She's back ~ L. Hamilton

Chaos

A/N: Just cause I'm not quite ready to say goodbye yet 🥲, one more chapter

The car rolls to a stop just outside the paddock entrance, the engine humming quietly for a moment before it cuts.

For a second, I don't move.

Not because I'm nervous. I haven't been nervous about walking into a paddock in years. At this point it's about as routine as walking into a tennis locker room used to be.

Still, old habits linger.

A pause. A breath. The small moment before stepping back into noise that will follow me for the next few hours.

Through the window I can already see the movement—team members crossing between garages, engineers with headsets, mechanics hauling equipment. The distant scream of engines echoes down the straight.

Race weekend.

Same as always.

My hand moves toward the door handle.

"Mom?"

The word cuts straight through the quiet.

I glance sideways and Marco is watching me from the seat beside me, one eyebrow slightly raised in a way that is so painfully familiar it almost makes me laugh.

"Yes?"

"You're doing the thing again."

"What thing?"

"The dramatic staring out the window thing." He gestures vaguely toward the glass. "Like you're about to walk into battle."

I blink at him.

"You're eleven," I say flatly. "Why are you analysing my emotional state?"

He shrugs. "Because you look grumpy."

"I always look grumpy."

"Yeah," he nods thoughtfully. "You always look grumpy but you never are"

From the back seat comes an impatient sigh.

"Can we go?" Matilda leans forward between the seats, chin resting on the headrest, blonde hair already half escaping whatever attempt at neatness she started the day with. "Dad said if we got there early we could see Uncle Daniel before the race."

"You've seen Uncle Daniel before the race," I remind her.

"Yeah," she says, completely unfazed. "But I want to see him again."

"Shocking."

There's a small shift in my arms then, and I glance down automatically.

Nick blinks up at me, one chubby hand gripping the collar of my jacket like it belongs to him. Which, honestly, it probably does now. He's got Lewis's eyes—wide and curious—and absolutely none of his ability to stay still.

"Alright," I mutter, adjusting him on my hip. "We're moving."

Marco pushes his door open immediately.

"Stay close," I say out of instinct.

"I always do." He says

Matilda hops out of the other side of the car, immediately scanning the paddock like she's taking inventory of the entire place.

And it's exactly what it always is—people moving everywhere, team members rushing past, the background roar of cars tearing down the straight. A few heads turn when they see us, a few smiles, a few casual greetings.

Normal.

This place has been normal for years now.

Marco walks beside me, hands shoved into his pockets, watching everything like he's analysing strategy already.