Page 115 of Hot Lap
“Oh shit. You’re right.” I grab my phone and shoot off a text.
Hey, Eddie. Can I ask you something kinda important?
A few minutes pass.
Hey, Mai. What’s up?
That night at the Oyster — the guy who grabbed me? Damian Betterton, Jr.? You remember that, right?
Another pause. Then he replies.
Yeah. I remember.
Would you be willing to say that on record? I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.
There’s a longer pause.
Can I think about it? I gotta be careful with stuff like this. It’s a lot.
I show Reece the screen. “He’s not saying no.”
“He’s saying it’s dangerous for his career. Which means he’s smart.” Reece leans back. “We’ll give him space. He’s a good guy. If he can help, he will.”
I nod, but uncertainty’s still skittering under my skin, despite all the possibilities we’ve got in play.
I reach over and trace a circle on his knee just above the water. “You sure I’m not a liability, RP?”
He opens his eyes and reaches for my hand. “You’re my wife, Mai. That makes you part of the team. And I never bet on anyone I don’t believe in.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
ABU DHABI GRAND PRIX | WEDNESDAY
Reece stepsonto the balcony of their hotel suite, coffee in hand. The sun is rising, purple and gold gleaming over Abu Dhabi’s skyline, but he’s been up for an hour and a half, stirred from sleep by the haunting sound ofFajrcarrying across the city.
His phone buzzes.Sheynaappears on the screen, and he answers immediately. “Mum.”
“No hellos this morning?” Her voice is brisk, but there’s warmth under the edge.
“Didn’t think this was a social call.”
“It isn’t. This video shit has Graham’s stink all over it.”
Reece exhales. She’s seen the footage and the media outrage. “Yeah. I know.”
“The fact that Baby Betterton dropped his clip while you were in the air wasn’t an accident.”
He leans against the railing, watching the water shift below. “He was wearing a body cam, and edited the footage to make it look like she lashed out for no reason.”
“Of course he did. He’s a creep with too much family protection and not enough impulse control. But this is strategic, Reece. Someone handed him a match and said, ‘Light it.’ You and Maiken are the ones they’re trying to burn.”
“That’s not happening on my watch.”
“It damn well better not.” His mother’s seriously hacked off.
“Look, Mum, they want to come for her? They go through me first.”
“Good. But I’ve seen this pattern before, Reece. Tear the woman down, frame her as unstable or trashy or both, then let the man emerge looking like a saint for surviving the drama.”
