Page 36

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The lights go out, and Reece launches clean off the line.

Throttle, instinct, and speed.

Lynch Sutton — Telco's number one driver — is two spots ahead, already defending harder than necessary.

"Target P3," Misho says in Reece’s ear. "Gap to Sutton 3.2. He's overdriving the tires."

"Copy." Reece adjusts brake bias as he enters sector 2.

The car is tight. Responsive. The balance is better than it's felt all season. Asuka's overnight tweaks were surgical.

He takes turn 9 smoother than he has all weekend and narrows the gap to Sutton by another tenth.

By lap 15, he's P4 and right behind Lynch.

The Canadian driver is as defensive as ever, but Reece knows his patterns. Sutton misses apexes when pressured from the inside line, and he likes to fake brake early, then dive deep, which is exactly where the mistake lives.

"ERS window open," Misho says. The car’s Energy Recovery System stores waste energy, and Reece can tap that power for overtaking his competitors.

"Deploying."

He fakes outside into turn 3. Sutton covers, and Reece cuts in tight, slipping underneath him on the exit.

Side by side at two hundred sixty-seven kilometers per hour.

Sutton tries to squeeze him, but Reece holds his line.

"I'm still here," he mutters.

They go wheel-to-wheel into turn 4. Reece brakes fractionally later and takes it.

Clean.

P3.

He’s behind Petra now. She's flying through the circuit like it owes her something, but Nico's already four seconds ahead and not giving an inch.

Reece exhales through gritted teeth. He pushes the car harder. The rear slips once on entry into turn 14. He adjusts throttle pressure and finds the rhythm again.

Maiken is watching this, but that knowledge doesn’t bring pressure. She’s not a distraction. His wife is someone worth showing up for.

They enter the final lap.

Nico still leads. Petra's in P2 and uncatchable at this point unless the gods decide to punish her brake system mid-sector.

She's on the pace. Perfect tire management.

Reece knows when to press and when to preserve, and this isn't the time to throw it.

His job is to protect her position and that's exactly what he's going to do.

"Gap to Sutton 1.8,” Misho says in his helmet. "Petra’s plus 2.6 ahead."

"Understood."

Reece doesn't need P1 today. What he needs is a clean, respectable, controlled podium finish to shut up all the damned haters.

He maintains the gap to Sutton and crosses the finish line in P3.

“Fantastic drive, Reece.” Misho’s pride is obvious in his voice.

“Thanks to the team, Mish. The car felt perfect.” He waves to the fans as he circles the track and heads back to parc fermé , where the car will be parked with all the others and inspected for adherence to all F1 regulations.

It's not until Reece sees Mai waiting with the team — blue eyes bright and beautiful smile brighter — that the adrenaline hits him.

He climbs out of the car, peels off his gloves, and removes his helmet, HANS, and balaclava. He downs some water, then strides toward Nitro's gathering.

Maiken is all he sees.

He reaches for her hand, squeezing gently before letting go. The cameras are in his face, capturing the way she looks at him and the way he smiles at her.

The post-race procedures blur together — weigh-in, media interviews, team debrief. Through it all, Reece seeks Maiken, finding her in the periphery and noting how she takes it all in with those wide, observant eyes.

The post-race roar has dulled to a low thrum outside the closed door of Reece’s driver's room.

He sits on the padded massage table again wearing clean fireproofs, his damp hair curling against his temples. The scent of eucalyptus and sweat hovers in the air. Ona stands behind him, thumbs working deep into the tension locked between his shoulder blades.

That ache says he pushed hard and earned every tenth of a second he fought for on track.

Having Maiken just six feet away watching him like he's something worth staying for, steadies his pulse better than anything Ona can do.

"You let her in." Ona works on unlocking his muscles.

Reece breathes out slowly, gaze on his wife. "Yeah."

"She's the first."

He nods.

Ona moves to the base of his neck and starts tracing the tension radiating out from there. "You've had teammates, girlfriends, media managers. But never before in this room."

"I didn't want them here."

"And her?"

"I want her everywhere."

Ona pauses, just long enough for it to mean something. Then she presses her knuckles gently into his trapezius muscle. "You realize this has all happened in, what, a week?"

He smirks. "Six days, technically."

"Ridiculous." There's a smile in his physio’s voice.

Maiken doesn't comment or fidget or pull attention. She just watches him. Like she knows exactly what this space means and understands that being here, now, is not just an invitation.

It's a statement.

Ona’s hands slow and the pressure she’s applying eases. "I've got five minutes left with him, Mrs. Pritchard. Then he's yours."

"Lucky me," Maiken says, and Reece hears the heat under her voice.

When Ona finishes, she nods to both of them and slips out, closing the door behind her.

Maiken stands and crosses to him in measured steps.

They’re nearly at eye level as she pushes his knees wide and steps between them.

She frames his face with her hands and kisses him, slow and deep, a possessive kiss that makes up for the restraint they've shown in public.

When she pulls back, her eyes are bright.

"What was that for?"

She smiles. "For not hiding me anymore."

Reece changes into his team gear and they exit the room. The sprint is behind him, but race qualies are ahead. Between? They're doing the interview with Luca.

The profile piece with Floor Talk , one of the few major motorsports outlets not tangled in Graham's web, starts in the Nitro hospitality unit, answering surface-level questions. The reporter, Luca Ricci, is young, respectful, and sharp enough to read the temperature of the room. Reece has interviewed with him a few times and always comes away with a good feeling that’s underscored by the respectfulness of the resulting articles.

Now they're winding through the paddock toward the garage, a photographer trailing them, snapping a few easy shots as they move.

Luca strolls alongside them. "So, Maiken, we talked a lot about Reece's life on the track, but what about your work?"

She smiles, and there's a stupid, dangerous kick in Reece's chest in response.

"I design most of my own costumes. Props, choreography, too. Burlesque is a lot more hands-on than people realize." Maiken's proud of what she does. And she should be.

Reece squeezes her hand. "She makes it sound easy. It's not."

Maiken gazes up at him, and yeah, he's in trouble.

Luca breaks the spell. "Props, costumes, choreography... sounds a lot like racing an F1 car, except the price tag."

Reece laughs. "I think she’s got the advantage in the overhead costs department."

They reach the open bay of the Nitro garage. Maiken stops and stares at the controlled chaos. Mechanics talk and work in sync, engineers debate over telemetry screens, tires and tool carts move in seamless rhythm.

In the center of it all sits his dark green and pink car.

It still gets him sometimes, that hit of adrenaline and pride when he sees it. Today, though, his gaze is on his wife.

She steps closer, awe and maybe a little intimidation flashing across her face. This is the first time she's been in the garage and seen his car up close.

What's wild is how the mechanics pause and step back, giving her a moment to experience this. Their pride and respect hit Reece like a punch in the gut, and he's more grateful than they'll ever know.

The photographer clicks away as Maiken brushes her fingers lightly across R. Pritchard on the Halo. Reece stands close, gaze on her.

What he'd give to know what she's thinking right now.

"Okay, Maiken." Luca lowers his recorder. "One last question for purely selfish curiosity."

Reece lifts an eyebrow.

The reporter nods toward the car. "Since you said you knew absolutely nothing about F1 before you met Reece, if you had to guess, how much do you think that machine costs?"

Reece chuckles. "It's a pretty pricy prop."

She walks around the car, sliding her fingers over the chassis, tilts her head and considers it. "Okay, yes, I admit your prop is fancier than mine are. But, c'mon, how expensive can this be?"

Reece laughs. Does she not realize how adorably sexy she is? "Guess."

"Guess?"

"Yeah. Guess how much this car costs."

This is something they haven't discussed.

His money. She knows he's well-paid, but she's never asked about his worth or his salary.

Mai's conclusion that they're both, essentially, entertainers isn't totally wrong.

He can admit that, but there are some fundamental differences beyond "I get naked and you risk your life.

" Still, him being an entertainer, he's never thought of it quite like that and it changes things.

Mai steps back and eyes the car. "Hmm, more than like a Mercedes or Porsche, so what? Four hundred thousand?"

He laughs again and shakes his head. The mechanics are chuckling too, but not in a mean way, and Maiken clearly isn't bothered by being part of this game.

She isn't stupid, but she's blissfully ignorant in some ways.

And he loves that about her. She doesn't know his world and she's totally okay with that.

"More, huh?" She bites her lower lip as she studies the car, and it's just about the sexiest thing he's ever seen.

"Yeah, honeybee, more."

"Okay." Her eyes narrow as she looks from him to the car and back. "Okay, then, a million dollars." She makes a little face that says she thinks she's deliberately overshot it.

Reece shakes his head and plays along. "Wow, no. Not even."

She actually looks relieved. "Yeah, that'd be crazy. So how much?"

Reece rests his hands on the Halo and thinks about how she's going to react and how honest it will be. How her view of this world brings a perspective he's needed. "Approximately seventeen point two million."

Maiken's eyes go wide and she snatches her hands off the car. "What? Are you fucking kidding me?"

The garage crew erupts with laughter, and Reece, too, is laughing his ass off. He loves this about her. This honesty in how she reacts to everything in his world.

"No! No. You're so full of shit, Reece Pritchard."

The mechanics and now the engineers and Luca are all laughing, as delighted as he is with her amazing perspective.

"Seriously! I'm not lying, Mai. The average cost of an F1 car is sixteen mil."

"And you crash these things?"

"Not on purpose."

She cracks up, and Reece falls a little more in love with this woman.

"You are fucking crazier than I thought, RP." She raises her hands, fingers splayed, and casts a look around the garage. "All of you. Bat-shit fucking crazy."

God help him.

Somehow Maiken fits here, with him, like she was always meant to.

For the first time in longer than he can remember, Reece laughs without caring who's watching. Yet even in the middle of all this fun, the thought punches through his brain and right into his heart:

I'm in deep.

If after all of this — the way she looks at him, the way she listens to everything he says like he's some fucking genius, the way she sorts out every broken piece of him without even trying — if after all of that, Mai decides to walk away...

It's not going to be like before. Not like Peony.

That had been a bump in the road.

This?

This will be the shunt he might not walk away from.