The F1 Champion Wants to Claim Me for Herself in a Reverse World
Chapter 32: Boston PD

There's something deeply unsettling about watching Boston's finest treat your mother like the neighborhood nuisance while your world-champion fiancée stands there without handcuffs. The night air carries that distinct spring chill as we huddle outside Giacomo's, the restaurant's warm glow now forbidden territory thanks to our impromptu boxing match.

Surprisingly, after the cops showed up and kicked us out, they didn't arrest Ivy. Not because they recognized her as Formula 1's reigning queen, which they didn’t, but because they knew my mother. The moment the first officer stepped out of her cruiser, her face lit up with recognition that had nothing to do with racing royalty.

"Ms. Woods," she'd sighed, like she was greeting an old friend at an intervention. "Again?"

Mom sits on a nearby bench now, holding an ice pack against her rapidly swelling face, her face smeared with blood and tears. Her expression is a masterpiece of indignation, as if she's the reasonable party in this entire fiasco.

"Boston is a fucking joke," she mutters, wincing as she adjusts the ice pack. "Those incompetent officers couldn't even arrest the woman who assaulted me in public."

Ivy leans against a streetlamp, looking impossibly cool despite having just committed battery. Her purple highlights catch the streetlight, giving her an almost supernatural glow as she smirks at my mother's complaints.

"Yeah, those cops really hated you," she laughs, examining her knuckles with casual interest. "That one officer actually thanked me when you weren't looking."

Melissa snorts beside me, her shoulders still occasionally shaking with residual giggles. She hasn't stopped smiling since we left the restaurant, like she's witnessed something magical rather than a public assault.

"Mom, maybe we should get you to a hospital," I suggest, my voice sounding strange and distant to my own ears.

"I don't need a hospital," Mom snaps, though her words slur slightly around what might be a loose tooth. "I need a lawyer. I'm pressing charges."

Ivy pushes off from the lamppost with elegant indifference. "Go ahead. I have excellent lawyers."

I watch Mom press the ice pack harder against her face, the blood now crusting at the corners of her mouth. A surge of frustration rises in my chest, not at Ivy's violence, but at the lifetime of small cruelties that led to this moment. Every dismissive comment, every comparison to Melissa, every dream she'd crushed with a casual word, all of it crashes over me like a wave.

"I assume you're not coming to the wedding tomorrow," I say, my voice surprisingly steady.

Mom lets out a harsh laugh that turns into a wince as it pulls at her split lip. She stands, tossing the ice pack onto the bench with theatrical disdain.

"If you marry that psychopath," she says as she starts to walk away, "you're no son of mine."

I expect pain at her words, that familiar ache of rejection that's followed me since childhood. Instead, a strange calmness washes over me, like I've finally surfaced after years underwater. The threat that once would have devastated me now feels hollow, almost laughable.

"I guess I'm cutting Mom off then," I say, turning to Ivy and Melissa with a shrug.

Melissa nods, adjusting her Andretti jacket. "It's weird you haven't yet, to be honest. Blair hated her too, you know."

"Yeah," I agree, remembering Blair's tense smiles during our few disastrous family dinners.

Ivy grimaces beside me, her purple eyes darting between me and Melissa. "We don't need to mention her, do we?" she asks, a hint of jealousy coloring her voice.

Melissa waves her hand dismissively, completely missing the jealous edge in Ivy's voice. "Blair's parents were pretty awful to Nick too, now that I think about it. Remember those Christmas dinners at their lake house? The way her mom would always ask you to fetch drinks while the 'adults' talked racing?"

"Enough about Blair," Ivy cuts in, her voice sharp with annoyance. The streetlight catches her eyes, turning them an almost luminous purple as her jaw tightens.

I can't help but smile at her obvious jealousy. I pull her close against me, feeling her body soften slightly at my touch.

"Relax," I murmur against her ear. "You're the only one I have eyes for. Always."

Melissa watches our interaction with obvious amusement, a small laugh escaping her. "You're really quirky, huh?" she says, gesturing between us. "This whole dynamic is... interesting."

Ivy's attention snaps to Melissa, her body tensing again beneath my arm. She extricates herself from my embrace and takes two deliberate steps toward my sister, pointing directly at her face.

"Listen, Woods," she says, her voice dropping to that dangerous register I've come to recognize. "I want to say this clearly so we never have to discuss it again. I have zero respect for you as a racer after watching your F2 season."

I hold my breath, waiting for Melissa's reaction. To my surprise, my sister just stands there, expression neutral, almost bored. The old Melissa would have exploded at such a direct insult, but this version, the one who just fired our mother as her manager, merely raises an eyebrow.

Ivy continues, her voice softening slightly. "But we're sisters now." She sighs, running a hand through her purple-highlighted hair. "So I guess that means going forward, I have your back."

She extends her hand toward Melissa, the gesture both peace offering and challenge. "But only for as long as Nick likes you."

Melissa stares at the outstretched hand for a moment before taking it, her grip firm as they shake. "Fair enough," she says with a shrug. "Though I should warn you, he's liked me since birth. Blood and all that."

"And yet you were awful to him," Ivy counters, not releasing Melissa's hand. "So don't test me."

The tension stretches between them, electric and dangerous, until Melissa finally cracks a smile. "I like her, Nick," she says, glancing my way without breaking the handshake. "She's exactly what you needed."

I can't help but smile, warmth spreading through my chest. "Thanks, Mel," I say, genuinely touched by her approval. It's a strange validation I didn't know I wanted until this moment.

My gaze shifts to Ivy, a sudden thought crossing my mind. "Hey, speaking of testing you... do you think people will figure out it was you if someone posts their video of that fight?" Several patrons had their phones out, capturing every moment of my mother's impromptu boxing lesson.

Ivy reaches for my hand, her fingers intertwining with mine as she gives me a look that's equal parts amusement and disbelief.

"Nick, of course people will figure it out," she says, squeezing my fingers. "I'm not exactly inconspicuous with these purple highlights. It's honestly a miracle Bridgette hasn't called yet."

Her laughter rings out in the cool night air, carefree and unconcerned, while my stomach performs an elaborate gymnastics routine.

"Oh boy."