GREENE | CS55

23 - Underestimating

Carlos laid in his bed, staring out the curtain-drawn window at a pillowy conglomeration of darkened clouds against the evening sky, feeling a tight sickness to his stomach comparable to nothing he had felt in a very long time.

Not in the same way that a bad cut of meat would leave him feeling, or a shaker bottle left in a hot car for an afternoon with crusted-on protein shake left in it would— it felt deeper than that. In his bones.

It was simply the cherry on top of everything happening in his life that the car he happened to crash into was Charles' Ferrari. Maybe that was it— coming to terms with the fact that he caused that crash. One slight push, an overly optimistic idea of the abilities of the MCL-35. The jerk of the wheel and the knowing loss of gravitational control that came with the front wheels locking. The episode of deep freezing where it seemed he didn't even have a moment to register what he did wrong before he ended up with his front wing wedged into the side of Leclerc.

He crashed into the Ferrari.

Into Charles' Ferrari. In the most brash and literal way, it was like it all came crashing down on him in that moment.

Charles was going to be his teammate next year.

Carlos wasn't going to be with McLaren next year. Post-race dinners with Lando, like the one he was currently sat at after being dragged to by Lando and Caco, wouldn't come as often as they did. It was yet another move. A whole new set of faces to remember. A new teammate with a completely different set of skills for him to compete against in the obscure partnership that really was the direct antithesis of the word team. He'd don the scarlet red race suit and join Charles in the paddock.

It was a reset. A career defining opportunity. It would be huge.

Carlos quickly made his way back to his hotel room, covering the bill with half an order of crisps remaining on his plate. He suddenly didn't have the appetite to bother with them. Carlos wanted silence. He wanted, needed, a moment to think.

His feet felt like they were floating as he retreated to his sanctuary for the weekend, where he'd block out the rest of the world until he had a chance to cool down.

Only one person came to mind then, as his keycard granted him access to his air-conditioned, quiet, solitary haven. He stepped into the kitchen area of the grand hotel suite, palming a bottle of water and holding it against his pounding temple. The medics had cleared him entirely. Carlos' head ached for a completely different reason. A completely different person.

Pierce had called him, texted him, left him countless voicemails— she'd done everything that Carlos expected her to. Anything that any good friend would do.

It was the first thought that flashed into his mind when the familiar screech of rubber against cement filled his ears, how badly he wanted to be back in his drivers room with her. Synchronizing his breaths with hers, feeling the tension slightly ease from her muscles.

It was everything he'd wanted— to be with Pierce tonight, in more ways than he could ever admit to her. And as his phone buzzed in his hand, her caller I.D. and image filling the rectangular singing void, it may also have been the reason he left it to ring.

Immediately his eyes pinched shut and his stomach lurched. Everything he did made him think of her. Made him long for her.

If he answered the call, if he responded to her texts, Carlos knew that he'd be reduced down to the babbling mess of words that he became whenever Pierce was around. One thing would lead to another, and he didn't have it in him to predict what would leave his mouth tonight.