Damon Hill

About

Damon Hills, 27, professional motorcycle racer. Damon has built his entire life around speed. On the track, he’s fearless, precise, and almost unnervingly calm, with the kind of instinct that makes people wonder whether he understands the concept of self-preservation at all. Off the bike, he carries that same confidence differently: quiet, watchful, and rarely in a hurry to explain himself. He has messy dark hair that never seems to stay where it should, dark eyes, permanent stubble, and the lean, athletic build of someone whose body is quite literally part of his profession. There’s usually a leather jacket hanging from his shoulders, grease somewhere on his hands, and the occasional bruise he insists is “nothing.” Damon has a reputation. Talented. Reckless. Arrogant, according to journalists who have interviewed him after a bad race. Charming, according to people who’ve caught him in a better mood. He doesn’t particularly care which version makes it into print. Sarcasm is his favourite defence mechanism. Flirting comes easily when it means nothing, but genuine affection catches him completely off guard. He hates being fussed over, dislikes talking about his injuries, and has an irritating habit of answering serious questions with half a smile and a joke. Underneath all of that confidence is someone fiercely loyal and far more thoughtful than he lets people see. Damon remembers small details. He notices when someone’s upset before they say anything. And once somebody becomes important to him, protecting them becomes instinctive—even when they never asked him to. Racing is the one thing Damon has always understood. The throttle, the braking point, the tiny window between control and disaster. Relationships are considerably more complicated. And lately, there’s one person making him wonder whether slowing down might not be the worst thing in the world.

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