Drifting Deception

Chapter Fourteen

HENRY 

The sounds of cheering fans grew louder as the countdown to the checked flag began. This was the Spanish Grand Prix, and while I found myself qualifying seventh, some poor setbacks from other teams—or maybe it was just my pure skill—ensured I found my way to the front of the grid.

"Two more laps," my engineer said. I was currently holding on to the winning position, but two laps meant shit when the competition was almost under a second behind me.

"From here, don't tell me anything other than the gap," I snapped. I didn't mean to have such a harsh tone with my engineer, but when I was under pressure, it was difficult to sound heart-warming and kind.

"Understood, van der Burg is one point two."

Of course, he fucking was. Whenever Matthias was in first place, he seemed to be safe by at least five seconds. Now that it was my turn, I was under threat by the same man who was definitely faster on the straights.

I watched as I crossed the start line once more, indicating that I was beginning my final lap. My body ached as I vigorously went around the turns, not caring about the pain my muscles were going to endure in the morning. I wanted this. No. I needed this. To win a race with Santoro, for Frédéric, would have been unheard of two years ago. Now, I was racing like there was no tomorrow. I didn't care what happened to me if I crashed. I needed to take the risks. I needed to push my limits...because I needed this.

"Gap to van der Burg, one point five," my engineer said.

Good. That bastard was not getting DRS on the final straight. The win was mine. I could feel it already.

I continued to push through the third sector, narrowly missing the wall by just inches. It wasn't until I saw the checked flag, unhindered by the rears of anyone else's cars, that I realised I'd done it.

I had won this race. Number one. 

The top of the podium was mine and mine only.

"No way," I screamed into my mic. "Have I done it?"

"You've done it," my engineer said chirpily. "You've won your first race with Santoro."

"Let's goooooo," I cheered, using one hand to pump a fist into the air and the other to steer my cool-down lap. The adrenaline had doubled in the past ten seconds. I felt euphoric. Unstoppable. "Absolutely fucking amazing," I screamed, ignoring the fact that I'd probably be fined for my use of profanity. I continued to ride the high as I pulled my car in front of the giant one and came to a stop. Matthias pulled up next to me, while Theo came third.

I lifted off my HANS device, before placing both hands on the side of the car and lugging my body to the pavement. I stood in front of the car, holding my hands in the air as the crowd in front of me cheered. This was it. This was why I had pushed so hard to get into the team. It was for this exact moment. And this moment only.

I kissed my hand and held it in the air again.

God, I had been craving this feeling, and it did not disappoint. I felt my eyes swell up as I looked at the clouds in the sky. That was for you, Frédéric, I mouthed, though no one could see through my helmet.

I scanned the crowd again, searching for my team who were already gathering by the side.

Maurice was cheering loudly, and for the first time ever, I saw pride on his face. He was proud...of me. Finally.

Next to him, a familiar face screamed and cheered. I'd recognise that curly blonde hair and distinct smile anywhere. I just couldn't believe she was already back at the circuit.