Page 24 of Hot Lap
"And whoareyou?" Cin has lost her edge.
Reece stares out the window at the clouds passing beneath them, thinking about a woman with a saucy wink who'd looked at him like she could see right through him. "I don't know anymore. But she made me want to find out."
Ona hands him two pills for his headache. "Well, I'd say that's a start."
Petra leans back in her seat, crossing her legs. "The Qatar press conference just got a lot more interesting."
"Christ." Reece hadn't thought about media day yet. "What am I going to say?"
“As much of the truth as you can bear." Ona gestures to the water bottle again.
"What truth is that?" He takes another swig.
Coy speaks up. "That meeting someone who knocked you sideways made you do something totally off-strategy. Like taking a line through a corner that shouldn't work but somehow does."
Petra smiles and nods. "Exactly. Sometimes the best drives are the ones you don't overthink."
The cabin falls quiet as Reece contemplates their words. His phone buzzes, and his heart lurches as he scrambles to check it.
The message is from Wyn.
What the actual fuck?
He sighs, setting the phone face-down. He’s not interested in another family confrontation today.
Reece wakes with a start, momentarily disoriented in the dim cabin. The soft hum of the jet engines and the faint ever-present smell of sanitizer brings him back to reality. He squints at his watch. He's been asleep for almost two hours, which barely makes a dent in the bone-deep exhaustion weighing him down. It’s the kind that comes from emotional whiplash more than physical exertion or even drinking way the hell too much.
His phone has been silent but for a text from Branca.
On 2nd leg. Should arrive on schedule.
Nothing from Maiken. What did he expect? A honeymoon text? A love letter from 35,000 feet? He drags a hand down his face.
Ona has left a tray of food beside him, some kind of light chicken dish with vegetables, and another bottle of water. The green concoction, thankfully, is gone. His head still throbs, but the edge has dulled to a manageable ache rather than the sledgehammer Graham left in his wake.
Across the aisle, Petra is curled into a near-impossible position, somehow managing to look both elegant and childlike as she dozes. Her pink-streaked hair falls across her face, reminding him of when they first met — her, racing royalty with something to prove; him, a teenager who'd just discoveredhe could turn fast laps into fortune. Now they're both veterans, wearing team expectations like second skin.
Farther up the cabin, Ona and Cin are sharing headphones connected to Cin's laptop, both occasionally wincing or laughing at whatever they're watching. Probably competitor crashes. Or cat videos. It could be either.
Reece eats mechanically, not tasting much but knowing he needs the nutrition. When he's finished, he stands, stretches his back until something pops in his spine, then rolls his neck and shoulders. The familiar routine of loosening travel-stiff muscles grounds him.
Movement catches his eye. Reclining in his own seat with a glass of scotch beside him, Coy signals him with a tilt of his head.
No avoiding it now.
Reece crosses the cabin and drops into the seat opposite his team principal, bracing for the conversation he's been dreading since takeoff.
"How's the head?" Coy asks mildly, his English accent softened by years of international travel.
"Better than I deserve."
Coy makes a little sound of agreement. "And the rest of you?"
Reece considers deflecting but decides against it. Coy has always been straight with him; he owes the man the same courtesy. "Processing. Still not entirely sure what happened, to be honest."
Coy's mouth quirks. "Marriage will do that to you." He studies Reece for a long moment, then sighs. "Look, I'm not going to lecture you about impulse control or public image. You're not a child. You know what's at stake."
"I do. One hundred percent, Coy."
