Page 12 of Overtake
Condensation slides down Nico’s glass and he drags his finger through it. “Sector 1 was sloppy. Need to fix the setup.” His self-analysis is automatic and data-driven. Four championships mean nothing if sector 1 is wrong. Fix the problem, get the result.
“Always so hard on yourself.”
Roxana joins them, tablet still in hand because of course it is. The blue glow of the screen illuminates the tired lines around her eyes. “The softs were perfect after the restart.” She’s been analyzing Nico’s telemetry since before the champagne dried on his race suit. “But we need to discuss Wyn’s defensive positioning. Even before the incident with Petra?—”
“Incident?” Carlos sounds as angry as Nico feels, though both men hide it well. “No. Call it what it was, Roxana.”
Nico glances at the big screen. They’re replaying the crash, analyzing it from every angle. “The stewards got it wrong. Not for the first time.” Petra’s line was perfect. Wyn’s move was deliberate.
“Los comisarios pueden besar mi?—”
“Carlos.” Roxana’s warning comes with a slight smile. She’s known them both too long to be shocked by Carlos’s protective streak. After all, she’s the one who convinced WolfBett to sign Nico when he was still a pimpled teenager with more talent than good sense.“Necesitamos ser diplomático.”
Like being diplomatic ever stopped anyone from driving like an idiot.
“Some people just don’t belong in F1.” Wyn’s voice carries along the narrow bar, loud and getting louder.
Beside him, Damien Betterton, Junior laughs. “Yeah, well, this sport demands a certainphysique. Biology is biology. Right?”
What bullshit.
Nico’s hatred for Junior Betterton is limitless. He catches Wyn’s attention and replies, “Good thing the car doesn’t give a shit if its driver has tits or not.” He gestures toward them with his glass. “Or about the opinions of assholes.”
Junior scowls, but other people along the bar laugh.
Rox grips his arm. “Don’tgive the press anything to run with.”
His race engineer is right, of course. But watching his teammate hold court, bragging about a podium achieved through dirty tactics while that rich American asshole, Betterton, eggs him on, makes Nico clench his jaw until his teeth ache.
The crash replays—Petra’s car spinning into the barrier, carbon fiber exploding across the track. Her quali lap yesterday flashes through Nico’s mind. She was perfect, precise, and fearless.
Same as always.
“Your mother called.” Papá’sclearly trying to distract Nico. “She and Nia watched the race. Your sister says you’re getting slow in your old age.”
Despite his anger, Nico snorts. Nia—Nicolina—is his twin. She lives in the U.S. with her boyfriend, Sebastian. She worries about Nico almost as much as he worries about her. They don’t spend enough time together, but Nico texts or calls her weekly to make sure she’s alright.
He glances at the time in Seattle on his phone. It’s Saturday morning there. “Sí, Viejo.I’ll text her tonight.”
“Vale.” Carlos squeezes his shoulder. He knows talking with Nia will calm Nico.
Roxana’s phone alarm rings. “It’s late and tomorrow is busy.”
Papá nods. “Time for bed. Jenni wants to say hello, Rox.” Jenni is Nico and Nia’s American mother.
Carlos turns to Nico. “No te quedes fuera demasiado tarde.” Don’t stay out too late. He’s Nico’s manager, but he’s alwaysPapáfirst.
Nico nods. “Yo sé.” He knows.“Dite a Mamá que la llamaré mañana.”He’ll call his mother tomorrow when he has time to chat. They have a few days off before they fly to COTA—the Circuit of the Americas in Austin, Texas.
Papá and Roxana leave.
Wyn get more shit-faced.
Deciding he’s had enough bullshit, Nico downs the rest of his whiskey. He’s about to abandon his barstool when the energy in the room shifts, and he knows who’s arrived before he even sees her.
Petra Hayter.
She appears in the doorway, dark hair falling in waves past her shoulders. Her signature pink streaks, equally rebellious and perfect, are purple under the bar’s blue lights. The elegant dress she wears is sponsorship-dinner appropriate, but there’s nothing corporate about the steel in her spine, and nothing fake about the dark bruises marring her left arm. Bruises Petra’s not hiding.
