Against You

Australia

"Just know you can always talk to me. I want you to feel at home in the team, and if that means keeping some things secret between us, I'll be sure to do it."

Grace pats my arm reassuringly and swoops off to take care of whatever jobs she has left. I'm left with an uneasy feeling in my stomach. Why can I never have a normal conversation with that woman? I wish everything didn't have to keep coming back around to Lando.

The restaurant seems noisy and busy without her. I pay for my meal, noting that Grace never did order herself a cup of tea, and make my way back to my room. I want to stay awake and relax but jet lag is already pulling my eyes closed. It's a big day tomorrow, free practice, so I decide a few extra hours of shut eye can't hurt. I change my clothes, turn out the light and allow myself to rest.

Lando POV

I knew this would be a tough race well in advance. Not because of the track or the competition, although those are definitely factors. It's because of Oscar.

The media are all over him. I know I shouldn't feel jealous, it's not like I enjoy media activities anyway, but I hate the way they shower him with adoration as he laughs and tells his stupid jokes and stories. I should be enjoying my time out of the limelight. But, as has become so common this season, Oscar makes it impossible.

I end up taking shelter in the garage hours before qualifying is due to start. There are fewer cameras in here and no reporters, but I'm not pleased when I see Grace heading towards me from the pit lane where she had been coordinating a pit crew photo shoot.

"I'll do interviews later, okay?" I groan. "I'm just tired."

"I'm not here to tell you to do interviews," she laughs. "Oscar's already doing enough of those."

I nod, avoiding her gaze and pretending to be really interested in the random fuel charts on a nearby monitor.

"I just wanted to chat. I feel like I've hardly seen you since Top Golf."

I gulp and my body deflates. I didn't want to have to discuss this.

"I'm fine," I repeat for the thousandth time on this topic. "And I don't have problems with alcohol, if that's what you're thinking. Jon's already made that joke way too many times."

"I know that," Grace says gently. Her eyes are full of pity which feels sour as it enters my chest. "Didn't you say someone else bought you the drinks?"

"Yeah, but nobody's owned up yet."

"Maybe Oscar did it?"

I study the woman carefully, trying to keep my face neutral. How did she know I suspected him? Does she know something I don't?

"Oscar?" I repeat.

"Yeah. He doesn't like you very much, in case you hadn't noticed."

That makes me laugh for real. Grace smiles and I finally turn to face her straight on.

"Trust me, I noticed. But I don't get why he wants to humiliate me so much. Is it all because of that milkshake in pre-season?"

"I don't know, you tell me. What else could it be about?"

Now I've put my foot in it. So Grace empathises with me, that's great, but it doesn't mean I have to tell her every detail about my past. Why are media people always so nosy?

"We haven't really gotten on since we were in Formula Renault," I murmur. My voice sounds foreign, too low. I don't like to discuss this. I shut my mouth and give Grace a hard stare.

She gives me that same sympathetic smile.

"It'll be okay, Lando. Just remember who you are. A future champion!"

I smile, the ice in my heart melting slightly. "You think?"

"It's obvious. You're going to win this season, and only you can get in your way. Not any stupid Australians."

"Don't let them hear you say that here," I laugh. Grace pats my shoulder and heads away to get on with her photos. I relax, slumping against the high table. Maybe she does understand some of what I feel. That doesn't mean I needed to open up to her, though.

Qualifying comes around much quicker than I expected. Before I know it I'm all strapped in and waiting in the pit lane for the light to turn green. Cars rumble all around me, crews drag around wheel guns and stacks of tyres, and everyone has the same goal. Finish top of the timing board.

The first round of qualifying goes easily. I don't need tows to get through, the car is easily powerful enough for that. I park up in the garage for the five-minute break with my name sitting in fourth place. Not bad considering I made a couple of mistakes.

The next round is tougher. Fewer cars on track means more space, but it also means everyone has stepped up their game in the hopes of getting to the final round. I put in a lap, without mistakes this time, and still only finish fourth. Oscar is through too, which the crowd are tumultuously happy about, and to make it worse he's ahead of me in third.

The clock ticks down and soon enough I'm back out on the track. I know I told myself I wouldn't rise to Oscar's challenges, I would stay quiet and try to ignore his antagonisms, but this is racing, not media. This may be Australia, but I have no qualms about putting Oscar back in his place, especially after he betrayed the team in Bahrain. I narrow my eyes as I follow his rear wing closely. No qualms at all.

He's ahead of me, giving me a tow, and with our equal machinery and my flawless lap I cross the finish line feeling like I couldn't have done any more. Oscar's lap was good too though. He didn't put a foot wrong either.

"What position are we in?" I pant down the radio, unable to control myself.

"Waiting for Leclerc to finish his lap."

My chest squeezes and my stomach burns. I breathe deeply, trying to control myself as I wait, and wait, and wait.

"That's P-1 Lando, pole position!"

"Yes!" I scream and pump my fist out of the halo, bouncing in my seat. I wave at the crowds who mostly seem happy. They wave back, some of them jumping for joy.

"Oscar is in P-2. Good job, Lando. Great start going into tomorrow."

"Thank you team, I couldn't have done it without you."

I pull into the pit lane and jump straight out to hug my team. Inside my helmet nobody can see my smile, and nobody can see the way it fades slightly when Oscar walks back to the garage dejected. I give myself a little shake. I achieved my goal, I shouldn't be upset for him. I turn and wave to the crowds on his behalf, then skip my way over to the cameras to enjoy my time in the limelight.