Running From The Flames

Collisions

The race was a nail biter and my cuticles were suffering as I picked at them while watching the screen from the box. Nearly half a million Formula One fans cheered around the racetrack and the ground vibrated with the noise.

Pierre had started on the third row of the grid but on the 22nd lap he was pushed wide by Carlos Sainz on a tight turn and he had lost two places getting back on the track. But, he hadn't given up and clawed his way back into P5 and was inching closer to Sainz who had a target on his back.

Lance Stroll was right on his tail and it wouldn't be long before he could use DRS so Pierre was pushing the car as much as he could.

"Brakes are gone, fuck," Pierre exclaimed. "The brakes are completely gone."

I lurched forward as the onboard camera showed him dropping down the gears and the engine whined loudly, the machine struggling with the lower gears at the high speed. My heart was slamming inside my chest as he approached the corner and tried to navigate it without any brakes. He seemed to have made it through the apex and just ahead I could see the long home straight with enough width he could safely use to slow the car down.

I had begun to exhale the breath I had been holding when the onboard camera jolted then abruptly cut out and my eyes darted around the screens as I tried to understand what had just happened. A flash of dark green had come tearing around the corner unaware Pierre's speed had suddenly slowed, leaving him vulnerable on the track and Stroll had careened straight into the back of him.

The sound of the crash silenced the crowd and chairs clattered to the concrete floor as we leapt to our feet, the shock rippling through his team. I wasn't going to wait in the box to hear what was happening a few hundred yards outside, I had to hear Pierre's voice and see his face.

The red flag safety car rushed past the box and I made chase, pushing through the resistance my hip put up but crutches would only slow me down. For him the pain was worth it.

Smoke billowed from both wreckages but I couldn't see any flames on either car as I ran along the pitwall and I hoped the fuel didn't ignite. A small cheer went up in the crowd and I looked at the big screens surrounding the stands to see Stroll had climbed out of his car and was running to Pierre's.

I reached the closest point I could to the debris and pulled myself up the chain fence so I could see behind the signage that ran along the bottom. Two fire marshals were spraying the back of the Alpine with CO2 and I was about to scream at them to get Pierre out when I saw his white and gold helmet rise above the smoke. His steering console was tossed aside and he all but fell from the front as he stumbled away from the heat that was radiating from the wreck.

Pierre bent over and tore his helmet from his head, followed by the fireproof balaclava and his gloves so he could run his hands over his face. The gear was tossed to the asphalt as he tipped his head back and took a deep breath, but then he spotted me up the fence and I nearly collapsed with relief.

He was okay.

A medic arrived but Pierre ducked out of his reach and ran to the fenceline, climbing to my height and covering my hands with his. "Mon amour, are you alright?" he asked as he felt my hands shaking.

"Are you crazy? That's my question."

He closed his eyes and pressed his sweaty forehead to mine, the chain cold and refreshing against the heat of his skin. "Just hold me for a minute."

I kissed the diamond of skin between the chain links and laced our fingers together. "I'll hold you for as long as you let me. But you should really let the medic see you and then I can hold you properly."