The Grudge •||• PA17

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3 July 2025

Silverstone had always felt like a second home for me. Maybe it was because it is my favourite track, or maybe it was the history, maybe the endless seas of fans draped in flags, maybe the way the circuit seemed to breathe with the sport itself. But this weekend, it felt different.

Heavier.

Paul was here. That was why.

And after months of silence, guilt, and sharp avoidance, he finally said the words I'd been waiting for years. Though not in the way I imagined.

It happened Thursday afternoon. Media day was its usual chaos. Bright lights, microphones, journalists crowding us with questions that always sounded the same. I had just slipped out of an interview, trying to escape the noise, when I almost ran into him.

"Viviana."

The way my name sounded in his voice froze me mid-step.

Paul stood there, black Stake polo, hair falling into his eyes, expression unreadable. For the first time in a long time, he didn't look untouchable.

"Can we talk?"

I should've walked away. I should've told him he had no right. Instead, against my better judgment, I nodded once.

We ducked into a quiet corner by the back of the Stake garage, away from cameras. The tension between us was unbearable.

He took a breath, steady but shaky at the edges. "I need to say something... about Spa."

The word cut me like glass.

"I'm... sorry," he said finally. His voice cracked, just enough to sound human. "For the crash. For... everything that came after. I should've said it years ago. I should've said it the night it happened. But I didn't. And that's on me."

I crossed my arms, every muscle rigid. "And now you think sorry is enough?"

His jaw clenched. "No. I don't. I know I can't erase what happened. I know you'll never look at me the same. But I want you to know I never, never, meant to hurt you."

The words sat heavy in the air.

For a long moment, I said nothing. Images of Spa flashed in my mind. The rain, the yellow flags, the blinding impact, the white hospital lights. And the silence afterward.

"You had months," I whispered. My voice shook more than I wanted. "Months to say this. And you didn't."

"I was a coward," he admitted. His eyes finally lifted to meet mine. "I thought staying silent would make it easier. That maybe if I stayed out of your life, it wouldn't hurt you more. But seeing you now, pretending like we don't even know each other... it's worse. For me, at least."

"Do you have any idea what it was like?" My throat tightened. "Everyone asking where you were. Everyone assuming you'd checked on me. Even my mom asked about you after that. And you didn't come. Not once."

He flinched like I'd hit him. "I know. And I hate myself for it."

Silence stretched again, only the distant hum of generators filling the air.

"I don't know..." I said at last, voice low.

Something flickered in his expression. Pain, but also acceptance.

"Then don't accept it," he said softly. "Not until you're ready. Just... know that I am sorry. That's all I can give you right now."

And then, quietly, almost too quietly. "But I missed my friend."