Against You

Final Race

Oscar POV

The last race of the season.

My last chance at winning.

My heart is heavy. I've done too much damage at McLaren to be given a contract for next year. I know it, and that means this is my last Formula One race for the foreseeable future. I'm in the lead, but I can hardly enjoy it. I'm empty. As soon as I cross the line, that's it.

Charles is down in fourth and it looks like he's going to stay there. Hamilton is out and Carlos had a bad pit stop, so right now fourth will be enough for Charles to take the championship. There are only three laps to go. I'd never wish harm on another driver, but if Charles could have an engine failure right now it would be perfect. I would win the race, and Lando would get his championship.

I'm going to win the race.

The radio is silent. No team orders this time, they know that doesn't work with us. The feeling of leading isn't new anymore, but it still makes my stomach knot and my breath come sharply. As I pass the finish line again, my emptiness gives way. I'm terrified. Of messing it up, of mechanical failure, of winning, of losing, of Lando.

My mantra replays in my mind. There's nothing more important than getting my first win. I know it's true. I've worked my whole life for this. So why am I feeling so conflicted?

Because those are Grace's words now, not mine.

I check my mirrors and there's Lando's car, snarling behind me. This would be my first win, but if Lando wins, he wins it all. We cross the finish line again. One lap to go.

What do I do? If I let him through now I'll be the weakest person in Formula One. You can never predict what might happen next season, our car might not be competitive or could be unreliable. I probably won't even have a contract. This could be my only shot at this.

A racing driver should be tough, a racing driver should be ruthless.

Still nobody has come on the radio telling me to let him past. I have no idea how the situation might have changed. Maybe Charles is gone, maybe Lando has won it anyway? I just need to run my own race, focus on myself. I can't help him. Isn't a McLaren one-two enough?

No. It's not.

I enter the third sector and my stomach turns to jelly. I'm really going to do this.

I slow down.

My engine sighs, the crowds explode. Tumultuous cheers and screams pierce my helmet as Lando's car flies by. I can't breathe, but I speed back up and follow him across the finish line.

Golden fireworks.

I'm going to be sick.

It should have been my first win. But I gave him his first championship. The fireworks could almost be for me. The roar could almost be for me. But they're for Lando.

"Oscar." Finally, a voice on the radio. I don't make any effort to reply, and for a while it seems the message ends there. But it doesn't. "Thank you."

I've slowed to a crawl, tears making it almost impossible to see where I'm going. I haven't just thrown away my first win, I've also finished my first season with this stupid moment of weakness. My emotions overtake me. Why did I do that? I don't want to show my face, but I have to open my visor to wipe my eyes.

Lando's car is driving alongside mine.

I crane my neck to see, rubbing my eyes clumsily through the visor hole. Lando pumps his fist in the air and his cheers are audible even above the sound of both of our engines. He turns to me and gives a thumbs up and a wave. I swallow hard and wave back.