nobody talk to me; the f1 season is over so i am sad
(lots and lots of comments will cheer me up a little fyi)
over 6k words so you're in for a treat (and potentially some lando content ;) )
~***~
I nestled my head deeper into the crook of Max's neck. In my hands, my fingers twirled the shiny new key attached to the bunch I had already accumulated over the years. Whilst every key was significant in some way, whether it was used to unlock the jewellery box on my dresser or used to unlock my childhood home, none of them was as special to me in this moment as the key to mine and Max's new shared home. We had stopped by on our way to the airport to take measurements and photos so that we could plan our daughters' room on the sixteen hour flight to Singapore, an attempt to keep myself distracted from the impending swarm of media without Damien around and to prepare ourselves for their birth.
"How about this one for the walls?" Max asked, holding a light rose paint swatch up to the screen of his laptop. Even in the dim aeroplane light of our shared first class compartment (the Wednesday sun had long since set), I could tell that the colour wasn't right. "Girls like pink, right? I mean, you do."
"I don't want to force such silly gender stereotypes on them from the moment they're born," I told him with a roll of my eyes. "Not every girl likes pink, babe, and choosing it for their bedroom just because their girls isn't a good enough reason. The main reason I like the colour is because it's my brand, and the electric pink I have going for me at Mercedes doesn't feel suitable for a wall."
"So what do you suggest?"
I paused for thought, taking the paint swatches from his hand. From an earlier trip to a DIY store, we had collected many different colour ideas for different rooms in the new house. If it were up to Max, the walls would stay the same shade of white throughout the house, and I just couldn't let that happen. My fingers lingered over a delicate peach colour before I plucked it out and held it up to the screen. "This is pretty, and it's a shade of orange, too."
I looked up to Max. His eyebrow was raised and a small smile played at the corner of his lips. "So because I'm Dutch I must like orange?"
"Orange is one of your top three personality traits," I said with a shrug. He opened his mouth to protest but quickly closed it. I smiled victoriously. "Exactly."
"Until they're old enough to pick their wall colour themselves, I'd say it's a pretty strong contender," he declared, picking up a pen to draw a small heart in the top right corner of the swatch.
"It'll match with me at McLaren next year, too," an amused voice spoke from behind us. I jumped away from Max at the sudden new person joining in on our conversation, however my startled features settled when I realised it was a familiar and much loved person. Daniel Ricciardo's grinning face was peeking through the gap about the chairs. I had absolutely no idea he was on our flight, and my surprise made his words take a moment to register.
"Woah, wait," they seemed to hit Max, too, "you're at McLaren next year?"
"Signed the contract on Monday."
My chest swelled with happiness. If he was in the compartment with us, I'd have wrapped my arms around him and given him the biggest hug. "Congratulations!"
"Thought you could do with some good news after the week you've had," he said, voice a little softer now. I tried to keep my smile as wide as it had been. The distraction of picking a paint swatch had momentarily made me forget about the drama. Thinking about it all again was like a punch in the face. "I also wanted to let you know that you have my support. Whoever is writing this shit about you is a coward. Anyone with a brain cell would know that you didn't want Lewis to crash, and that you were happy for Stoffel after the disappointment wore off. Don't even get me started on the miscarriage bullshit and wishing misfortune on-"
"I think she gets it, Dan," Max interrupted, eyes carefully watching me. I was grateful. I don't want to be reminded.
I reached up a hand so that I squeeze Daniel's fingers that gripped the back of my chair. "Thank you though, angel. It really means a lot. I just need to keep my head down and hope it blows over soon."
"I take it the people anony-bitch mentioned weren't too happy?"
Shaking my head, I pulled my lips into a line. "Vic and Cate think I want their babies dead, Lewis and Stof wanted space, my family cancelled plans, and Damien quit. The only person mentioned who didn't care was Marcus and that's only because nothing bad was said about him. He's spoken to me a little, nothing much, but he's going to try and talk some sense into Damien. I think Bella's been relaying the truth to him about how out of context everything was, and how it was all said in the confidentiality of therapy."
"Your therapist sold it all to the media?" Daniel asked, surprised.
"I'm not supposed to talk about it because it's still an 'ongoing matter'," I said, adding quotes with a roll of my eyes, "but the only person who knew all of that was Max and my therapist, and I know I can rule one of them out for certain."
"Nah, Max definitely sold your deepest darkest secrets because it's the only chance he has of getting the championship this year," at Daniel's words, I couldn't help but laugh. Watching Max frown and try to pretest that he'd be able to win the championship on his own only made me laugh more.
"Watch it Ricciardo, or you won't be Godfather."
I paused my laughter to question him. "Daniel can be trusted with Godfather?" Max shrugged in reply. "So you're telling me that if both of us die in a plane crash or some other Grey's Anatomy worthy storyline, he'd be the one to look after our kids?"
"Okay, maybe it needs to be reconsidered," Max said, eyes slightly widened.
Daniel looked deadly serious, something I don't see from him often. "I'll fight all of my competitors to the death - the role of Godfather will be mine."
"Okay," I drew out the vowel sound as I spoke, "as provisional Godfather, how about you help us choose out the girls' room?"
"It would be an honour." Daniel's head disappeared for a moment and then suddenly appeared in the door to mine and Max's compartment. Because the middle arm rest was up, Daniel was able to nudge me closer to Max. Of course he wasn't going to sit on the uncomfortable bit and made me do it. My arm looped underneath Max's to save as much space as possible. Daniel gently moved the soft blanket that had been covering my knees so that his were also covered by it.
"I wanted to sit next to you, Daniel," Max complained with a pout, leaning forward in his seat so that he could be seen by his favourite Aussie.
Daniel matched his frown. "Sorry buddy, my ass just wasn't going to fit in the middle."
"And mine does?" I asked, gently jabbing Daniel in the rib with my elbow.
"Better than mine."
I couldn't help the sigh that slipped through my lips. "This is going to be a long flight."
***
It was no surprise that the media were desperate for questions. On both Thursday and Friday, they were waiting for me with cameras at the entrance to the paddock. Thankfully, I never entered the paddock on my own, whether Max was by my side with his arm straight out to barge the people from my path, or Seb, who would hold my hand tightly and mutter reassurances in my ear. On the Saturday, after a fairly strong performance in both Friday practice sessions, I found myself alone. Max was in early and I didn't have it in me to get up with him, as was Seb.
My hands nervously folded over one another as I eyed the gates. I could hear the chatter of the photographers ready to snap photos of my 'disgraced' face, as they would so pleasantly refer to it. This was awful. I felt horrid enough about the whole thing without people shoving cameras in my face and quizzing me on my 'inevitable downfall', as some of the more creative personnel would put it. I knew Lizzie would be waiting for me inside for some last minute stretches before I needed to get into my race suit and I didn't want to piss her off because I was late. Even though I really don't want to walk in alone, I was going to have to suck it up and just power through.
In through the nose, out through the mouth. I smoothed down the white fabric of my Mercedes' shirt and pulled my cap further down past my eyes. My pass was around my neck. I tucked the piece of plastic that would grant me access to the paddock in between my fingers so that I could quickly get through. My plan was to just ignore everyone around me until I could breath inside the comfort of the Mercedes hospitality centre.
"Archer!" I had barely taken two steps into their eye line before the yelling started. My heart sunk in my chest but I knew that I couldn't go anywhere but through them. The crowd of fifteen or so waited until I had passed through the barrier before forming a dome around me.
"Excuse me, please," my voice was soft. Losing my temper at them would only cause more problems so I had to keep my cool.
"What happened to Damien?"
"Are you really engaged to Max?"
"How does it feel to know that you murdered your own baby?"
The last comment made my heart stop completely. My mouth went dry as my eyes started to fill with water. They don't know, nor do they care, about the truth. A punch would've hurt less.
"Oi!" A loud voice boomed from behind me, making me flinch. It was accompanied shortly after by a flash of orange barging through and getting in the face of the man who had been yelling at me. "What the fuck did you just say to her?"
"Lando," his name slipped through my lips as a sigh of relief. Even under the glow of the lights, I could see he was angry. His eyebrows were pointed in a 'V' and the muscles in his neck flexed as his jaw clenched.
"I-I-" the man fumbled for his words, crinkled eyes growing wide at having one of the least confrontational drivers in his face.
"You don't know the half of the shit this girl has been through," he growled. "Keep your mouths shut or I'll shut it for you, and that goes for all of you leeches," he added to address the crowd. Much to my surprise, they listened. Funny how when a man asks them to leave me alone they oblige, but not when I do it.
Lando grabbed my hand tightly and pushed through the crowd of silenced photographers and reporters, giving anyone who so much as moved their camera in my direction a dirty look. I had been on the receiving end of some of Lando's dirty looks in the past few months and they were enough to turn my blood cold with shame. He didn't let go of my hand until we had cleared the group and came to a stop beside the Mercedes building.
He turned to look at me, his gaze softening however his jaw remained tense. "You okay?"
I bit my lips together and nodded my head, but my watery eyes betrayed me. All it took was for him to raise his eyebrow in doubt for the tears to start slipping down my cheeks. I shook my head, allowing the hairs I had tucked behind my ears to fall in front of my face. "Why are some people so cruel?"
To my surprise, Lando wrapped his arms tightly around me. I hooked my arms underneath his armpits with my hands gripping tightly onto the shirt on his shoulders. My head found it's place back into the crook of its neck where it hadn't been in too long. He had changed his cologne since the last time I saw him, this one smelt more mature - more him.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled into his ear. "I'm so, so sorry."
I heard him swallow hard. "I know you are, and it's okay. You've got me now, and I'm here whenever you need me. I've missed you."
Hearing those words from him was almost enough to make my leaking eyes turn into full on sobs. Almost. "I've missed you, too."
"Gosh," he said when we finally pulled away, "they need to invest in some security or something for you. Those guys... let's just say they're lucky I didn't punch them."
"If you did, maybe some of the headlines won't feature my name," I said with a half-hearted laugh.
He exhaled softly through his nose and offered me a smile. "They'll find a way to twist it into you manipulating me into doing your bidding."
"Too true."
"Anyway, I'm sorry but I'm going to have to head over to my team. They're probably wondering where I am already since I told them I was going to get there half an hour ago. Are you going to be okay on your own?"
I bravely nodded my head in reply. "I'll be okay. Thank you for everything, it means a lot." Just as Lando was about to bid me farewell and walk away, a thought crossed my mind. "Would you be up for dinner with me and Max after the race? I think I asked you after my crash and you said you weren't ready yet, but there's so much we need to catch up on." I asked.
A part of me expected Lando to politely turn down the offer, but instead a smile formed at his small lips. "I'd actually really like that. He was one of my closest friends and I miss him, too, although nowhere near the amount I missed you."
"I guess I'll be in touch then," I said, feeling my heart swell with happiness.
"I'll unblock your number."
My jaw dropped and my eyes widened in surprise. "You blocked my number?"
Instead of answering the question, Lando just ducked away with a cheeky grin on his lips. I couldn't help but shake my head at him, however there was no ounce of annoyance in my body. Right now, all I could feel was gratitude towards him for helping me through the paddock and taking the next step towards repairing our friendship. God knows I don't deserve it from him, which makes the feeling even more special.
I'm getting my Lando back.
***
I snapped my visor down into place, looking through the clear strip at the illuminated pit lane ahead of me. The bright lights from the garage were dazzling, but I wasn't going to let them interrupt my focus ahead of the qualifying session. I didn't have the space in my head to think about how my knee and shoulder were aching from Lizzie's workout despite it being low impact, or about my troubles from the past couple of weeks, or about the nagging sense that I probably should've ran to the bathroom before climbing into my car.
T> 'Pit exit is open, we're going to let the slower cars out before sending you.'
A> 'Copy. Any chance of rain at all?'
T> 'Uh, negative, Lys, but we'll keep you updated if anything changes.'
I felt my tense shoulders relax a little and I sunk more comfortably into my seat. Knowing the session was expected to be dry was a huge relief. My last qualifying in the rain... well, it goes without saying that it was not great for me. If I chose not to ignore it and hadn't taken some pain medication, I'm sure I'd still be able to feel the dull pressure emanating from the fading green bruises.
My brain switched fully on when my mechanic motioned for me to pull out of the garage. I eased my foot onto the throttle, feeling the wheels squeal against the shiny floor and the engine roar with life. My steering wheel pointed to the left and I maintained a safe margin from the wall. Up ahead, I could see various other cars pulling out from their pit boxes and into the fast lane. If any of them even think of holding me up or ruining my lap, they can expect some very strong words from me after the session. Being only the first qualifying session, one lap should be enough to guarantee my place in Q-Two, and so I wanted to get it over and done with to allow myself a bit of free time.
Despite the heat, I really did love racing in Singapore. Under the lights was an experience unlike any other. There really wasn't a track that could compare. As I weaved to generate heat into my tyres, I took in the beauty of it all. Amongst the grandstands, I could see a decent number of British flags adorned with my driver number, seventy. There are people still supporting me. It was like a spur jutting into my side, pushing me forwards.
When the time came to round the final sequence of corners and start pushing, I was more than ready. My eyes were unwavering from the track ahead. With my foot to the floor and more determination to prove myself than ever, I could just sense that I was going to have a good lap.
Along the start/finish straight, I positioned my car close to the yellow strip on the right side of the circuit. The illuminated grand stands and pit lane were reduced to a blur in my peripheral. I downshifted and braked before the corner, allowing myself to hit the apex of turn one perfectly, slingshotting me into the optimal position for the 'S' that followed.
By the time it came to get back on the throttle, my car was holding on beautifully - there was no sliding or understeer. I felt like I was one with my car, the hairs on my arms standing on end as my wheels brushed tantalisingly close to the outside wall. I could hear Max's voice in my head saying 'simply lovely', because that is exactly what that sequence of corners was.
Once again, I regained speed, upshifting smoothly with my eyes fixed past the kink in the road that was turn six. My car glided across the new tarmac with ease, DRS giving me that extra boost. I was sticking to the track like a train on rails, and a purple flash on my steering wheel told me that I was doing as well as I thought. Then it was time for the heavy braking zone into turn seven. The muscles in my neck tensed as the Gs increased, relaxing immediately one I made it through the left hander in time to brace for the next braking zone.
Although the left-right-left corners weren't in quick succession, I still maintained my focus. I needed to stay sharp as a slip-up of any kind could put me in the wall. That certainly won't be good for the team, or the media, or my ego.
I managed to climb up to seventh gear before reaching my pre-picked braking point. A brightly coloured orange covering on the inside wall of turn ten made a clear point to aim just beyond, guiding me far enough until the red and white striped curb took over. My front left wheel kissed the bump sweetly, easing my car into preparation for the quickly following corner.
My whole body tensed as my car flung itself out of the exit of turn twelve. This part of the track was particularly narrow and I had my fair share of close-calls with it in the past. I wasn't going to allow myself the opportunity for a costly mistake this early on in the session, and so took it at a slightly lower speed than what I could possibly push from my car. Sacrificing a few tenths for the long run was going to be worth it, and a flick of my eyes to my steering wheel told me that I didn't need to worry. My time was quick for a first lap.
There was enough space between the McLaren ahead that I wouldn't be negatively affected along the straight, however it was close enough that I would receive a tow. There was something nagging in my mind as I climbed up to seventh gear, but I didn't have time to figure out what it was before the next corner was coming into view.
T> 'You didn't open DRS.'
That would be the thing that was nagging me. I knew the final sector was going to be twisty so made my reply quick.
A> 'I didn't hear the beep!'
I don't know how many times I've driven this circuit, but how can I forget to open DRS, even without the aid of a beep in my ear to let me know when to open it? Still, I didn't think it mattered too much. My steering wheel flashed purple, a promising sign considering there was only Lewis behind me.
As soon as I let the thoughts enter my mind, I needed to push them out again. I can dwell on the error once I had crossed the line, but not right now. My car felt a lot less stable now that my focus had momentarily shifted. A part of me would've like for my engineer to keep that information to himself until after, however there was still one DRS zone to go. There's every chance that another missed dose of extra horse power could hinder my time so that I would need to go out again, and the less time I spend in the car in this heat, the better. There was no fluids on board for me to sip in order to make the car as light as possible.
Eventually, I crossed the line after easing my car around the final sector. I wasn't surprised that it flashed green; the Red Bulls were particularly strong in that part of the track.
T> 'Alright, Lys, that's P1. We'll investigate the DRS issue when you get back to the pits. Nothing's flashing up at the moment as to what the issue was.'
A> 'I heard the beep up until the second sector... it's weird. If it's something you can't fix, are you going to make the beepy noise for me over the radio?'
I found myself smiling in the cockpit, picturing Riki sighing into his hands.
T> 'I really hope I don't have to.'
A> 'Please, it'll be really funny.'
T> 'I am not beeping over the radio.'
A> 'That's not very supportive, Riki. Do you not want me to get pole or something?'
T> 'Valtteri wouldn't ask me to beep.'
A> 'I'm your driver now and I'm asking you to beep. So beep.'
T> '...Beep.'
I squealed with satisfaction as the very unenthusiastic and monotonous 'beep' came over the radio. Oh, I loved Riki, even if he didn't reciprocate my affection. I knew deep down he wouldn't have me any other way. When I pulled into the garage after a cool down lap, there were smiles on everyone's faces except from Riki's. He caught my eye through my clear visor and gave me a scowl, which I responded appropriately with a thumbs up to.
I undid the belts that secured me into the car and pulled myself out with the halo. A few mechanics patted my back in congratulations for the lap. Now, I get to sit back and carefully analyse everyone else's laps to see where I should try and squeeze out margins of a second. After slipping my helmet from my head, I placed it carefully in the cubby hole at the back of the garage and then made my way over to my team boss.
"How're you feeling?" Toto asked, moving his headset off his ears so that he could speak to me.
I smiled at him. "Good, a little sweaty though."
His nose scrunched up and he put his hand out to motion I shouldn't get any closer. "Thanks for letting me know."
"Don't you want to give me a hug for my amazing lap?"
"Your good lap," he corrected. "There's still a lot you can do in the final half to improve."
"Yeah, I know," I replied with a roll of my eyes. I folded my arms across my chest as best I could without bunching up the material of my race suit. "I didn't want to go all-out straight away, need to save a little kick for a spicy lap in Q-three."
"I must say, I'm proud of you for coming into this weekend with a strong head. You've come a long way from the woman I knew earlier on in the season. I'm proud of you."
"Thanks, dad," I joked, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.
He opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it as an unsettled look appeared across his usually stern features. "I was going to say that I'm not old enough to be your dad, but I am. You're so young."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Nah, you're just so old." If we weren't in a professional environment right now with cameras watching our every move, I'm sure he would've pushed me or smack me upside my head for my comment. Instead, he just had to settle for a disapproving scowl which I had seen many time before. In all honesty, the look losing its desired effect on me because of the amount of times I had seen it from him.
"Shut up and do some work, or I'm making Lewis the number one driver this weekend."
"Empty threats," I said, challenging his stare. It was barely a challenge; I cracked with a smile after half a second and moved down the table towards my engineers. "You have to love me; I'm your daughter."
"I don't recall adopting you."
"Ah, you see, I added a secret clause in my contract in teeny tiny writing that states that you're now my dad and you can't ever go back on it because that's the same as breaking a pinky promise and could be deemed child abandonment."
"You already have a dad."
"Wow," I dramatically spoke, "way to bring up my dead dad - not cool."
"That's not true."
"Are you arguing my dead dad?" I raised my eyebrows, watching him carefully to see him struggle to choose his next words. It was obvious he didn't know what he could say, or if I was actually taking offence to his words. I wasn't. It was just funny, and a way to talk about my dad without wanting to cry. Maybe not the healthiest form of healing, but it works. I cracked with a laugh.
"Riki, Kieron - please take your driver away from me."
I watched Riki's head snap in my direction. "I don't want her!"
The three of us turned our attention to Kieron, who had been feverishly analysing a screen. He must've sensed our eyes on him, as he slowly looked over, face scrunched in confusion. "Wha-"
"Just say 'okay', please. For my sake," Toto interrupted, not waiting for him to finish his question.
Kieron looked unsure as the word, "Okay," slipped out his mouth.
"Alyssa - go. Kieron will assist you on improvements."
"Perf," I ignored all of my performance engineer's protests and took the empty seat beside him. After a few minutes of reluctance, we eventually got ourselves into a good rhythm. Toto looked relieved to finally turn his attention to Lewis, who was climbing his way out of his car, and Riki got back to work on his own thing. His screen was filled with various numbers, colours, and charts, and it looked incredibly boring.
The work seemed to pay off even if it wasn't what Kieron was wanting to do between qualifying sessions. Despite the ongoing DRS issue, which was being managed by Riki's beeps, much to his dismay, I was able to set the fastest lap time of the second session once again after just two hot laps. I was poised in a great position heading into the final third of qualifying and nothing could drag me down.
It didn't come as a surprise to me when Riki ordered I stay in the car whilst waiting for the start of the next session. I guessed he was frustrated by the effects that the heat was having on me, making my mind unable to stick to just one thought when I was outside of the cockpit.
For my first lap, Lewis gave me a tow, meaning that I had a nice buffer of nearly half a second between myself and the closest car. I was definitely the one to beat here and I was proud of the performance I was giving despite everything that had happened. It was a Mercedes 1-3 so far, with none other than my closest championship splitting us.
My eyes zoned in and focused for the final time of the session. The clock had ticked down into the red and so this was definitely going to be my final push to extend the lead I already had on other drivers. I was in the middle of the pack of ten drivers, with my teammate, rival, and slower cars behind me.
Let's fucking go.
Similarly to the first qualifying lap I had set, my car handled like a dream, sticking with me as I pushed through the corners and hurtled along the straights. Riki continued to be my DRS beep and the McLaren ahead was once again giving me a lovely slip stream. I was a little closer to it this time around so had to be mindful of the dirty air disrupting my performance, but that was a back-of-the-mind kind of thought - it didn't need my focus.
Turn ten eased me into a smooth turn eleven, and I had full intentions of giving it my all through, in my opinion, the trickiest part of the entire track. Suddenly, my sight was snapping from the corner ahead to the wall as the front left wheel of my car brushed the inside bump of the corner with a kick of oversteer. I had zero time to react or correct the mistake and could only do my best to minimise the damage from the incoming impact.
*tw - low/medium, barely any description given bc i'm lazy*
My car's nose crunched against the wall, the metal screeching painfully until my car came to a complete stop shortly after turn twelve. It was the most narrow section of the track, and I had to sit and wait in my disappointment as the cars who had been behind me slowly crawled past, being extra cautious not to drive over any of the debris my car had strewn across the width of the track.
A> 'Fuck. Guys, I'm so sorry. There was nothing I could do.'
T> 'Copy.'
Maybe I was reading too much into it, but Riki's response was enough to squeeze my chest. Even if the mistake wasn't intentional, it's still all on me. I fucked up. I didn't think I had been too greedy before I had taken too much. Hindsight can be painful.
As a result of my crash, the team informed me that there was no improvement from the other drivers and so my time stuck. Once the moped had dropped me off on the grid for the top-three interviews, I tried my best to appear apologetic to the crowds. There were significantly less flags of support for me in the grandstand, and I definitely heard a few 'boo's. Although an apology to the fans wasn't needed, I still made it. It was practice for everything I was planning to say to the team when I finally got back to the garage.
The mechanics were preparing equipment for the car that had yet to be delivered from in-between turns twelve and thirteen. Toto, Riki, and Kieron were all in deep conversation at the head of the table. They didn't even lift their heads when I cleared my throat to prepare myself for my speech.
"I'm really sorry guys," I quickly said, hanging my head low. Still nothing. I was not only addressing my boss and engineers, but the group of mechanics who would have to work longer hours to get my car in shape for the race tomorrow. I guess a small positive is that I did secure pole despite the hefty impact. "I'm prepared to stay late and-"
"That won't be necessary," Toto quickly interrupted, the emotion in his voice difficult to read. I tried to brush it off as just annoyance at the situation and not at me personally, but it still felt like a punch to the stomach. He refused to look up from the screen below him. "Go back to your hotel. We'll discuss this further tomorrow."
"But-"
"Not now, Alyssa. Riki will send through anything you need to look through. Just do as I am telling you for once."
I may not be the smartest person but I knew not to push Toto any further. No one was meeting my gaze, and so I sulked off around the corner to change out of my racing suit. I wanted to get out of the paddock as quickly as possible, and so chucked my phone and other personal belongings into my bag without a second glance. If my team were this cold to me, there's no telling how shitty the media was going to be.
Even though I crashed, I still felt like I was deserving of the pole position. It wasn't luck that gave me the fastest lap before the red flag, and I had been quickest throughout the sessions. There was no indication that anyone could have matched the pace I was setting or that they were on improved laps from their previous attempt. Even David Coulthard, who had been conducting the interviews of the top three and handed me the pole position trophy to sign, supported me in saying that the crash didn't change the result in any way.
I didn't need anyone else beating me up for it when I was already wanting to punch myself. It wasn't a mistake of choice, or something I could've really avoided. That snap of oversteer would've caught even the most experienced of formula one drivers off-guard and more than likely sent them into the wall the same way that I had done. There's nothing I can do now - it's happened. I just have to hope that the gearbox doesn't need changing ahead of the race or I'll be starting five positions lower than expected.
To my surprise, Max was already waiting outside of the Mercedes garage by the time I walked through the double glass doors. The smile he had worn on the grid to celebrate his second place spot was wiped clean and replaced with a stressed look, or at least that's what I guessed it to be.
"What's wrong?" I immediately asked, wrapping his arms around him in a hug. His grip was tight. At least I knew that I wasn't the issue making him look so odd.
"I'm going to ask you something and I need you to be completely honest with me," his words were laced with worry even though I could see him fighting it.
"I-" I was going to question it, but decided against it. "Of course."
Max swallowed hard. "Did you crash on purpose?"
There was no stopping the laugh the escaped my mouth. "Oh, yeah, I definitely gave my team extra work on purpose by crashing at the trickiest part of the circuit." I gently pushed his shoulder.
"Alyssa..."
"Be for real, Max," I dismissed with a roll of my eyes, "you know I wouldn't. What's bringing this on? Is Christian trying to ignite your championship flame by pitting us against each or something?"
Biting his lips together, he shook his head. This was definitely something else, something deeper, something worse. "Max, you're making me nervous," I said, voice barely above a whisper as I looked to my person for an answer. He ran his tongue over his lips and dropped his gaze, unable to meet mine. After a few silent moments that felt like an eternity, he finally spoke:
"There's been another article."
~***~
SINGAPORE QUALIFYING RESULT
P1 ARC, P2 VER, P3 HAM, P4 LEC, P5 NOR, P6 STR, P7 RIC, P8 SAI, P9 HUL, P10 VET, P11 ALB, P12 GAS, P13 OCO, P14 RUS, P15 RAI, P16 GRO, P17 LAT, P18 SCH, P19 MAG, P20 KVY.
~***~
*not edited*
uh oh, that can't be good. at least this time lys will have lando! oh, how i've missed writing him.
this time of year means no f1 and a million uni assignments due - double sad.
as a positive (kind of?) every chapter until the end of this book is planned out. there are only going to be 105 chapters which is fifteen less than the last book, but there are already plans in place for a THIRD book.
i know you're probably saying 'jesus fuck alyssa let this series die' but i never will... until after the third book... probably
writing this chapter felt like writing one of my older chapters and idk i just enjoyed it so much. the dynamic between lys and her team is just so fun an i love writing silly moments like the one you read (just ignore the end xoxo). hopefully i can include some more.
something big(ish) is going to be revealed in the next chapter. it has been a topic of speculation since the beginning of this book and i'm excited to reveal which of you were right and who was wrong. oh, the power i hold. knowing how my own story is going to turn out is kind of a power trip but idgaf.
qotc: i couldn't care less about football nor do i support the event being held in qatar for obvious reasons, but who are you rooting for?
aotc: even though i'm english, I live close to the welsh border and was honestly rooting for them but they didn't last very long... so i guess england. is it coming home? probs not, but i'll take every match as an excuse to drink so hopefully they make it to the end!