Page 76 of Hot Lap
It’s time to send myhusbanda message.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Inside the Nitro hospitality unit,the big screens loop qualifying highlights and commentary.
Reece watches with his arms crossed, jaw set.
"Well, Marco, that wasn't the Reece we're used to seeing out there today. P7 in sprint qualifying. When did we last see him outside the top five?"
"It's been a while, hasn't it, Bianca? He looked genuinely off the pace in that final sector. The question everyone's asking is whether this is a car setup issue or something else entirely."
"There's been quite a bit of chatter in the paddock, Marco. Some suggesting he's been distracted by recent personal developments."
"You're referring to his surprise marriage, presumably?"
"Indeed. Though others are saying it's not distraction, it's embarrassment. That he's struggling to focus with all the media attention on his private life."
"That's harsh, though. We've seen drivers handle far more scrutiny and still deliver on track."
"True, but Reece has always been intensely private. This level of tabloid coverage is new territory for him. Whether it's affecting his driving... well, the times suggest it might be."
"P7 certainly isn't where Nitro expected to find their second driver today. We'll see if he can bounce back tomorrow, but questions are definitely being asked about whether the off-track drama is bleeding into his performance."
The worst part? The photo they’re using shows Maiken in Vegas, laughing mid-dance. It’s out of context and cropped cruelly.
I did this.By omitting her from his work and remaining silent. He should’ve brought her. Should’ve shown her she belongs.
The commentary ends and Reece stands.
Claudia’s reviewing her notes across the room, but looks up the second she senses him coming.
“Can you get Luca Ricci for tomorrow?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Another interview?”
“Yeah. With Maiken. On record. Between the sprint and quali. Wherever you can make it work.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m not letting Graham write our story.”
She nods. “I’ll make it happen.”
“Thanks.”
The post-quali debrief is tense, but short. No one yells because no one needs to. The telemetry speaks for itself. Reece knows he fucked up and no one on the team is inclined to shove his nose in it.
Asuka runs through tire performance and balance issues like she’s reading off a grocery list, but Reece hears the subtext in every clipped phrase:You weren’t there. Not really.
He nods when he’s supposed to. Says the right things. Keeps his face still.
The second the engineers disperse and the analysis screens go dark, he stands and heads for the shelter of his driver's room.
Once there, Reece spreads the telemetry printouts across his narrow desk. Numbers don't lie, and these tell a brutal truth. He was off the pace all day, distracted and unfocused.
Ona enters, his helmet bag in one hand and kit duffel in the other. She closes the door. "You sent the flowers?"
"This morning."
