Page 60 of Hot Lap
What I can’t understand — what gnaws at the edge of my mind — iswhy?
Why is Graham Pritchard — my freakin’father-in-law— hellbent on painting me as the monster? Why is he so desperateto control his adult son's life that he’d twist something beautiful into a weapon?
I don’t understand that kind of love.
I don’t understand that kind ofhate, either.
And I'm not sure which one scares me more.
I pick up my phone again and tap the message thread I have with Reece.
I start typing.
So your dad's camp is stirring up shit online. Clips from Vegas are everywhere. They're?—
I stop and stare at the half-formed message. What am I doing?
Reece has enough on his plate. He's preparing for one of the last races of the season. He's under a microscope already because of me. Expecting him to deal with this crap right now is selfish and kinda childish.
My phone lights up with an incoming video call from Frankie.
I check the time — it's the middle of the night in Vegas. She's on night shift at the prison.
I answer quickly. "Mom? Everything okay?"
Her face fills the screen, the harsh fluorescent lights of the prison medical office casting shadows under her eyes. She's in her navy-blue scrubs, short hair slicked back today.
"I'm on my break," she whispers, then her eyes narrow. "Have you read what they're posting about you? I just saw it all while doom scrolling.”
I slump farther down in my chair. "Yeah. Just saw it too."
"What bullshit." She glances over her shoulder, probably making sure her supervisor doesn’t hear her cussing. "Complete and utterbullshit. Donotlet it get to you, baby."
"I'm trying not to."
Her head cocks and she studies me through the screen, her nurse's assessment gaze in full effect despite the thousands of miles between us. "Are you okay, Mai?"
"I'm..." I almost say 'fine,' but this is Frankie. She'd see through that in a heartbeat. "I don't know what I am. This is all so bizarre."
"Do you need to come home?" She shifts, the phone screen momentarily showing drop ceiling panels before refocusing on her face. "Just say the word and I'll figure something out."
The unspoken part hangs between us: she'd go into debt for plane tickets if I needed her to. That's what she's always done, stretched herself too thin for me. Just like Gran did for her.
"No, Mom. I'm okay. Just processing."
She nods, but her eyes are still worried. "That boy treating you right?"
"Yeah." I smile despite everything. "He is. He's different than I expected."
"Different good?"
"I think so." I fiddle with that big sparkly ring. "He sent me roses."
Frankie's eyebrows arch. "Again? How many damn roses does one man need to send?"
"Apparently a lot." I laugh and turn the phone camera to show her the massive arrangement by the window.
"Jay-sus." She whistles low. "That's not roses, that's a whole damn garden."
