Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

Singapore, Post-Race

"That was a cracker, wasn't it, that race? I really enjoyed it."

⸻

SINGAPORE
AFTER THE RACE
SEPTEMBER

I stagger out of the car, my limbs trembling, and my legs protesting. A hand steadies me.

It's Max.

His helmet is off, he's beaming with glee and excitement. He helps me get out of the car; I almost fall into him as my legs momentarily refuse to work. We share a quick hug after I remove my helmet.

"Prachtig. Net zoals jij." He whispers, barely audible over the fireworks and crowd. The word sounds warm and soft as he says it, as if it's meant to soothe my aches and pains.

We head off to be weighed and given water. I dump the entire contents of one bottle over my head, taking a second one to actually drink from. I'm not the only one; we're all feeling the strain of the heat combined with the physical demands of such a long race. We're going to have fun with the media pen and team meetings. First, though, I really need to get out of my sweat-coated thermals and race suit. God, I fucking stink.

Which I do. There are lots of questions about how it felt to be fighting the current leader of the championship, and how I was trying to keep Charles roped into the fight for my gain. I heap plenty of praise on Charles; his ability to break my DRS at one of the zones is the reason I lost the fight. It kept me back far enough that I had no hope, not really. The team meeting is brief; Mick's had a disappointing race but it turns out the rest of the pack suffered from heating issues and he was determined to keep going just to finish the race.

I catch sight of George as I'm leaving the paddock with Mick. He looks so distraught. His race ended so badly, and it wasn't even his fault.

"One second." I mutter to Mick as I turn around and go straight to George, engulfing him with the best hug I can manage. He stops in what I think is shock, but his arms eventually are around me. I can hear his shaky breath. He's barely holding himself together. I rub circles into his back with my hands, trying to show some compassion.

It's always hard to accept the worst outcomes when you're so close to that victory.

"You'll get it next time, George." I pat his back, pulling away because he's going to cry if I keep pouring emotion into him like this.

"Thanks, Jess." He mumbles, one hand quickly coming up to rub his eyes. I pat his shoulder, just to silently remind him that I understand, and I'm there if he needs me.

"You will get a win, George. You've got more skill than you think you have." I leave it at that, returning to the waiting Mick, who gives George a thumbs up as we leave.

Mick helps me into the car, before getting in himself. I appreciate him giving me a lift back to the hotel. I can barely drive after all that. I'm so tired, I might not wake up when my alarm goes in the morning. I don't know how Mick is still going, as if he's just mildly bothered by the heat.

"That was a good race." He says as we leave the track grounds, his eyes on the road ahead. "Better than mine."

"Bullshit." I scoff, a playful smirk on my face. "You were racing with an overheating car against James and Logan. I'm amazed you survived that. Hell, I might've given up and retired the car the second it got too much."

"Now who's bullshit?" He grins, as we pull up to a set of red lights.

"Okay, maybe I'd go until the car is on fire, but that's because I drive like a fucking madman. I'd be the reason the car's on fire in the first place. You drive smarter than me. Besides, this was a hell of a race."

"It is one of the tough ones... Qatar will be just as hard."

"I'm dreading it. I don't think we should be there in October. Still too warm."

As Mick drives, we head into a sleepy city that feels worlds away from the excitement of the track. I settle in the seat, as best I can, feeling exhaustion hit me like a truck. The lights of the city become a blur as I struggle to stay conscious. I don't know how much time passes, only that Mick's shaking me gently at some point.

"Jess? Wake up." His soft voice somehow gets through my sleepy mind. Reluctantly, I'm awake again - barely, though - and we're both trudging our way into the hotel. We don't talk, too tired to care about anything but getting to our rooms.

Which is when I get annoyed. I'm in my room, door shut, and my mind decides it's not shattered anymore, whilst my body screams with exhaustion. Flopping onto my bed, I decide to check the group chats.

GROUP: ROOKIES (&Yuki&Lando&Mick&Danny&Charles)

Slow Rookie (James);
Can we add George to the chat?
He could do with cheering up.

Not a Rookie (Lando);
Uhhhh

Best Looking Rookie (Liam);
At this rate, this ain't a rookies chat
lmao

Angry Not Rookie (Yuki);
It hasn't been one for ages

Slow Rookie (James);
Look, I just feel bad for him

I better speak up. But I don't know what to say. My brain is awake, against my wants, but that doesn't mean I have a single coherent thought. I don't have anything valuable to add to the chat.

And my phone has other messages I need to look at.

Vershtoppan (Max);
Sleep well lieveling

I spend a good minute staring at the message. Liev—what? Maybe he's just tired. I know Sebastian's sent texts half in German, and half in English, but with the words all mashed together when he's tired. Or drunk.

Jahsica (Me);
Lmao you're so tired you can't spell
Get some sleep, Max. x
See you at the airport tomorrow x

Vershtoppan (Max);
It's Dutch
:)

I want to google it. To find out what he's said. But... there's a nice charm in not knowing just yet what he means when he says things to me in his native language. I know I will have to eventually learn the language, it would be seriously helpful, but for now... I like the idea of not knowing. It makes his words feel more special.

-

Translation(s);

Prachtig. Net zoals jij. - Beautiful. Just like you.