Page 62 of Hot Lap
But Reece?
He clawed his way forward with nothing but raw talent and the sheer stubborn refusal to be overlooked.
I find articles about Graham’s ugly divorce from Sheyna Pritchard, Reece and Wyn’s mother. The boys were barely teens. There are stories about Graham smearing Sheyna’s reputation, portraying her as emotionally unstable and unfit to raise them. It’s how he gained custody and moved the boys to Europe to chasehisracing dreams.
The more I read, the worse it gets.
There are whispers — never proven, never shouted too loudly — about the mental and emotional pressure both boys lived under. The "high expectations." The "ruthless drive for perfection."
The Pritchard boys endured demands that bordered on abuse, but no one really questioned Graham’s methods because the results were trophies and, ultimately, two seats on F1 teams.
Winning makes everything look prettier from the outside.
Somewhere along the way though, Reece started cutting the ties.
He hired his own physio — Onalerona Kenyatta — against his father's wishes. It was a quiet act of rebellion, and a crack in the wall Graham tried to build around his elder son.
It was probably the first real step toward freedom Reece ever had.
I sit back on the couch, stunned.
Wow. Am I an asshole for accusing him of making me a tool in his “daddy porn” revenge flick?
Yeah. I am.
“Fuck, I’m a clueless dipshit.” If I’d know who Reece really was and had any clue about his history, I would’ve known that’s not what he was doing Sunday night and Monday morning.
I wasn’t revenge. I wassalvation.
This isn’t just rich family drama staring at me from the screen. It’s surviving a lifetime of pressure most people would’ve broken under.
Reece Pritchard is stubborn, careful, scarred, and still standing.
Still smiling that stupid, beautiful smile.
Still offering me his heart when he could’ve kept everyone shut out forever.
I rub my hands over my face, the weight of his truth settling into my bones.
If I stay and give this marriage a real chance, it won't be just about surviving the press or the paddock. It'll be about surviving a legacy that was built to grind people into dust.
And right now?
I have no idea if I'm strong enough to survive it with him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A soft knockbreaks the early-evening quiet.
I blink-blink-blink, then look up from the containers of sequins set out on the table in front of me. This project keeps growing, and I’ve completely lost track of time. I put my sewing down, stretch my arms, neck, and shoulders, then stand and pad to the inner connecting door and press my ear against it.
Another knock follows.
I crack the door.
Reece stands there in jeans and a dark green team T-shirt, looking painfully good but more than a little worn around the edges. Clearly, he had a long day.
"Hey, honeybee." His voice is warm, a little rough around the edges.
