That I let you go through that alone."

She swiped her sleeve over her cheek, voice cracking. "I didn't want you to see me weak. I wanted to prove I could hang with the boys. That I deserved to be here."

Kimi didn't hesitate. "You won a Grand Prix today," he said. "There's nothing weak about that. About you."

Silence fell again but this time, it wasn't weighted with guilt. It was soft. Fragile.

Then, more quietly, Kimi said, "I know I missed a lot. Birthdays. Races. Time. That's on me. But I never stopped being your dad."

She looked at him, really looked at him, and gave a small nod. "I know that now."

He let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. "But you have to talk to me, Isla. I know I don't always say much, and I've never been great with this... emotional crap. But I want to be here. Not just on Sundays. Always."

Her voice was small, but sure. "Okay."

For a second, he just looked at her, eyes unreadable behind the lines of quiet regret and fierce love. Then he gave a slight tilt of his head.

"Good. Now go rest. You've got a championship to win."

She smiled, small, tired, but real and stood up.