Fan Boy | Charles Leclerc (ON BREAK)

Chapter 23: The Charles Leclerc

♫ L'AMOUR DE MA VIE - Billie Eilish

★・・・・・・★

??? POV
"No way, mate," Keaton calls out in disbelief.

"What?"

"I think Lewis Hamilton's about to win Silverstone again,"

"No way," I gasp, putting the drink I was pouring down onto the kitchen counter. "It's been a while, no?"

"Yes, mate," Keaton stresses, signalling for me to go to him. "Like two bloody years,"

I rush over to the couch where he sits, "shove over,"

"Alright," he scoffs. "Last four laps,"

We lean into the screen, on the very edge of our seats. I haven't been as interested in Formula 1 recently, but I needed to watch this.

"I told you this race was gonna be good," Keaton pushes my shoulder when the penultimate lap starts. "Flippin' Verstappen's gaining, innit?"

"Yeah," I groan. "But he 'asn't got time, 'as he?"

"No, I don't think so," Keaton replies hopefully.

"Oh my days," I say in the middle of the final lap. "He's got it!"

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," Keaton shakes his legs nervously.

We both jump out of our seats as the commentator announces Lewis' win, watching him zoom past the finish line.

"Bloody hell!"

"I didn't think he had that in him anymore," I joke.

The excitement is apparent through the screen.

"Holy shit," Keaton continues. "Glad we watched that one?"

"Yeah, for sure," I say, even though I only tuned it for the last two laps. "Wait, 11th and 17th? What's wrong with Perez and Leclerc?"

"Bad quali," Keaton shrugs.

I do the same back, grimacing slightly. The celebrations for Lewis seem endless, though we keep watching. It's a touching moment for all brits. Eventually, they begin airing the interview of the non-podium winners, when a face I recognise far too well flashes across the screen. My heart sinks.

"Is that—" Keaton starts.

"—Julianna," I gasp.

She's as beautiful as the day I lost her.

"No way, mate," Keaton reads the text on screen. "'Charles Leclerc's partner'?"

My stomach turns, and it feels like it's dropping endlessly.

"It can't be..." I deny the obvious truth.

"Jaxon," Keaton turns to me. "You alright?"

I shake away my clear distraught expression. "Yeah," I cough. "All good. Just... shocked,"

"She upgraded," Keaton jokes, but I can't find it in me to laugh.

"You're a fucking dick, man," I turn to him. "There's no bloody way,"

Keaton pulls his phone out, presumably to double confirm. He goes to Charles Leclerc's— as in the Charles Leclerc's— page, and clicks on a post of them kissing after his Monaco win.

"Dude," Keaton pokes my shoulder. "Look,"

"I'm fucking looking, man," I cuss. "Put that shit away,"

Keaton quickly does so, putting his hands up in defence. "Hey, I'm sorry, man,"