Page 63 of Overtake
“Four laps,” Roxana updates. “Hayter’s lead at six point five seconds.”
Wyn settles into a proper racing rhythm for the first time all day, defending rather than attacking.
The final laps unfold like a masterclass in clean racing. Petra maintains her lead with ease. Nico holds second, matching her pace but incapable of closing the gap. And Wyn drives like himself for the first time in months. Fast, controlled, patient.
“P2. Clean race, Nico.”
They pull into parc fermé and Petra’s smile is huge as she climbs from her car and pumps her fists for her screaming fans. There can be no doubts about her victory. No questions about who earned what and how.
Wyn pulls in and parks behind the P3 marker. There’s no anger or frustration in how he handles his shutdown procedures or the weigh-in. Instead, he nods to Petra. “Good race, Hayter.”
She blinks, clearly startled. “Yeah, thanks, Wyn.”
He turns to Nico, obviously about to say something, but Graham appears in the paddock, and Wyn’s open expression shutters like there’s a hurricane on the horizon.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Saturdays arecrazy on race weekends, more so when there’s a sprint race. After coming down from the high of the sprint win, I immediately had to pivot mentally for qualifying because winning Saturday’s sprint doesn’t give you pole for Sunday’s race.
Still, I was buzzing enough to clinch the pole position for the Gran Prix, though just barely. Nico took P2, of course, and I know he’s going to make me work my arse off tomorrow to get another win. Both Telco drivers will start behind us in third and fourth, and Reece is sitting in fifth. Wyn starts in a distant seventh, which is unusual and proves just how off his racing is.
Richard finds me as the post-qualifying business is winding down around the track. “Outstanding racing today, Petra.”
“Thanks, Rich.” I return his hug.
“Can we chat when you have a minute?”
“How about now? Otherwise it’ll be Monday before I have time.”
He nods. “Walk with me?” He leads me to where the transport trucks are parked, far from the ears and eyes of the paddock. His usual easy manner is strained, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his worn jeans. “Kelley came here with a plan.Several, actually. All of them involving your reconciliation in front of as many cameras as possible.”
“Of course she did. She always has something brewing where I’m concerned.” The leftover adrenaline from the sprint turns sour in my stomach. “Let me guess, she’s suddenly remembered she’s my mother now that I might make history?”
“She’s giving interviews about thesacrificeshe made.” His voice carries rare bitterness. “How stepping back let you focus on racing without family pressure, and watching from afar has been the hardest thing she’s ever done.”
“Watching from afar?” I snort. “Is that what she calls abandoning a six-year-old for richer prospects?”
He’s that richer prospect but, weirdly, that’s never tainted our friendship. I respect Richard Morrison, enough to always be bluntly honest with him. Especially about his marriage to Kelley, because I’ve never understood what he sees in her.
Okay, that’s not entirely true. I understand more than I like to admit. Richard was her first love, the one she left to marry Dad when she got pregnant with me during their torrid, whirlwind affair. Six years later, she went back to Rich, choosing love over motherhood. He’s spent twenty years living with a woman who abandoned her child to be with him, and I think the guilt of that eats at them both.
Richard nods. “Fair question.”
“I’m curious about this revised history she’s writing. Does it mention how she can’t remember my birthday but never misses a photo op?”
He sighs, looking every bit his sixty-one years. “She’s pushing for garage access. Says it’s cruel to keep a mother from supporting her daughter. She’s already got three magazines lined up for exclusive coverage of your emotional reunion.”
That gets a laugh from me, albeit not a happy one. “Oh, that’s amazing.” I stop walking, needing to process this epic level ofbullshit. “And the Singapore incident? What’s Mommy Dearest’s take on that?”
“Proof that you need maternal guidance. That your ‘aggressive response’ comes from lacking a mother’s influence.”
“What response? Wyn hit a wall with his face. Remember?” Clearly no one’s buying this, but it’s the official story and I’ll go to my grave swearing by it.
He gives me such a look. “Riiight.” We both know I’m bullshitting, but I can see he’s amused by the whole thing. And he’s not the only one. “Anyway. Kelley’s positioning herself as a concerned parent.”
“Who what? Suddenly gives a shit?” Oh, it’s a vicious laugh that escapes me this time. “Where was this maternal concern when I stopped eating when I was fifteen? Or when I had my first shunt in F4? Or when I broke my hand in F3 or literally any other non-media-worthy moment in the last twenty years?” When I was hospitalized for disordered eating, Dad and Richard attended therapy sessions. Kelley didn’t. It confused the hell out of my therapists.
He sighs. “I’m sorry.” He’s had to say that too many times. “I know having her as my wife complicates things. I never meant to hurt you.”
