Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

Singapore, Race Day

"There's a lot of cars very close on race pace, it's gonna be an interesting run into turn one as well..."

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SINGAPORE
15TH RACE OF THE SEASON
SEPTEMBER

It feels a little bit duller without Lance around. It's strange, given I've not spoken much with him outside the group chats or the media events. But it's noticeable. He's usually alongside Fernando or Alex or Esteban. It's weird not seeing him here.

I'm also feeling a stab of concern over Max. I know I shouldn't. I'm at the track. I should be keeping my head here... but it's hard not to worry. He was distant after qualifying, not wanting to talk about the struggles, or even just spend some time talking about anything.

As I prepare to head back out to the grid for the race start, I hear someone knocking on the door to my private room. The door swings open quickly and I'm met with a goofy grin.

I could fucking hit him.

"Shh!" Max puts a finger to his lips as he rushes over to hug me. His mood seems drastically improved, but I know better. I know that bitter feeling of certain defeat. I try to squeeze him with my arms as he lays a quick kiss upon my cheek. "I know I shouldn't be here. I wanted to say sorry."

"No, you don't have to." He doesn't. My feelings of rejection over his refusal to talk after qualifying are irrelevant. I might well be the same when its my turn to have a god-awful session.

"I want to." He insists, holding me tighter. "And I am sorry. I knew it was going to be tough this weekend but I didn't realise it would be this bad, and I—"

"Max." I fix him with a firm stare. He swallows, looking mildly uncomfortable. "Stop, please. Shit happens. It's okay. Besides, we're going to be racing each other in an hour, so you might wanna get a move on."

A smile breaks out on his face, making me feel a little lighter. Hopefully, even with the way this race will ultimately end with his record-winning streak brought to a halt, he might not feel as bad now I've taken whatever guilt he felt off his shoulders.

"Okay... I..." He stops, choosing to kiss me quickly before letting go and rushing to the door. "Keep P10 warm for me."

Fucker.

This race is going to be an interesting one. Safety cars are a given, I've been told. We're still debating between our last fresh soft set and a medium set as our first choice. As I head out to my car, I find myself looking for Fernando. I don't see Lance at all, so he's definitely not showing up.

I look up and down the grid, but when I see Alonso, he's on his own, helmet on, visor down. It's best I leave him alone. The cooling vest over my underclothes does help me feel cooler, but it's just a temporary sensation. I feel like shit. The humidity is worse... and I see Martin Brundle talking to Max. I take my chance, attempting to go past unseen, but their conversation was already at its end. Brundle calls to me and I have to oblige and give him at least a minute of my time.

"Starting next to Max Verstappen, how do you feel about your chances of keeping him at bay?"

It's a good question. I laugh off my nerves, giving a so-so hand gesture. "I don't know, he did tell me to keep the spot warm for him, but I think he's underestimating me."

"He told you to keep P10 warm for him?"

"Yeah, I said a word I'm not allowed to repeat since you're live right now." That's all I can give, I have to get to the grid for the usual pre-race routine. Brundle lets me go and it's only a few minutes before we're at our cars, preparing.