Page 17 of Overtake
“I spoke with Wyn in the gents,” he drawls, Spanish accent making him sound smoother than I know he is. “He was, as many have noted, quite drunk. He stumbled and hit a wall. These things happen when you can’t handle your champagne, and vodka, and whiskey, and whatever else he was drinking.” He shrugs. “Hitting walls is going around this weekend.”
Reece snorts again. When I glance his way, he’s studying the ceiling with suspicious intensity.
“And you’re here out of concern for your teammate?” Bowie asks Nico, voice as dry as Bahrain.
“I’m here because Roxana suggested it would beprudentto ensure our stories align. About the incident.” His gaze cuts to me. “With the wall.”
“The wall,” Dad repeats flatly.
“The very solid, very unforgiving wall.” Nico’s lips twitch, and he focuses back on Dad. “Unlike some drivers, it didn’t move out of the way.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Or possibly screaming. Trust Nico bloody Belmonte to turn this into a commentary on his teammate’s driving.
“Pet.” Dad’s using his ‘this could be serious’ voice now. I almost feel bad for him. He’s been dealing with all of us since we were snot-nosed kids. It can’t be easy to balance history and responsibility. “If there’s anything?—”
“I got knocked around in a crash yesterday.” I meet his eyes steadily. “A crash, I’ll remind you, that happened because the stewards have decided running competitors off the track is acceptable racing protocol if you’re a Pritchard.” I glance at my teammate. “No offense, Reece.”
He dips his chin. “None taken.”
“I left the bar early because I was sore and tired. Whatever happened in the gent’s room is between Wyn and his wall.”
“And Nico?” Dad’s focus stays glued to me.
“Was apparently being a good teammate.” The words taste bizarre in my mouth. “Though I can’t imagine why.”
Nico straightens, all traces of amusement gone. “Some things matter more than team politics.”
“Like not having your teammate’s shitty behavior reflect badly on the whole grid?” I challenge.
Something flashes in his eyes. “Exactamente.”
Dad sighs and exchanges a look with Bowie. Then he sits back. “Fuck off, all of you. And do your best to avoid the press for the rest of the week.”
“And when we can’t?” Reece stands.
“Stick to the story about Wyn and Petra meeting unforgiving walls.”
I stand, but Dad adds, “You and I have a meeting with the race director at ten thirty hours, Pet.”
“About Wyn’s face?”
“About the crash.”
“Good.”
He pins me with a heavy stare. “Don’t bring up The Blue Wall, even if they do.”
“Understood.”
Out in the hall, Reece falls into step beside me as Nico disappears into the lift.
“Brilliant punch, Tenacious P.” My teammate’s voice is pitched low, meant for my ears only. “Your hand positioning was better than his defensive driving.”
“I don’t know what?—”
“Please.” He cuts his gaze to me. “I've lost count of how many times I've wanted to put his face through a wall over the last few years.”
“Why haven’t you?”
