Page 13 of Hot Lap
When he’d asked if she wanted to be his wife, she'd smiled up at him with sincere blue eyes and said, "That would be the most wonderful thing, Reece Pritchard. What woman wouldn't love to be your wife?"
So they got married at a little white drive-thru chapel where the officiant wore a bedazzled jumpsuit and sang off-key. Therewere blinking neon hearts, digital photos of them looking proper chuffed, and a slip of paper with both their signatures and an official seal that made it real.
Reece turns his head and looks at her hand.
There it is.
The ring. On her finger, right where it belongs.
Its four carats of glittering diamonds catch the morning light. Big square one in the center, trapezoids on either side, smaller brilliants knifing down the platinum band. The ring winks at him, like Mai-Lan had onstage. Slipping it on her finger had been completely fucking deranged, but also the most honest thing he’s done since telling Peony to piss off.
He exhales slowly and murmurs, “Well, that happened.”
In five hours, he’ll be on a private jet to Qatar. Back to the paddock, press interviews, and strategy meetings. Back in the car.
A married man.
And he’ll carry with him the way Maiken Lange had smiled after saying, “I do,” not as a joke, but soft and a little shy, tears shimmering in her eyes. He’s pretty sure she saw the broken thing inside him and still said yes.
What the hell have I done?
Reece sits up and chuckles. Despite the hangover and the insanity, he feels no regret, because he can’t remember the last time anyone made him that stupidly happy for eight hours straight.
He looks at Maiken again. He has no idea what’s next, but whatever it is, he hopes it starts with her opening her dark blue eyes and smiling at him.
Which is when life intrudes, because now he needs to piss. Reece slips from the bed, careful not to disturb her, and grabs the clothes he left out yesterday after he packed all his shit. Healways packs Sunday before a race so he doesn’t have to think about it Monday morning.
He takes a quick shower, because he smells like a man who was on an all-night bender, then shaves, and dresses in trackies and a green and pink PNW Nitro hoodie. He considers his reflection and shrugs.
He doesn’t look any different, but heis. Maiken’s devil-may-care attitude drove a wedge into the anxiety that’s blanketed him since he was a boy, opening a little breathing space.
He inhales deeply. It’s good not to feel like he’s suffocating.
Eight months without touching a podium. That's how long Reece has been fighting to find his form. He's grown accustomed to waking after race day feeling the crushing pressure to do better. Yet this morning, with Maiken curled against him, that desperate hunger is different. Still there, still burning, but no longer consuming everything in its path.
His phone buzzes on the bathroom counter with a new text message from Ona, his physio:
S.O.S. Graham heading your way. Marriage pics on CircuitJerks. License looks legit??? Need confirmation — real or problem? Either way, I'm here.
“Bloody fuckinghell.”
Reece stares at his phone, then opens the bathroom door. Maiken's still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the incoming shitstorm. This is not how he wanted the morning to go. He needs to wake her and see if she remembers what happened between them last night before his father shows up.
Reece crosses to the bed and sits on the edge. He gently touches Maiken's shoulder. "Mai?” No response. He leans over her. “Hey, we need to?—"
Her eyes pop open and she jerks upright with a gasp. Their foreheads crack together with a sickening thud.
"Fuck!" Reece jerks back.
"Shit! Ow! Motherfucker! Ow-ow-owww!" Maiken falls back against the pillows, clutching her head. "What thehell?"
"Sorry! My fault, completely my fault." Reece winces, palm pressed to his throbbing forehead. "Didn't mean to startle you."
She groans. "Holy shit, my skull's splitting in two."
"Ice. You need ice." He stands, still rubbing the spot where they smacked skulls. "Don't move. I'll sort it."
Reece gets ice cubes from the suite’s bar and wraps them in a washcloth. He fetches water and digs ibuprofen from his kit, then returns to the bedside, handing her the makeshift ice pack.
