Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Your concentration is off.” Esteban adjusts Nico’s position on the massage table, working out pre-race tension. “Want to tell me why?”
“No.”
“Ah-ha. So it has nothing to do with whatever happened in the fitness center? Or the stewards’ investigation? Or vague threats from some pompous asshole?”
“How did you know about that?” Nico starts to sit up, but Esteban pushes him back down.
“Roxana mentioned you looked distracted when you returned from the gym. And everyone’s talking about the stewards.” Esteban finds a particularly tight muscle, and Nico winces. “Also, Graham’s been in Race Control all morning, trying to influence the outcome.”
“Hostia.” Of course he is. The prick.
“Focus on what you can control.” Esteban is a stabilizing force. “The sprint. Your driving. The—”
There’s a knock at the door and Victoria opens it. “Nico, thought you should know the paddock’s buzzing about Petra Hayter being seen leaving the fitness center looking either flustered or pissed off. No one’s quite sure.”
Nico manages not to react, but Esteban’s hands pause.
“The sprint starts in two hours,” his trainer says pointedly. “Gossip can wait.”
But Victoria’s not finished. “I’ve been told the stewards’ decision about Singapore will be announced after the sprint.” She studies her tablet. “Graham’s already suggesting any penalty against Wyn could affect both championships.”
Both championships. Constructors and Drivers. Points and politics and...
“Enough, Victoria.” Esteban’s done. “Out. My driver needs to prepare.”
After she leaves, silence fills the gap.
“Well?” Esteban goes back to working on a new round of tension in Nico’s shoulders and neck.
“Well what?”
“Was she flustered or pissed?”
“Fuck if I know.”
“Nico. What happened in that fitness center?”
“Nothing happened.” Yes, he sounds defensive.
“Nothing.” Esteban’s finds another knot. “That’s why you’re tighter than your car’s brakes.”
“Is that any surprise?”
“And why you keep rubbing your fingers together like they remember something?”
Nico stops his fingers.
“The sprint will be challenging enough without you lying to yourself.” Esteban moves to work on his right arm. “Or to me.”
“She thought I let her take pole.” Nico pushes the admission out with a trapped breath. “She confronted me about it.”
“Did you?”
“No!” He tries to sit up again, but Esteban holds him in place. “I raced clean. She won because she was faster.”
“And that’s all that’s bothering you?” Esteban’s tone stays carefully neutral. “The racing?”
“What else would be bothering me?”
“You tell me, maestro. You’re the one who came back from that confrontation looking like you’d seen Jesus.”
“No me jodas, Esteban.”
Before Nico’s physio can reply, Heinrich opens the door. “Final strategy meeting in ten minutes, Nico.” He pauses. “And Junior’s talking shit to the media.”
Nico glares at him. “About what?”
“The Singapore investigation and driver loyalties.”
“Perfecto.” Nico sits up and slides off the table. “Can I run him over yet?”
Heinrich laughs. “If only I had the authority to say yes.”
Esteban shadows Nico to the engineering room. “Focus on what matters. Everything else is noise.”
But as he settles at the table between Roxana and Heinrich, Nico circles back to that moment in the fitness center. To fierce dark eyes and challenging words and a touch that shouldn’t have mattered but somehow has changed everything.
Just noise? Petra? Nunca.
Dios mío. Is he out of his mind? Graham’s teeth are already at his throat about team loyalties and what does he do?
Gets wound tight over Petra Hayter. Bloody brilliant, as she’d say.
He isn’t worried about Graham impacting his career.
Even if WolfBett lets his contract go—something they’d be stupid to do—he can land a seat with any team.
But if it’s all over a rival driver? That creates a whole different situation.
“Nico?” Roxana’s voice yanks him free of his thoughts. “Ready to go over sprint strategy? Or should we wait while you process whatever’s going on?” She glances at Esteban.
Nico shakes his head. “Let’s discuss tire management.”
In the garage, his car and Wyn’s rumble. Nico threads his earpieces up through his fireproofs and ignores his teammate. If Wyn wants to talk, he knows where to find him.
“Be safe, Conejo.” Nicolina hugs him tight, her presence as steadying as always. Even with all that’s happening, his sister’s support centers him.
“I always am, Tortuga.” He returns her embrace, grateful she and Sebastian made the trip.
“Faster than last time.” Sebastian bumps fists with him.
Nico grins. “I can do that.”
Esteban hands him his balaclava and nods. “Ahora.” Now.
Nico moves to his car, catching glimpses of Nitro’s pink and green vying with WolfBett’s blue and gold fan base in the grandstands.
Helmet goes on, HANS device tethered in place, and Nico climbs into his car’s cockpit. Everything else is immediately muted—politics, investigations, a complicated moment with a beautiful rival.
Roxana comes through clear. “Radio check, Nico.”
“Copy.” The routine settles him further. He watches Bazyli Zi?tek, his number one mechanic, as the man guides him from the garage into the fast lane.
The installation and formation laps ground him, just like always as he weaves to build heat in the tires. He finishes and pulls into his place on the grid, P2. Just ahead of him, a pink and green car rumbles.
“The opportunities are in turns 11 and 12,” Roxana says.
Ahead, Petra’s car is perfectly positioned. Her start procedures are always textbook—one of many things he’s noticed over years of racing her. Not that he’s thinking about that now. Not that he’s thinking about anything but...
“Formation complete. Green flag.”
The grid settles. Engines growl with contained power. Five red lights appear on the stanchion overhead.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Then… lights out.
His start is clean, but Petra’s is perfect. They drag race to turn 1, neither giving an inch. A glance in his left-side mirror shows Reece slotting into third, protecting the inside line.
Through turns 1 and 2, Nico’s finding the pace, pushing Petra, and watching for opportunities.
“Wyn’s pushing hard from P5,” Roxana warns.
Right. Because some complications can’t be ignored at 300 km/h.
“He’s taken P4,” Rox updates.
Of course he has. Sprint races reward exactly the kind of driving Graham’s been pushing for; all attack, no conservation. This is Wyn’s M.O. Push hard early, force errors, create opportunities.
“Gap to Hayter two point one, Nico.”
There’s a flash of blue in his mirrors. Wyn’s found a gap and muscled past his elder brother. Now there’s nothing between Nico and a fight.
“Heads up,” Roxana says. “He’s in push mode.”
Nico doesn’t need the warning. He knows exactly what’s coming. Graham’s pre-race “pep talk” is driving Wyn to push harder, take risks, and prove something to his father.
“Pritchard’s closing fast,” Roxana says unnecessarily.
Ahead, Petra’s driving her own race, perfect lines and controlled power. But she knows who’s behind her and what’s developing. Bowie will make sure of it.
Eleven laps to go. No tire management needed. No playing the long game. Sprints call for pure balls-out racing.
And Wyn Pritchard is carrying too much emotional baggage.
“Wyn has DRS,” Roxana announces.
The car’s handling changes as Nico’s teammate closes the gap behind him.
It’s basic physics—the turbulent air from Wyn’s car affects the airflow over Nico’s, reducing the downforce that keeps it stable on the track.
Through turn 13, the rear of his car loses grip and it’s like driving on ice as it slides around.
Every instinct says defend the inside line, but that means sacrificing speed on the next straight where Wyn’s DRS advantage will be strongest.
They’re playing a high-speed chess match at 320 km/h, complicated by team hierarchy and Graham’s ego. One miscalculation and carbon fiber parts will be scattered across the track.
“Are we ignoring team orders today?” Nico knows the question is facetious. Wyn always ignores the order to protect Nico’s lead.
“Gap to Hayter now one point eight seconds,” Rox updates. “Wyn within DRS range of you. Marcus says—”
“I know what Marcus says.” Team orders. Championship points. The bigger picture. All of which Wyn can’t seem to see anymore. “Let me drive, Rox.”
Wyn feints left, testing, taking the same aggressive line that put Petra into the barriers in Singapore.
They take the hard right-hander at turn 20 and accelerate into the straight.
DRS open. Attack mode engaged. Seven tenths gap.
Time to find out what it’ll take to keep his teammate behind.
Petra widens the gap while Nico defends his position against his own teammate. He manages to keep Wyn behind going into the hairpin at turn 1 and opens a little breathing room through the rest of sector 1.
Another DRS zone looms and Wyn closes the gap again. He’s perfectly positioned to overtake Nico and have a go at Petra. If Nico moves aside. Which he won’t.
Roxana delivers a message Nico’s rarely heard. “Permission to defend.”
Marcus has given him permission to defend his position against his own teammate. While Graham watches. While the stewards deliberate. While everything hangs in the balance.
Wyn darts right and commits too early. The move won’t work, which he’d know if he was thinking clearly. But Graham’s voice must be louder than reason because he keeps pushing as they scream down the straight toward the hairpin at turn 11.
They’re rapidly running out of braking distance, and Wyn’s not backing off because that’s failure and weakness. There’s nothing worse in Graham Pritchard’s eyes.
All of which means it’s choice time for Nico.
Let Wyn through and risk both championships. Or defend hard, risk both cars, and remind his teammate that Nico didn’t capture four championships in a row by being a doormat.
Nico dives for the turn and closes the door in Wyn’s face. Hard.
Race clean or race stupid, hermano. But make it your choice, not Graham’s.
Wyn hesitates for a fraction of a second, so brief Nico almost misses it. But it’s there, the ghost of a teammate who used to race smart.
Annnd… it’s gone.
Wyn launches his attack, but it’s messy now. He’s trying to make up for that moment of hesitation.
“Backmarkers in sector 2.” Roxana warns Nico that they’re coming up on traffic as they begin to lap slower cars on the track.
Perfect. Just what this fight needs.
Petra handles it seamlessly, threading through slower cars without losing a second.
Wyn makes a go at an impossible gap.
Professional courtesy warring with self-preservation, Nico gives him more space than he deserves, less than he wants.
“Eyes on the prize,” Roxana reports suddenly. Which is their private code for “Graham is on the pit wall.”
Wonderful. A live audience for the chaos he’s caused by unsettling his younger son.
Six laps to go. Three drivers. Two championships. One very public power struggle.
And traffic everywhere.
“Gap to Hayter four point nine,” Rox updates.
Nico won’t catch her without divine intervention.
His tire management is fucked thanks to his teammate.
His only consolation is that Wyn’s must be blistered too.
Smart race strategy doesn’t factor into whatever’s pushing Wyn Pritchard today, and their team will pay the price as both WolfBett cars lose performance, traction, and speed.
Another DRS zone. Another attack. This time Wyn slots in beside him through turn 13, forcing them both wide, compromising their exit speed. Ahead, Petra takes advantage of their battle, extending her lead by tenths.
Wyn’s car surges forward, taking a line that can’t possibly work, especially with all the traffic in the chicane.
Choice time. Again.
Nico takes a racing line that forces his teammate to back off or hit a barrier. He leaves no middle ground and no room for Graham’s bullshit head games.
“Gap to Wyn one point one.” Roxana sounds surprised.
Through sector 2 and 3, there’s no more idiotic aggression.
Maybe it’s a little bit of the old Wyn pushing through. Or maybe it’s his fucked tires.
“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.