Page 16 of Overtake
Did anyone see what happened???
Karma for that move yesterday
El Conejo looks concerned
TPs are gonna lose it
I strip off my pajamas, down three ibuprofens, and catalog yesterday’s damage in the bathroom’s full-length mirror. Purple bruises mottle my left hip and knee where my car hit the first wall. More bruises mar my right ribs, shoulder, and arm from pirouetting into the second barrier. The swollen knuckles of my right hand blend in with the rest of the injuries. I hope.
I text Jacintha:
Got a meeting with Dad in 20 mins. Brekkie after?
Then I pull my hair back with an elastic and brush my teeth.
Her reply is slow to come, probably because she’s still pissed at me. After supper last night, I told her I’d meet her in her room for stretching and heat therapy to help with my recovery. I might’ve been a no-show because, well, my fist had a prior engagement.
Fine.
Oh, yes. She’s proper angry. Which is fair and deserved.
I wrap my hand to reduce the swelling, then throw on a Nitro team vest so no one can miss my bruised arms. Next come trackies and my favorite trainers, then I head down to the meeting room the team’s been using.
The hotel’s busy. Everyone’s packing for Austin, and many have already left.
Claudia intercepts me, already in damage control mode. “Straight to the meeting, Petra. Don’t sayanythingtoanyone. Not even ‘Good morning.’”
Dad and Reece are already there when I enter. Reece’s expression is unreadable, but that’s one of his tells, so I know he knowssomething.
“Sit.” Dad doesn’t look up from his phone. “Bowie’s on his way with company.”
That’s when the door opens and my race engineer enters.
Followed by… Nico?
Bloody hell. What’s he doing here?
“Right.” Dad looks up. “Let’s talk about what really happened at The Blue Wall last night.”
“You said Wyn’s sporting shiners and a bandaged nose. Presumably he mixed it up with someone? No surprise, considering how shitfaced he was when I left.” I hold Dad’s gaze, knowing he sees right through my act, but hoping he’ll approve it for the worldwide audience. We all have to be on the same page.
Which is why I’m puzzled by Nico’s presence.
“Petra Lison Meris Hayter, cut the bullshit. Everyone’s seen the pictures of Wyn’s face and your right hand. Explain yourself.”
Oh dear.
Dad’s definitely not happy, but I’m committed to the bit, so I hold up my hand before he builds up any more steam. “I don’t know much about Wyn’s face, but I got knocked around pretty badly in the crash yesterday. Would you like to see the rest of me? I look like I’ve gone ten rounds with an elephant.” I hike a thumb in the direction of our garage. “Or we can go look at my car. I think they got most of it off the track.”
His eyes narrow, taking stock of my bruised arms and the careful way I’m holding myself. There’s concern there, warring with suspicion.
“The press want answers.” Dad’s tone shifts to Team Principal mode. “About the crash, about last night, about why my driver and Nico Belmonte were seen trailing an obviously inebriated Wyn Pritchard toward the gent’s room.”
I tilt my head, and the wince that follows is real. “I can’t speak for Nico, but has it occurred to the media that I had to piss?”
Reece snorts. Bless him.
Nico, the tosser, lounges in his chair like it’s perfectly normal to start his day in another team principal’s office after witnessing me deck his teammate mere hours ago. His grey eyes catch mine for a moment, and I swear he’s as amused asmyteammate.
