Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

Las Vegas, Pre-Race

Kimi looks SO DONE. May the odds be ever in your favour, guys! - @JessicaBond57

@JessicaBond57 Does this make me District 12? - @JamesWebb

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LAS VEGAS
21ST RACE WEEKEND OF THE SEASON
NOVEMBER

Cassandra looks so nervous. Did I look that way at the pre-season testing?

"Hey." I reach out and pat her shoulder. "You've got this. Remember: nobody is expecting points. All the team wants is for you to make it through the races in one piece. That's it."

She nods, but I can see the nerves on her face. That smile is anything but confident. I don't blame her. This is... it's going to be the worst kind of start for her. A new track - new to all drivers - and it's a street track. Then you add on the fact it's cold as fuck, meaning usual strategies will not work.

And that's not including the chaos for the city over the past year as they rushed to prepare for the race.

It all feels like it's going to be a mild disaster or a surprisingly good weekend. Only time will tell.

Cassandra heads off to the garage without me; I go in search of anyone. James. Max. Daniel. Liam. Charles. I just want to do something other than be idling around before the session starts. It's so alien to be a bystander in all of this. My body feels so sore, even with the painkillers I've been prescribed, yet my mind craves the routine, the stability of preparing and entering a race weekend.

I find Max as he's exiting the Red Bull hospitality unit; he spots me and without words being shared, we're both moving to a quiet place, away from the bright lighting and busy world around us. I reach around his back with my good arm, gripping his thin thermal undershirt.

He holds me close, and for just a minute, the disappointment of not being in the car this weekend washes away.

"Christian said you can come to our garage."

"I know." I have a pass for it. "I'm going to help Cass first. She'll need it. The pressure is pretty heavy on her right now. All anyone's been asking her is if she thinks she's good enough to make an impression when she's not got a hope in hell of scoring points."

I look up, he seems miffed by the knowledge of it. A quick kiss from me settles the unhappy expression on his face. I know he's not a fan of this track because he doesn't like that America makes a big song and dance of the F1 weekends. His comments about feeling stupid on those platforms have already generated some discourse.

Someone shouts for Max— Daniel's voice, I think.

He kisses me again, quickly, his lips half-missing my own. I let go of him as he sighs. "This is going to be a shitshow. Ik houd van jou."

I stand there for a long minute, baffled, as he leaves to go to the garages. What did he just say?

When I get to the garage, Oliver hands me a headset and radio pack, so that I can be all hooked up and still walk around. I take the headset, with his help, and get it on my head. As he runs off to the pit wall, I go to Cassandra. She's wearing a helmet that matches the livery of my car— technically it's hers now. The number 57 has been replaced by 50, the number the FIA has given her; since she's standing in for me, she doesn't get to choose one. For the weekend, we've put a few blackjack references on the car. It's not much, but we're making an effort, since this race is brand new.

Carlos taps her helmet, then pats my bad shoulder. Instantly, as I recoil, he's apologising profusely. I wave him away. It's fine. He didn't mean to do that. I give Cassandra's helmet a double tap, and she lets go of the steering wheel to shake my hand half-heartedly.