Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Nico stands beside his car, ice vest on, head gently bobbing as reggaeton pulses through his headphones. The familiar ritual grounds him—visualization complete, warm-up done, bladder empty. Nothing left but to stay cool and zen.
It’s October, but summer-like heat bakes the Circuit of the Americas grid.
Awnings shade the drivers, cars, and crews.
Thirty minutes to lights out, and the pre-race circus swirls around them—mechanics making final adjustments, TV crews jockeying for shots, engineers and strategists running last-minute checks.
But this isn’t make-believe. It’s life and racing.
The ten-minute signal sounds. Non-essential personnel clear the grid like a receding tide, leaving just the drivers, start crew, and FIA officials. Nico pulls off his headphones and vest. He inserts his earpieces and tugs on his balaclava and helmet. He glances up as movement catches his eye.
Petra stands by her car in pole position, distinctive pink and silver sparkly helmet in hand and catching the sun.
She’s watching him, and when their eyes meet, that familiar competitive spark they’ve always shared ignites.
Her smirk comes with a bonus—two fingers raised behind her head like rabbit ears.
He laughs. Without thinking, he forms a finger heart, loving how her answering smile lights up the whole damn grid. The screaming from the stands means their little exchange wasn’t lost on the fans.
Nico doesn’t know if this is just for show or if she’s made a decision, and he doesn’t have the mental space to consider it now because it’s time to race.
He climbs into the cockpit. Gloves go on. World is tuned out. It’s just him, the car, and fifty-six crucial laps ahead.
Lights out.
Nico gets a perfect start, but so does Petra. They drag race toward turn 1, neither giving an inch. Nico edges right, testing her defense, but Petra covers perfectly, forcing him to lift a fraction or risk contact.
The field funnels into the turn, cars impossibly close. Petra takes the racing line like she owns it. Nico follows, simultaneously defending from Aigar Vehls while looking for any chance to challenge for the lead.
Through the esses, he’s pressing hard. He needs space from Aigar and Lynch Sutton, needs to focus on Petra without worrying about attacks from behind. He hopes Wyn cuts through the field quickly, then will play the team game today, but he can’t count on either.
“Wyn got a good start,” Roxana updates. “He’s up to twelfth.”
Nico threads the needle, not defending so hard he loses touch with Petra, and not leaving so much space the cars behind him can capitalize. It’s a dance he knows well.
Five laps in, he finally breaks the tow. Aigar, Lynch, and Reece fall into their own battle, and he focuses forward.
“Gap to Hayter one point eight,” Roxana reports. “She’s fighting the car through high-speed corners.”
“Yeah, I see it.” Her car wants to step out in places it shouldn’t. That’s the rear instability Nitro’s team pulled an all-nighter to address.
“You’re fastest through sector 2, Nico. Tire temperatures optimal.”
He is. The gap shrinks with each lap, not because Petra’s slow, but because she’s wrestling a car that doesn’t want to behave.
At lap 15, Roxana asks, “Plan A or B?”
“B. My tires are good.”
Petra’s rear end steps out slightly through turn 12 in lap 17. She catches it, of course she does, but the correction costs her. Still she’s keeping him just out of DRS range. It’s both admirable and maddening.
By lap 19 he’s close enough to see her constant micro-adjustments. Every corner requires perfect anticipation, perfect control.
“Where’s Wyn?”
“P9. Still charging through the field.”
“Bien.”
“Box this lap,” Roxana says. “Box, box. We’ll undercut.”
He does and the pit crew executes flawlessly.
Two point two seconds and he’s on his way again.
The fresh hard rubber gives him the advantage he needs.
A lap later, when Petra’s worn tires force her to pit, the strategy pays off exactly as planned.
Nico takes the lead and starts building a gap, gaining in fractions of seconds with each lap.
“Wyn?”
“P7. He just passed Flores.”
Nine more laps pass with Nico slowly building more space between himself and the rest of the field.
“Gap to Petra?” he asks during the thirty-first lap.
“Four point two,” Roxana replies. “She’s pushing hard but—” She pauses, then says, “Double yellow, Nico. Safety car’s been deployed. Crash at turn 11. Flores and Rhydderch. Watch it, there’s debris everywhere.”
As the cars slow and fall in behind the safety car, they pass the carnage. Kilian’s car is backwards in the gravel trap, carbon fiber scattered across the racing line. Rhydderch’s black Ravn Racing car rests against the inside barrier, partially blocking the track.
“Both drivers?”
“They’re fine.”
The field bunches up behind the safety car, erasing the gap Nico’s built. Worse, teams use the yellow flag conditions to make “free” pit stops, negating WolfBett’s earlier strategy advantage.
“Half the grid is pitting, Nico,” Roxana confirms.
“What are we doing?”
“Stay out.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sí. Pit delta’s too high — we’d lose track position and your tires are good. Let’s preserve the position.”
“Copy.”
Racing resumes on lap 37.
“Safety Car ending this lap, Nico. Mode push, defend turn 1.”
He manages the restart perfectly. But now he’s defending against cars with fresher tires, fighting to maintain the lead he’d earned with the early undercut.
Nico puts in six laps of precise, defensive driving and perfect racing lines. Six laps until the right front suddenly goes light on lap 43, and the car pulls hard. “I’ve got a puncture — right front. I can make it to the pits.”
“We see it,” Roxana replies, cool as always. “Box, now, Nico. Box, box.”
He nurses the wounded car toward the pit lane, watching his lead evaporate. Petra passes, then Lynch and Reece. Aigar’s fallen back to P4 with Wyn climbing up his ass. By the time Nico makes the pit entry, seven cars have streamed by.
“Mediums going on.” Roxana’s voice stays steady through the lightning-fast stop. “Make them count, Conejo.”
Two more cars pass before Nico exits into P10, just barely scraping the points.
Rox laughs. “Message from Wyn. He says, ‘Get your rear in gear, Bunny Boy.’”