Page 47 of Overtake
“I won’t let her make this about her.” My voice is steady and the certainty of that statement centers me. Racing has taught me control, if nothing else.
“No, you won’t.” Dad squeezes my shoulder, and in that gesture is everything we’ve built without her. Everything we’ve become. “You’re a Hayter. The real kind.”
My smile is grim. “When did you get so bloody insightful?”
“About the time I realized being your dad was the best thing that ever happened to me.” He checks his phone. “Now, Cin is looking for you.”
“How does she know I need her?”
“Because she’s a real Hayter too.” He gives me a gentle push toward the near door. “You’ve always been enough, with or without Kelley’s presence, Petra.”
I make it to my driver’s room before the shaking starts. Not obvious—I’ve had years of practice hiding reactions to Hurricane Kelley—but Cin spots it the instant I step through the doorway.
“Ah, shit.” My cousin takes one look at my face. “She caught you?”
I nod, jerky and stiff. “And went full Kelley Hayter-Morrison mode.” My voice catches on the name because fury makes it hard to breathe. “Complete with Chanel suit and career advice.”
“Proper mother of the year, that one.” Cin steers me back through the rear exit and away from the eyes and lenses that might catch the cracks in my composure. “Though I’m shocked she’s at a race. Thought they were too ‘filthy and noisy’ for her delicate sensibilities.”
“Apparently, Singapore’s incidents require maternal intervention.” The laugh that crawls up my throat sounds unhinged, even to me. “She’s already scheduled interviews. Mother-daughter bonding over being female pioneers in motorsports.”
“Pioneer?Her?” Cin snorts. “That woman wouldn’t recognize a racing line if it drove her Louboutins heels up her arse.”
That startles a real laugh out of me. Trust Cin to know exactly how to deflate Kelley’s pretensions.
“Right.” She considers me with steely attention. “You’re too wound tight for meditation, and we haven’t got time for proper sparring before sprint qualies. But I know where we can findsomething to hit that isn’t your mother’s perfectly arranged face.”
“Cin.”
“Tonka.” She loops her arm through mine. “Championship points are on the line. You need your head in the game, not dealing with her bullshit.”
She’s right. The fury burning under my skin is fueled by a lethal concoction of old pain and fresh anger.
We reach COTA’s F1 fitness center, scanning our paddock credentials at the secure entrance. The main area hums with drivers and performance coaches focusing on race prep. Cin guides me to a private training room.
Rigo remains near the front door. I don’t always see him, but the man is never far.
“Booked this as soon as I heard she was here.” Cin codes in and the entry beeps and turns green. “Figured you’d need somewhere without an audience.”
The room’s small, but perfectly equipped with a heavy bag in the corner, mats on the floor, and blessed quiet. Most importantly, it’s secure. No cameras, no press, no chance of Kelley manufacturing anothermemento maternal.
“Twenty minutes.” Cin pulls hand wraps from her duffel and begins wrapping my knuckles and wrists. “Then shower, protein shake, and we get you to Bowie for sprint strategy. Because that’s what matters, Pet. Not KHM’s games, not her PR stunts, not her selective maternal instincts.”
“You know what kills me?” I stare at the clock on the wall as she works. “Rich sent flowers for my birthday. Rich, who has zero obligation to remember or give a shit. But she forgot again.” I shake my head. “Twenty years, Cin. She’s missed twenty years of everything, but thinks she can swan in here and manage my image.”
“Because image is all she understands.” Cin finishes my right hand. “Racing’s a photo op to her and you’re an accessory.”
“A rather dirty, noisy accessory.” I mimic Kelley’s affected tone. “‘Really darling, couldn’t you have chosen a more feminine career? Perhaps modeling? Though you are rather short...’”
“Monaco, 2021.” Cin rolls her eyes. “Right before you put that car on pole and made her eat her words.” She finishes the left hand, then pushes me toward the heavy bag.
“She’s going to make a scene.” I throw my first punch, satisfied by the impact, even if my hand still aches a bit. “You know she is.”
“Let her.” Cin holds the bag steady. “You’ve got Coy, the team, me. Hell, even Richard’s on your side. She’s just noise, Petra.”
“Expensive, designer noise.” Another punch, harder. “Who uses ‘Hayter’ when she wants something.”
“Speaking of which...” Cin’s tone turns careful. “You know what triggered this appearance?”
