𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃𝐖𝐀𝐑 | 𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐋

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y

"As we know Martin, the championship did not go the way of Lewis Hamilton that year, but rather to Nico Rosberg. If there a chance the underdog gets the bone today?" Crofty questioned.

"We'll Max has a good chance." Martin assessed, as the cars all moved slowly around the track for the formation lap. "this race will be thrilling!"

"Indeed it will Martin, as Max Verstappen comes around the final corner, ever so slowly, bunching the pack up." Crofty observed.

"And as Mazepin lines up on the final spot of the grid, we watch as the lights go red, one light then two. Oh this is tense! And.... It's lights out and away we go!"

" OKAY Z so that a yellow flag in sector two, yellow flag in sector two please slow the car in two." Marco's voice sounded in Zia's ear.

"Is everyone okay?" she asked, checking her dash, seeing "27 Lap Pos 8." She sighed, knowing she had to pick up the pace if she was going to get anywhere near that podium.

She's pitted early onto the hard tyres, and had some trouble firing them up, and now a yellow flag wasn't going to help the temperature.

"Everyone seems okay, Russell lost drive and has parked up. Shouldn't be too long the yellows, just keep your tyres in check."

"Yeah copy." Zia sighed.

She felt bad for George, his last race with Williams and a DNF was his fate. It was bittersweet as he said goodbye to the team who gave him his start in Formula One, and put their trust in a rookie turned hero into taking them back to where Williams should be.

As she reached sector two she spotted the blue and white car parked along the left hand side of the track.

George was stood beside it, helmet off, running his free hand through his hair, as he spoke to a marshal. As Zia drove along, she was able to get a closer look at George.

He didn't seem angry, but had accepted his final race with Williams had ended earlier than expected. The marshal walked away and went to inform his colleagues about whatever George had told him, and George looked across the track to see the navy blue car adorned with the red "62" on the side.

He could see the helmet inside the cockpit turned slightly to face him. By his side, he softly pulled his hand into a fist, and mimicked his earlier action, of punching the air.

A small hand from inside the cockpit emerged. Zia copied George's action quickly, before returning her hand to the steering wheel.

As she drove away, George smiled to himself. "Come on Z. I believe in you."

"OKAY Z, you've got Lance ahead of you in P5 alright, P5. Gap is 1.678. You need to get passed him if you want that podium." Marco informed her.

"Yeah just leave me too it man. I'll be there I promise." Zia assured not only Marco, but the whole pit wall, who she knew was listening.

"Alright. Send it girl." Marco said before coming off the radio.

Zia pressed down on the throttle as she came out of a corner, pushing as much as she could to catch up to Lance.

As they came around into the final corner, Lance came off the racing line, leaving a large gap open for Zia.

"Fuck you Stroll." Zia muttered to herself chuckling. "I told you not to."

Although, she knew Lance wouldn't have listened to her.

Lance got on his team radio as soon as Zia drove off down the straight. He had been waiting to do that all race, just wondering where would be the best place to let Zia by without affecting his own race.