Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
The FIA investigation into the “incident” at The Blue Wall has concluded and they’ve apparently found Nico and Petra at fault.
Sort of.
“Qué mierda,” Nico mutters, rereading their official notice on Heinrich’s phone. It went to everyone in management on PNW Nitro and WolfBett Racing teams. Twelve hours of community service. With Petra. Starting at Austin’s premier karting facility.
His first thought? The championship, because this takes away from race prep. His second thought is that the FIA’s priorities are wrong. This before the race incident review? Bullshit. Makes no sense. His third thought is with Petra.
“They can’t be serious. Community service?” Junior’s voice echoes in the garage, and Nico’s automatically more irritated because it means the FIA includes that pedófilo among WolfBett’s management.
But he keeps his eyes on Heinrich’s screen and doesn’t react to Junior. Even after all these years, the urge to break something—preferably that cabrón’s face—rises whenever he hears the man’s voice.
“Could be worse.” Heinrich switches to German because Junior never bothered to learn anything other than English. “Could be stuck doing publicity with that asshole, instead.”
Nico snorts.
Marcus strides into the garage, Victoria close behind. “Nico. Wyn. Meeting. Now.”
Nico pushes away from the engineering station and follows their team principal across the paddock and into the conference room in the team’s business unit.
Wyn slouches into a chair. There’s a yellow-green hue around his eyes and nose today.
It makes the black-and-blue bruising stand out.
He’s trying for indifference but not quite hitting it.
There’s something too raw in his expression, and Nico feels a twinge of regret for alienating his teammate.
Though that’s Wyn’s damn fault for being a dick.
Junior sprawls beside Wyn, radiating entitled confidence, and Nico’s about to tell the fucker to get the hell out, but Marcus raps the table for attention.
“The FIA’s decision is final.” Their TP looks annoyed, probably irritated that this’ll take Nico away from race prep. “Twelve hours, split over the next three race weekends. Youth karting instruction and safety awareness.”
“Including drunk driving prevention talks.” Victoria’s tone is desert-dry. “How appropriate.”
“This is such bullshit.” Junior’s yapping and scrolling through his phone. “Everyone knows what really happened. Some people just can’t handle—”
Graham Pritchard enters the room. Fake smile, expensive suit. He’s overdressed for the paddock. “Having a team meeting without me?”
Nico hates this fucker, too.
Graham closes the door. “Discussing our response to this inadequate decision, I assume.”
Junior tries to mirror Graham and fails. He’s always trying to impress the wrong people.
Wyn’s shoulders square and his chin lifts, but that rawness doesn’t leave his face. Instead, it gets harsher. He’s pissed off at his father and can’t hide it.
“The FIA’s ruling is final,” Marcus repeats. “We’re moving forward professionally.”
“Of course.” Graham sits. “Though I do question the precedent this sets. Community service for witnessing an accident?” He shakes his head, and Nico’s bullshit meter is spiking an eleven.
Which is normal where Graham Pritchard is concerned.
“Makes one wonder about the message we’re sending to younger drivers. ”
“The message is pretty clear.” Junior tries for reasonable but just sounds snide. The idiot’s as smooth as a gravel trap. “Some people can’t handle real racing. Right, Wyn?”
“Junior.” Graham’s concerned act continues. “Let’s maintain a professional discourse and be respectful of our peers.”
Nico barely conceals his disgust. It’s the same dance Graham always does. Moderate the behavior publicly while encouraging it behind closed doors.
“Dad—” Wyn starts.
“Just thinking out loud, son.” Graham’s tone is cold, and Wyn shuts up immediately. “After all, we want what’s best for the sport. Don’t we, Nico?”
Nico knows the question isn’t innocent.
“Clean racing is always best for the sport. Graham.”
Graham’s taken over Marcus’s meeting and the actual team principal just sits and lets it play out.
“Ah, yes.” Graham’s fake smile remains, but his gaze sharpens. “You sound just like Carlos. He always took such principled positions too. Admirable, really. Though I remember how difficult some of those choices made things for your family.”
Because Papá’s willingness to fight the FIA and team owners cost him his job more than once.
Junior smirks and Nico makes fists under the table. The younger Betterton’s presence is a reminder that entitled men think having money puts them above consequences. Worse, it shoves into Nico’s face what that puta madre did to Nicolina knowing his family’s power would protect him.
No pienses en eso. Ahora no. He tells himself not to think about that now.
“Twelve hours teaching kiddies about safety.” Junior’s laugh is ugly. “While the FIA wastes time investigating normal racing incidents. As if aggressive driving isn’t part of the sport.”
Nico sits straight. “Normal for drivers or drone ops?”
Junior’s smirk disappears. “Watch it, Belmonte.”
“Or what? You’ll run to Daddy?” Nico’s sick of this bullshit. He thumps his fist on the table. “Racing isn’t about proving shit to our fathers.”
Wyn’s head snaps up. Their eyes meet, and there’s clear understanding there. Nico’s said the quiet part out loud and it’s resonating. Maybe Wyn thought no one else knew what he’s been fighting.
“Now, now.” Graham raises his hands, his tone still cold.
It seems he’s letting that comment go, but Nico doesn’t believe it for a second.
“Let’s focus on the matter at hand. About these community service hours.
I trust you’ll both represent the sport appropriately, Nico.
Though I do hope for everyone’s sake that we can avoid any further misunderstandings about racing incidents.
” His gaze never wavers, but the threat is clear: Get in line or I’ll do everything I can to push you out of this sport.
As if he has that kind of power. Nico hasn’t used his own influence yet, and that’s let Graham and Damien’s idiot offspring think they control him. They don’t.
Nico matches Graham’s cold tone. “We’ll teach clean racing.”
“Excellent idea.” Graham stands and straightens his cuffs as if he’s just solved the world’s problems. “Wyn, let’s discuss your press arrangements. Junior, perhaps you could contribute your media expertise?”
Junior’s triumphant glance proves he thinks this invitation shows who really has power in the team.
Come mierda.
“Oh, and Nico?” Graham pauses at the door. “Do remember that team loyalty should weather any storm. Even an unexpected one. I’d hate for your championship hopes to be affected by outside influences.”
He delivers this second threat like friendly advice, icy smile fooling no one. Junior grins—he gets it. Wyn stares at nothing, but he’s heard the message too. They leave and the door closes.
“Cono.” Clueless rich assholes.
Victoria’s brow arches, but she says nothing about Nico’s response.
Marcus dismisses him, and Nico escapes to his driver’s room. He needs to stop imagining Junior’s face meeting a wall. Better to think about twelve hours with Petra, who wears her principles on her sleeve and lets threats roll off her back.
A text message buzzes his phone. It’s from Nicolina.
Saw the FIA announcement. Community service? Very rebellious of you.
He’s typing a response when someone knocks on his door. He opens it to find Victoria, tablet in hand.
“This statement needs your approval. Also Esteban’s waiting for you in the dining room. He wants to review your revised schedule. Says, and I quote, ‘Moral stands bring morning workouts.’”
Nico sighs. Right. Because choosing principles over politics means dealing with the consequences.
“Send me the statement. And tell Esteban—”
“That you’ll see him in ten minutes? Already done.” She leaves, smile in place. The woman is heartless, which is why he respects her.
Nico sends his reply to Nia.
Someone had to do something.
Always has to be you or Viejo, doesn’t it?
Sí.
He heads for the dining room where he gets coffee and sits opposite Esteban. There’s almost no one in the room.
“Te lo hiciste a ti mismo, ?sabes?” Nico’s trainer forwards a revised schedule and tells him he did this to himself.
Nico pulls it up on his phone. Red marks indicate the adjustments needed to accommodate tomorrow’s community service.
“Though I appreciate why you did,” Esteban adds.
“Yo sé.” Nico knows. He studies the compression of his usual race preparation.
The karting sessions from sixteen hundred to eighteen hundred Thursday and Friday afternoons means restructuring his routine.
Worse, though, it impacts the entire team because they’ll lose time to refine their race strategy with him.
Still he meets his trainer’s gaze. “But you know I’d do it again. ”
“Of course you would.” Esteban taps the schedule. “But now we need to work around it. Your physical prep can’t suffer, especially with this weekend’s sprint format.”
Nico runs a hand through his hair, considering the compromises. There’s a lot of red on the schedule.
“We’ll do physio at six hundred,” Esteban says. “Simulator from eight hundred to nine hundred. Heinrich moved the engineering debrief to twelve hundred, and strategy to—”
“Joder.”
“That’s what happens when you choose principles over convenience.” But there’s approval in Esteban’s tone. “A compressed debrief after sprint qualies, then straight to karting kids at sixteen hundred hours.”
Heinrich enters the dining room, looking irritated. “Meeting in five. Though I suppose we’ll have to cover everything in half the usual time, since someone’s playing driving instructor during prime analysis hours.”
Nico lowers his coffee cup. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.” Heinrich goes to the coffee station. “But you should be. The sprint format already compresses everything, and now we’re losing crucial strategy hours—” He stops, then shrugs. “Though sometimes walls invite trouble.”
Nico snorts. Heinrich’s been in F1 long enough to know which battles matter.
“We’ll make it work.” Esteban’s already adjusting the schedule in their shared app. “Your stretching routine will have to shift to evening—”
“After the karting? That’s not optimal.”
Heinrich scoffs. “Nothing about this is optimal. Welcome to the consequences of taking a moral stand.” He leans on the table.
“And remember, the sprint quali requirements changed last week. We need to review the new tire allocations, but now we’ve got.
..” He checks his watch. “Half our usual time because someone had to witness a wall hit his teammate.”
“The wall was justified,” Nico mutters.
Heinrich and Esteban laugh.
“Vale.” Esteban stands. “Early physio all week. No arguments. And I’ll work up a revised menu so you have more portable meals.”
Heinrich straightens. “If you’re going to take an ethical stand, Nico, don’t do it before a sprint weekend.”
They leave and Nico savors his coffee. This may be the only quiet he has all week and he intends to relish it.
He pulls out his phone and scrolls through some photos Nia sent him of a barbecue she attended with her boyfriend Sebastian’s family.
He drops a heart emoji on the picture of his sister making silly faces with Ripley.
She’s five years old, one of Nia’s students, and Seb’s niece.
It’s nice to see them having fun, especially since both sport large scars on their faces that were made by other people.
Footsteps approach and Nico looks up to see Wyn. They’re alone.
“So community service.” Wyn’s quiet. That reminds Nico of the shy boy he first met when they were kids. “With Hayter. That’ll be interesting.”
“Mm. That’s one way to think of it.”
A pause stretches between them. They have a lot of shared history. Victories and podiums, late nights parsing data until their eyes burned. Before Graham’s “guidance” turned every race into a referendum on Wyn’s worth, that is.
“Look.” Wyn touches his bruised nose absently. “About Singapore—”
Nico sits back. “I don’t want to hear what Graham has to say. Tell me what you think.”
Wyn crosses his arms and looks down at his feet. “What I think stopped mattering a long time ago, Nico.”
“Because you let it.”
Wyn’s laugh is harsh and he looks up. “Easy for you to say. Your father gives a shit about you.” He stops, lips pressing into a hard line. “Never mind. Have fun teaching kids about safety. Try not to let Hayter punch any more walls.”
He’s almost reached the team building’s front door when Nico speaks again. “You used to be better than this.”
“Yeah, well. I used to be a lot of things, Conejo.” Wyn yanks open the door and strides out.
Nico’s left alone with tepid coffee and memories of when “teammate” meant something. He watches the door slowly close. That wasn’t an apology. Just a moment of... what? Nostalgia?
Whatever it was changes nothing. Friday, Wyn will be Graham’s soldier again. Pushing limits and crossing lines. The teammate who raced for joy is buried under his father’s expectations.
Nico checks the revised schedule on his phone. Every minute’s accounted for. All because he couldn’t walk away from what was right.
“Worth it,” he tells the empty room.