Page 49

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

We pull up at the paddock entrance, and the fan chaos is already pegging an eight out of ten. Coy's waiting near the gate, flanked by Misho, Claudia, and Bowie. The shouting starts the moment Reece and Petra step out.

"Reece! Reece! Over here!"

"Petra, you're amazing!"

"Sign my hat!"

Then I hear my name cutting through the noise: "Maiken! We love you!"

Ona and Jacintha slip into position like seasoned security. A cluster of fans are pressed against the barriers waving frantically. One holds a glittery TEAM PETRA/TEAM MAIKEN sign.

Reece and Petra peel off to sign autographs. Petra spies the glittery poster and laughs. She signs it, then brings it to me and offers her pen. “Go on, Mai. It’ll make their day.”

“You sure it’s okay?” I haven’t forgotten the order not to outshine my husband.

“Yeah, of course.”

I sign it and the fans squeal when she delivers it back to them.

Meanwhile, Reece crouches down to a little girl in a Nitro cap.

"Are you really married?" she asks, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, I really am." He signs her cap. "My wife is right over there."

The girl waves at me. I wave back, and she squeals to her mom, "She waved at me!"

An older fan calls out, "Maiken, that black dress in Lusail was incredible!"

Another shouts, "Don't let the haters get you down!"

I smile and mouth, “Thank you.”

I follow Claudia away from the crowds, and we join the rest of the Nitro folks by the entrance.

Misho jerks his chin toward the fans. "They're here for you too."

I nod. “I feel very fortunate today.”

PNW Nitro isn't just protecting me. The team is including me, and so are the fans. This isn't tolerance or obligation. Reece’s people are showing the world that they’ve made space for me in their circle.

Petra and Reece join us. We enter the paddock and pass through a gauntlet of photographers and videographers, then make it to the hospitality unit where the sound dims, the cameras are left outside, and I can finally breathe.

Coy touches my arm. "You're part of our family, Mai."

I smile, because Coy Hayter isn’t a bullshitter. I can believe him.

An hour later, I’m settled into one of the corner banquettes with my sewing kit and the blue velvet gown when Claudia finds me. She’s brisk as ever, but there’s fatigue under her polish. I think she’s been fighting fires all morning.

She sits. “Got a minute?”

“Of course.” I set the needle down.

“Junior’s little creative edit is dead. The team issued a cease and desist last night. We knew it wouldn’t erase it, but most outlets have pulled the clip in favor of the leaked Oyster footage. No one wants to risk legal heat.”

“Even though pulling it is performative?” There’s no undoing the spread of his lies. The internet is a Pandora’s box of misinformation.

“ Especially because it’s performative. It looks good for us and bad for him. People are still sharing his lie, but it’s not front-page anymore and they’re looking at it with a more jaundiced eye.”

“So he’s not getting away with it entirely, right?”

Her expression softens. “No. The Golden Oyster video is burying it. Plus we’ve got backup.”

“Backup?”

“Eddie Saldana reached out to us.”

My brain stutters. “Eddie? Really? Was he the source of the Oyster video?”

“No, we still don’t know who leaked that, but Eddie came forward this morning and swore out a statement confirming what’s seen in it is factual.

Junior Betterton was the original aggressor when he grabbed you that night.

Reece intervened, which is how the two of you met.

Eddie says he kicked Junior out of the club.

His story is being quietly circulated to press contacts.

And no, we didn’t put him up to it or pay him. ”

I exhale. “God, that’s amazing. I didn’t think he’d get involved.”

“Apparently, he saw the doctored AetherX video and got angry. He said it didn’t sit right with him to stay quiet, knowing how Junior treated you in The Golden Oyster.”

I press a hand to my chest. “Claudia, that’s fantastic news.”

“Indeed.” She smiles, the first real one I’ve seen from her today. “You’ve got people in your corner, Maiken. Never forget that.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “Thanks for fighting for me.”

She stands. “Always. Now I’m going to find Reece and give him this news.”

When my hubby finally gathers me at the end of the day, I’ve made good progress on the blue velvet dress. He looks like he’s been wrestling gators all day, so a chill evening in our room feels deserved.

The drive back from the track is quiet. It’s just us in the car. Reece has one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, fingers twitching every so often like he’s still sorting through data and simulations in his head.

I brush the back of his hand. “You’re still in the garage mentally, aren’t you?”

His lips lift slightly. “Just running through tomorrow in my head.”

“And the day after that. And the one after that.”

He sighs and shoots me a look that’s half-apology, half-admiration. “I’m sorry I’ve been leaving you alone so much the last few days. That’s not what I want.”

I shake my head. “You’re forgetting that I know how to be alone, Reece. I haven’t had a man in my life for two years.”

His grip on the wheel tightens. “I haven’t forgotten. I just don’t want you to remember you don’t need me.”

“Well, I don’t. But I’ve chosen you. They’re not the same thing.”

That makes him glance over again, longer this time. The look he gives me could melt a glacier.

Back at the hotel, he walks me up to the room and kisses me like he means it, and considering how he looks at me, I know he does. “Team dinner tonight. No WAGs allowed.”

“I know. Go be a responsible team player. I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be back by eleven. Don’t wait up. But if you do, don’t wear anything.”

I laugh and smack his fine ass as he turns toward the door. “Go. I’ll try not to burn the place down.”

He grins and leaves.

I pull up the room service menu and order dinner.

The food arrives on a trolley, all gleaming domes and crisp napkins. I tip the server and thank them as they lay out my meal.

The hotel’s quiet this evening. The team-only dinner is underway in the restaurant downstairs.

I’m glad Reece has this time to connect with all the people he works with.

Race weekends are frenetic and he explained that the entire team rarely has an opportunity to gather together in one place and relax.

I’ve just settled with my meal — roasted chicken, buttery green beans, and a lemon tart — when there’s a knock at the door.

Did room service forget something?

I check the peephole.

“Oh, ew.”

Graham Pritchard stands in the hallway.

Fabulous. A visit from dear ol’ Dad. What’s this fucker’s game tonight?

I open the door because hiding feels like surrender, and I'm done surrendering to Graham Pritchard and all the other men who think they can intimidate me.

"Evening," he says, like he’s a neighbor borrowing sugar.

"Reece isn’t here."

"I know. I came to see you."

Of course he knows. He's been watching, waiting for the right moment. Reece at dinner, me alone. Isolate your target.

I lift a brow. "Pretty ballsy, considering how things went the last time we talked in your son’s hotel room."

His mouth curls, but not into a smile. "Relax. I'm not here to rehash that. I just felt, since you’re still in the picture, we should have a conversation."

Still in the picture. Right. ’Cause I'm a mistake his son should’ve erased by now. The condescension is so thick I could spread it on toast.

I step back to admit him, close the door, and cross my arms. "Fine. Converse."

He surveys the room like he expects me to have coke and whores stashed everywhere. Then his focus lands on me. "Don’t mistake attention for approval. The second Reece realizes his error, he’ll replace you with a more suitable option. Plan accordingly, Maiken."

Wow. Right out the gate with the warm fuzzies.

"Thanks for the tip, Graham. Is that why you came up here? To tell me your son’s fickle and I’m disposable?"

"I think you're smart enough to ride the wave while it lasts. But don’t forget, everyone loves a redemption arc, until they don't."

He thinks I’m smart. Oh. Wow. Lucky fucking me.

Still, he’s revealed something useful. He’s realized I'm not stupid, and he’s now viewing me like I’m competition. Which means I'm more of a threat than he wants to admit.

I tilt my head and give him bitch-itude. "You mean your redemption arc? Because you’re the one who called me a whore. Doesn’t seem like the kind of attitude that makes people root for you, Graham.”

His jaw twitches. Just barely, but I clock it. First crack in the armor.

Well done, Maiken.

"Your little stunt with Betterton didn’t hurt us as much as you think. We spun it. The fans love a woman with teeth. As long as she remembers who’s feeding her."

My little stunt? This guy’s amazing. He's also showing his hand. Graham's been working damage control behind the scenes, which means my truth disrupted his narrative line more than he's letting on.

I step closer. "Let me be real clear. No one feeds me. Not you. Not your show. Not even Reece. I earned my own bread long before I ever met any of you."

His expression doesn't change, but I catch the tiny shift in his posture. He didn't expect me to push back this hard. Most people probably crumble under his disapproval, but I grew up in Las Vegas. I’ve seen it all, and Graham Pritchard is just another goddamn asshole in an expensive suit.

I don’t let up. "You want to play the game? Play it. But don’t get cocky about it. That’s where people like you trip up."

A flicker of something flashes in his eyes. Disdain, maybe. Or the tiniest bit of unease. Either way, I’ve gotten under his skin, which is outstanding . He came here to rattle me, but I’m the one hitting the bars.

He steps back. "Don’t say I didn’t warn you."

Yeah, you better back the fuck up.

He’s dropped seeds of doubt in my path and thinks he can piss on them and watch them sprout. Except I see where he’s weak. Graham can threaten, manipulate, and scheme but he can't actually force me out. The power he thinks he has over me only works if I give it to him.

I point at the door. "You may leave. And don’t come knocking again without an invitation."

He scowls, but obeys. Graham’s an ass, but at least he’s not a predator like Junior. It’s faint praise.

I shut the door behind my fucking father-in-law.

Then lock it, and latch it, and cuss up a storm. “Motherfucking cock-sucking arrogant piece of shit!”

I draw a deep breath and let it go. “Is that better?” I ask myself. “Yes, much. Better out than in, Maiken.”

I turn back to the table and take my seat. The chicken’s still hot. The green beans still glisten with butter. And the lemon tart is still exactly what I want.

I’m not giving Graham this moment. He doesn’t get to ruin my dinner, my marriage, or my life.

I cut a bite of chicken, chew slowly, and just breathe.

Graham Pritchard thinks he can walk into my space and make me feel small, but he's so fucking wrong.

I built myself from nothing once before.

I can do it again if I have to. But I won't have to, because this time I'm not alone.

He has no say in my marriage. Reece made that abundantly clear, and so did I.

Still, I need to tell Reece what happened tonight. He should know that his father continues to slither around our feet like a snake in the grass.

Then again, what purpose will it serve right now? None, except to piss him off as he goes into the final Grand Prix weekend. Which is probably exactly what Graham is hoping for. Make the girl cry. She runs to her man. He gets mad and thrown off his race rhythm.

I look over at the door and stick out my tongue. “No, Daddy Dearest, I’m not gonna do that. I’m gonna wait until after the race on Sunday to tell your son you paid me a visit. Nice fucking try, old man.”

I finish my dinner with the kind of satisfaction that only comes from standing your ground and refusing to let someone shrink you. Or make you their tool.

Then I pour a glass of water, carry the tart to the armchair by the window, and watch moonlight sparkle on the Persian Gulf.

Graham Pritchard may think he’s the center of the universe, but I know a turd when I see one, even if it’s highly polished.