Page 72 of Overtake
“Really. Did you tell them how you managed to get banned from the media pen this afternoon?” His tone stays pleasant. “Or how security escorted you from the pit lane?” His smile mirrors hers in insincerity. “Or perhaps how you tried to force your way into Nitro’s garage until your own husband had to remove you?”
Wait. What?
“I was attempting to see my daughter.”
“No, you were attempting to create drama.” Dad steps between her court and me. “Give it a rest, Kelley. The media got quite enough footage of yourmaternal concerntoday.”
Several journalists wince.
“Now,mydaughter needs rest before tomorrow’s race. Unless anyone wants to explain to the FIA why they’re harassing a driver in her hotel?”
At that, photographers and reporters scatter faster than backmarkers.
Kelley’s perfect control cracks. “You can’t keep me from my daughter, Coy.”
As if I’m a child and not standing right here.
Dad shakes his head. “That’s been your doing for twenty years, Kelley, not mine.”
He guides me toward a lift. It dings and we enter. Thankfully, it’s empty. Dad leans against the wall and eyes me. “Care to explain why you’re returning so late? Or should I pretend I didn’t see Nico Belmonte taking the service road behind you?”
Bloody hell.
The space is too small for this conversation. He watches me and I know that he knows that I know that he knows everything but wants me to tell him anyway.
“I went for a run.” Not a lie. Just not the whole truth.
“Mm.” He massages his right wrist. Arthritis is part of the legacy of his own racing days. “And El Conejo just happened to be exercising in the same area?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And we were just talking.”
“You were talking. With the same driver who took that interesting line in sector 3 during sprint qualifying? Who’s been watching you like gravity shifts when you’re around?”
“It’s not...” But how do I finish that sentence? Not what? Not happening? Not important? Not absolutely terrifying how much I want to kiss him again?
The lift stops at our floor. Thank God.
We reach my room, but Dad’s silent as I fumble with the key card—twice—before I get it to work. The light turns green and the door lock clicks.
“Petra Lison Meris Hayter, as your father and your team principal, I need to know if Nico Belmonte’s becoming more than just another driver to you.”
There it is. Coy Hayter getting right to the point. No flowery encouragement, just shoving my nose right into what I’ve stepped in.
My stomach drops like I’ve crested a hill at speed. Heat crawls up my neck, and I cross my arms, then uncross them because that’s too defensive. “He can’t be.” I shake my head. “It’s not an option.”
Dad studies me for a long moment. “Why not?”
“Because—” But I don’t know how to finish that. The teams? The championship? Because I’m terrified? Because Kelley’s downstairs reminding me exactly what happens when you let people matter?
“You know what’s interesting about you, Pet?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “You calculate every risk on track in the blink of an eye. Brake points, tire deg, fuel loads. You make perfect decisions under pressure.”
I wait for the but.
“But off track? You’ve already decided the answer before you’ve even looked at the data.”
