I CAN SEE YOU

thirty

Leclerc is 3 seconds ahead of me, with his Ferrari racing in first position at the iconic Monza track.

For any Ferrari fan, this is their dream.

But it's only lap 26 and I sure as hell am about to become the Tifosi's nightmare and show him some real speed.

Knowing that I'm due to pit soon for some fresher tyres, I place my foot down heavily on the pedal, willing to accelerate more and close the gap at the expense of whatever life is left in my tyres.

"Yellow flag in sector one, Madeline. That's a yellow flag in sector one." Hugh's voice echos through my ears.

I'm in sector 2 just now, and because of all the pitstops happening it means that the crash must've been from a driver in the upper midfield.

As I continue to drive around the track, I notice in the grandstands that most fans are on their feet, with a few pointing to the nearest big screen which just so happens to be behind me.

"Safety car Madeline. Set steering to safety car protocol and prepare to box." Hugh instructs, keeping calm over the headset but I can still hear a commotion from the garage in the background from his side.

I quickly adjust the dials, making sure that I stick to the rules as the car slows down, before holding in the radio button.

"Who's out?" I can't help but ask, since being so ahead means I can't see who's lining up and who's missing.

There's a delay in his message, but I presume it's just he's checking. In the few seconds of silence, my mind uncontrollably slips to the worst situation. As I slowly drive around the corners behind Charles' Ferrari, all I can think about is Pierre's car splintered to smithereens and without any contact from the cockpit - my closest person, my brother, being hurt just like Anthoine makes my heart shatter.

"It's Hamilton." Hugh answers, and a weight is lifted off of my shoulders. I knock my head back against the headrest in relief. "He's replied that he's alright."

It's not that I want Lewis to be hurt - I wouldn't wish that upon anyone. But after him purposefully crashing in to me in Silverstone without any apology and still going on to win the race that was mine, well let's just say that there's not exactly any love lost.

"He clipped Max and Max ended up flying over the top of him."

A bucket of cold water is poured over my head - figuratively not literally - at the mention of his name.

"Is he alright? Tell me he's okay." I try not to let the panic be evident in my voice.

"He's out of the car and is fine." Hugh replies back coolly, just as I drive past one of the big screens, displaying Max's car sitting on top of the Mercedes just after turn 2.

"Holy shit." I can't help but let it slip out. "How did it end up like that!" I shout over the radio in shock, but before High can even reply my mind continues to go in to overdrive. "Are you sure Max is okay? His back must be killing him with the speed he would've been going."

"Madeline." Christians stern voice comes over the radio and I instantly shit a brick. "Max is fine, get ready to box and focus on the race. You're the only chance of points today."

His message is short and straight to the point - what most people would just presume to be professionalism. But I know it's not that.

Christian knows something. And he seems pissed.

•

Hopefully finishing third will have sweetened Christian up.

I mean, it's not first or second, but it's still a podium right?