Page 94 of Hot Lap
Reece crosses the garage, his racing suit zipped, helmet under one arm. He stops to talk with several people in front of a bank of computer screens, discussing graphs and numbers. His expression is sharp as he nods and looks at the data.
He’s in it.
And I know, without being told, that until the race ends, I don’t exist to him, which is exactly how it should be.
This is his job. His purpose.
I watch him for another minute, heart thudding not from nerves, but awe.
He’s fuckingamazing.
Ona joins Claudia and me, calm and watchful. She’s unbothered by the energy around us. Then again, I’ve noticed Ona isn’t rattled by anything.
She scans the garage. “You’ll meet everyone properly after the race.” Then she points to a man who’s walking past us. “That’s Misho Leroy. He’s Reece’s race engineer and the voice you’ll hear speaking with your husband during each race.”
Misho glances up and adjusts his headset. “Welcome to hell, Maiken. Smile if you want to confuse the enemy.”
I nod. “Always.”
To my surprise, he laughs.
Ona gestures to a small woman with the longest mane of gorgeous dark hair I’ve ever seen. She’s just crossing behind us. “Zara Devi is a race strategist. She plays god with the pit windows.”
I have no idea what that means, but Zara glances up from her tablet, and gives me a quick bright smile.
“Glad you’re here. You’re already less dramatic than most sponsors.” She indicates my outfit. “And you definitely dress better.”
I laugh. “Thanks.”
It’s amazing not to be viewed as an outsider. I hadn’t known what to expect, but this easy camaraderie wasn’t high on my list. They’re treating me like someone who belongs.
It’s strange and totally wonderful.
Coy comes into the garage and stops to welcome me. Ona tells me about the data on the various screens in front of us. I’m amazed to learn that the team here is in constant contact with a whole group of personnel who’re back at their factory headquarters in the U.K.
The energy shifts in the garage as race start approaches. Crew members head to positions out on the pit wall.
I start getting the jitters.
Reece dons his balaclava, helmet, and a u-shaped device that rests on his shoulders. He turns around, spots me, and winks before climbing into his car. He’s so casual about all this. Everyone is, and I guess I’m the only person in the garage whose stomach is hollowed out thinking about what he’s doing.
I tap Ona’s arm and gesture to indicate the thing he wears on his shoulders. “What is that?”
“A HANS device — head and neck support. It’ll keep his skull from breaking his neck if he’s in a severe crash.”
“Oh.” That doesn’t make me feel at all less nervous.
I guess it shows on my face, because she pats my arm. “He’ll be fine, Maiken. He always is.”
I nod and shove the instant visual of Reece’s head breaking his neck out of my mind. Or try to anyway.
His car is lowered and a mechanic signals him when it’s clear to pull out of the garage and into the pit lane. The car’s engine goes from a rumble to a roar, joined by Petra’s in the other side of the Nitro garage and eighteen other F1 cars all heading for the track.
Some of the monitors show footage as cameras sweep overhead. There are a few laps that Ona explains are called installation laps. They allow the drivers to get a feel for their cars and the track conditions and the teams to pick up on any potential issues.
The next forty minutes are spent with cars coming and going through the pit lane, in and out of the garages, the pit crews on the track then off. Last-minute adjustments for the cars and potty breaks for the drivers. Then the Qatar national anthem plays and F1’s diversity and sustainability message is presented. Finally, the drivers do another lap then form up on the grid, somehow finding their narrow little starting boxes.
Twenty cars, twenty drivers, all waiting for five lights to go out.
