Overtaking The Enemy

MAYA POV

I was twelve seconds from the crash again when the lights went out.

Five red lights burned above the track. My hands locked around the wheel so hard my gloves creaked of fuel smell. Heat climbing through the seat. And somewhere at the back of my skull a car was already spinning, carbon fiber screaming, the world tilting sideways the way it did two years ago.

My lungs forgot how to work. Then green light. I launched. The car snapped forward like it had been waiting for permission. I kept my eyes on the apex, not the memory. Turn one came fast. I took it harder than I should have. The rear stepped out for half a second and my heart tried to climb out of my throat.

Radio crackled. “Ease off, Maya. You’re on the edge.”

“I’m fine,” I said, already talking too much. “The car's fine. Tell them the car is fine. And no I’m not lifting.”

I didn’t lift. By the time I crossed the line, the number on the timing screen was at least good enough to make people in the garage stop pretending they weren’t watching. Not the fastest of the day, but close enough that the silence afterward felt pointed.

I climbed out, pulled my gloves off slowly so no one would see my hands still shaking. One of the Board members in a too-expensive jacket looked me up and down like I was a provisional part that might not fit.

“One good lap doesn’t earn you a season.”

I met his eyes and kept talking, because silence has always felt like losing.

“Then I’ll give you more than one. And another after that. Keep the stopwatch running. I will surely still be here when the excuses run out.” He didn’t answer.

The New York Grand Prix was four weeks away, and I had no time to sit around thinking about what happened two years ago. I was the first woman in years to get a full-time seat on the grid, which meant half the paddock was waiting for me to prove them right about women not belonging here. I had no intention of making it easy for them.

Outside the garage, my mom.Celia Baudelaires was waiting for me with a paper bag in one hand and the exact face she wore whenever she disapproved of my entire life but refused to say it out loud.

“Look at you,” Celia said. “Still in one piece. Miracles do happen. I brought food so you don’t have to live on whatever sad cardboard they keep in that fridge.”

I took the bag. The smell of real rice and chicken hit me harder than the fuel had.

“You drove two hours just to insult the catering? I’m touched. Next time bring wine or a better attitude.”

"You should've picked a hobby that didn't involve me wondering whether you were going to hit a wall."

She studied me for a few second then, squinted at me. “You okay, or are you about to lie to my face again with that ‘everything is excellent’ speech?”

“I’m fine. Completely fine mom. Trust me, lap was clean, car felt good, nobody died, the board already hates me so basically a normal Tuesday.”

Celia handed me a container and didn’t push. That was her version of love. Food, and the quiet decision not to make me say the exact thing out loud.

I was walking back toward the garage when the air changed. Conversations dropped. Cameras lifted. People straightened like someone had pulled a string.

Nico Laurent stepped out of the team car. Reigning champion. The man whose rear wing I still saw every time I closed my eyes too long. For one ugly second I was back in the gravel, helmet ringing and the sound of my own breathing too loud inside the visor.

He saw me then stopped. “Maya.”

Just my name like he hadn’t decided yet whether he wanted to say anything else.

I kept walking and let the words come the way they always did when I needed distance.

“Don’t please. Not today with half the team watching like this is some kind of emotional reunion special. I’m not doing this.”

He didn’t follow. Didn’t call after me. Just stood there, and still, watching me go. Typical of him.

Ten minutes later they called me into the glass meeting room. The team principal sat behind the table like he’d already rehearsed the line. Through the glass I could see Nico standing outside, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be in a different country.

“There’s been a change to your training arrangement,” the principal said.

I was already talking. “New coach? Performance guy? Please tell me it’s not another media trainer. I already know how to smile on camera and pretend I love every sponsor.”

“Nico will be handling your preparation this season.”

The words landed and for once my mouth stayed shut. I looked through the glass.

Nico was looking straight at me. He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Didn’t pretend this was anything other than a problem neither of us had asked for.

I stared back and felt the old crash rise in my chest all over again only this time it had a name and a face and an entire season attached to it.

The Team Principal kept talking. I didn’t hear the rest.

All I could hear was the sound of the lights about to go out. I closed my eyes in misery.

This season was going to be an absolute disaster.