Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
In his driver’s room, Nico runs through his preparations with Esteban, doing reflex exercises and stretching. The familiar routine grounds him and helps him focus before he heads into qualifying.
The sprint format changes everything about this particular Friday. Three qualifying rounds with each round dropping the bottom five drivers and the final round setting the top ten grid positions. Every hundredth of a second matters more than usual.
“?Listo?” Esteban asks if he’s ready and hands Nico his water bottle.
“Sí.” Nico follows him from the room to the front doors. The weather is warm and dry. The paddock is crowded.
“Darling, surely you understand how this looks...”
Kelley Hayter-Morrison’s voice carries as she trails Petra and Jacintha like an expensive standard poodle.
Nico’s focus slips. The look on Petra’s face says she’s close to back-handing her mother, and the only thing stopping her is Rodrigo’s massive frame.
Everyone knows KHM only appears when there are cameras to catch her “maternal concern.” Everyone also knows why she’s banned from the PNW Nitro garage.
“Focus, Conejo.” Esteban’s voice at his shoulder cuts through his thoughts.
“Dios mío ?por qué eres tan lento?”
Nico turns at the familiar voice and taunting Spanish. Nicolina stands to the side of the entrance, Sebastian towering protectively behind her. The sight of his sister safe, happy, and loved hits him right in the chest.
“?Tortuga!” He sweeps her into a hug, lifting her clear off the ground. Her laugh is bright and real, and it’s better than any qualifying result.
“Put me down, you giant child.” But she’s hugging him back just as fiercely.
When he releases her, Sebastian steps forward for their usual back-slapping embrace.
Nico tries not to wince at the check mark-shaped scar pulling his sister’s smile askew. He doesn’t miss how Sebastian’s gaze follows her, how his massive frame orbits her smaller one. The beach volleyball champion looks exactly like what he is, a man who could snap someone in half, and has.
“Well, isn’t this touching.”
Junior’s voice oozes something ugly as he emerges from the crowded paddock and heads for WolfBett′s team building.
There’s no reason for him to comment, except he’s a prick.
Before Nico can decide how to react, Sebastian steps between Nia and Baby Betterton, all six feet four inches of muscled professional athlete shifting toward the threat.
His movement is casual, calculated, and absolutely terrifying if you know what those hands did to the last man who hurt Nicolina.
Junior’s smirk falters.
“Problem?” Sebastian makes that single word into a threat.
“No, I...” Junior backpedals. “Just heading inside.” Suddenly, he’s found other business to shove his nose into.
Nicolina hides a smile against Sebastian’s arm. They all know exactly what happened to the man who stalked her. His face looked much worse than Nia’s when Seb was pulled off him.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming.” Nico gives Nia another quick hug after she hugs Esteban. His sister dislikes attending his races. She has some idiotic idea that her presence jinxes him. Also his sport terrifies her as much as it thrills him.
“Wouldn’t be a surprise then, would it?”
Roxana appears at the door to the garage, sets of headphones dangling from her arm.
She waves to Nico and he leads their group over.
More hugs follow as Rox hands the ear protection to Nicolina, Sebastian, and Esteban.
The roar of F1 car engines means they’ll be on radio coms once they enter the garage. “Time to focus, Conejo.”
Vale. Sprint qualifying. Championship points.
With a wicked smile, Nia kisses his cheek. “Now go be faster than Petra Hayter. If you can.”
“?Por qué eres tan mucosa?” Why is she such a brat?
“?Qué? I saw your practice times.” She grins, reminding him that she knows all his secrets. “Should be an interesting quali.”
Sebastian chuckles, and Nico’s sure he’s the subject of some heinous bet between the two of them as they don the headsets and follow him into the garage.
“Time,” Roxana announces.
Nico puts in his earpieces, then dons his balaclava and settles his HANS device over his shoulders.
He gives his sister one last squeeze and fist-bumps Sebastian.
Esteban hands him his helmet. He pulls it on, then climbs into his car.
As he settles into the cockpit, Junior strides past the Nitro garage with his drone controller in hand, fury barely hidden behind the glance he throws at Nico.
That’s right, pendejo. Put a hand on her and one of us will rip it right the fuck off.
“Radio check,” Roxana says in his ear.
“Loud and clear.”
“Make this count, Conejo.”
Roxana’s kept him focused and fast, and Nico enters the third round of sprint qualifying on fresh softs and in the lead.
The drivers get one shot at setting the fastest lap time in SQ3, and he feels sharp and clear with everything in perfect focus. The final qualifying lap stretches before them, ten drivers pushing for that last fraction of speed.
The car glides through the chicane, glued to the racing line. In his peripheral vision, the crowds blur into streaks of color. This is what racing should be—pure speed, clean lines, and drivers pushing to be better.
“Hayter’s on a flyer, Nico. But your sector 1 is purple. Best of the session.”
Petra’s not one to let distractions in, but Nico knows this final lap isn’t just about pole position anymore.
“Keep me updated, Rox.”
“She’s pushing hard. Going for it in sector 2.”
Let her race. Nico understands exactly what Petra’s proving to everyone watching, especially Graham. And Wyn.
The lap unfolds like poetry, both cars finding speed in different places. Through 11, Petra takes that impossible line again, gaining a hundredth.
“Final sector.” Roxana’s voice stays steady in his ear. “You’re down by two hundredths.”
The last sequence appears, and Nico makes a choice. He could push harder, take more risks, maybe grab pole. Or... He goes clean, fast, and safe. Perfect as he crosses the finish line.
Petra flashes past on his right.
“P2.” Roxana announces. “Hayter took P1 by a hundredth of a second. That was a nail-biter, Nico.”
“Third?”
“Reece. Lynch fourth, Wyn fifth.”
Which proves there’s more than one way for a Pritchard to succeed. But Graham won’t be happy about his younger son’s performance.
They pull into parc fermé. Nico parks and climbs from the car and there’s Petra grinning at him, pink streaks catching the sun. A real grin, not her media smile.
“Nice lap, Bunny Boy.”
He takes off his helmet and grins back at her. “Not so bad yourself, TenP.”
Reece joins them, looking pleased despite, or maybe because of, outqualifying his brother. “Clean racing, you two. Almost like you were trying to prove a point.”
The three of them head for interviews, Petra with her shoulders straight and chin high. Reece looking relaxed. Nico could’ve taken pole, but he’s okay with second today. The actual sprint is what really counts.
“Well, that was as fun as having my liver removed with a spoon,” Reece says as they finally escape the media pen.
Twenty minutes of questions about family dynamics and team tensions would drain anyone.
“Nothing like discussing your brother’s qualifying performance with two dozen cameras in your face. ”
“Better than discussing your mother’s surprise appearance.” Petra catches herself. “Sorry. Not your problem.”
“No, but—” Reece stops as Graham’s voice carries across the paddock, sharp with displeasure.
“Fifth isn’t good enough. If you’d just listened to me, you’d be on pole.”
Wyn’s not meeting anyone’s eyes as he hurries past with his raging father in tow. They disappear into the WolfBett team unit, but the damage is written in Wyn’s hunched posture.
“Some shit never changes,” Reece mutters.
Petra’s brows furrow as she considers the WolfBett building, then Reece. “Can’t get through to him yet?”
Reece shakes his head. “I’m trying.”
“Speaking of things that never change...” Nico nods toward where Kelley holds court with select media, perfectly positioned to be visible from their current spot. “Your mother’s timing remains impeccable.”
“Hardly my mother.” Petra’s voice could freeze Texas in July. “Just someone with whom I share DNA.”
“Petra—” Reece starts.
“Don’t.” But her tone softens as she adds, “I’ve got a strategy meeting, so I don’t have to deal with the hell beast.” She turns to leave, then pauses. “Nice driving today, boys.” A ghost of her earlier grin returns. “Even though you’re both too slow.”
Reece snorts. He slaps Nico on the shoulder, then follows his teammate toward the Nitro garage.
“There’s my champion brother.” Nicolina exits the pit building with Sebastian, both of them radiating the vibe of people trying very hard not to commit murder. “P2’s not bad. Though Petra was better.”
“Don’t start.” But Nico’s grinning as he drapes his arm around her shoulder.
“Yeah. Second’s okay.” Sebastian crosses his arms. “Especially with clean racing.”
“Too bad some people’s approach to competition means holding back when he should be pushing one hundred percent.” Junior′s emerged from the pit building behind them, drink in hand.
Now Nico understands the weird energy he’s getting from Nia and Seb.
Junior’s gaze fixes on Nicolina as he meanders across the paddock. “Shame about that scar. You used to be so pretty.”
The temperature seems to drop ten degrees.
“The fuck you just say?” Sebastian moves with the unerring power that’s made him a champion, backing Junior into the narrow space between the WolfBett and Nitro team units.
No surprise, really. Damien Betterton’s boy never could find his way out of a pile of shit.
The size difference between the two men is dramatically apparent.
“Seb.” Nicolina grabs her boyfriend’s arm, but her hand shakes. “He’s not worth going to jail for.”
“No. He’s not. But you are.” Sebastian’s voice contains the same quiet certainty it did when he testified about pulverizing the man who gave Nia that scar.
Nico sees the moment Junior recognizes exactly what kind of man he’s provoked.
Sebastian leans closer, still eerily calm. “Look up Wyatt Ogilvy, if you wanna see what I did to the last guy who fucked with my Ninita. I won’t hesitate to do it again.”
The drink slips from Junior’s hand. Glass shatters on asphalt and liquid splashes designer shoes, but no one moves to help him. Some people deserve whatever’s coming to them.
“Sebastian.” Nicolina’s voice steadies. “Dink. Please.” Dink is the guy’s nickname and Nico appreciates the irony.
Seb steps back, all his focus shifting to her. Junior takes the opportunity to flee, practically running toward the safety of cameras and crowds.
“I’m sorry.” Sebastian blows out a slow breath and shakes the murder from his hands.
“I know.” She touches his face gently. “But he doesn’t matter.”
“?Estás bien?” Nico pulls his sister into a hug and asks if she’s okay.
“Always.” But she’s trembling and that makes him wish she hadn’t stopped Sebastian. “I think I need to get out of here for a bit, though.”
“Food?” Sebastian shifts focus to a different kind of care. “That little barbecue joint we found yesterday?”
“Good idea. Before anyone else gets stupid today.” She grabs Nico’s wrist. “Are you finished soon?”
He snorts. “You know I’m not. Are you at the Fairmont?”
“Of course. On your credit card.”
He nods, glad she stopped arguing with him about money. “Bien. Pasaré por tu habitación cuando termine aquí.” He’ll stop by their room when he’s done at the track.
With a last hug for her and a high-five from Seb, they head toward the paddock exit. Nico watches them go. Knowing Sebastian Mazur saved his sister from a homicidal stalker, and seeing the man go into murder mode are two different things. Nico appreciates Nia’s boyfriend more than ever right now.
He glances toward the WolfBett unit’s front doors. Formula One continues its normal rhythm. Strategists and engineers huddle over data screens, mechanics make adjustments, drivers head for meetings, press and fans rub elbows.
Nico frowns. Someone should check on Wyn, but it won’t be the man’s father.
Racing doesn’t stop for family drama, and sometimes that bothers him. The sport is nothing without the people behind it.