Collision [𝗠.𝗩.]

England, December 14th

Alpine have announced the departure of their director of racing expansion projects, Davide Brivio - @F1_News

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ENGLAND

DECEMBER 14TH

I'm doing my best not to throw a petty strop.

But I'm this close to losing it.

The greenery of the Chilterns gives me something to focus on. The radio quietly plays some random pop song that I don't care to pay attention to. Max's eyes are on the road, his brows drawn together as he notices the traffic building up at the upcoming junction. A soft sigh is pushed out through my nose as I give the road ahead my full attention.

"Junction 4, by any chance?" I ask him, shifting in my seat to peer over the maroon car in front of us as we reach the slow-moving congestion.

"Yeah."

It looks like the typical kind of traffic caused by some idiot hitting the brakes too hard. We're moving, just at a goddamn crawl. "Not surprised. Give it like... five minutes, we'll get past it. Just be glad it's not the rush hour traffic."

Slumping back into the seat, I strangle the sigh of petty annoyance, forcing it back down my throat. I can't handle long-distance driving yet. Yesterday proved it. I couldn't even manage an hour before my arm ached and my fingers felt like they were going numb. This morning, just taking us down to the nearby rental company to get Max added to the agreement was uncomfortable.

And humiliating. I don't like that I've had to back down on this. I feel useless. I can't drive a simple road car. It's fucking embarrassing. A racer that can't—

A little voice in the back of my mind tries to prompt me to grab my phone from the centre console. It nags at me, as we plod through the slow-moving congestion, telling me that I have friends. They'll want to help. I've asked for help before. I can just ask again.

But then I think of how stupid it'll sound to ask any of them if they ever felt this fucking pathetic. Shit, they might not even want to answer that honestly. What driver in their sane mind would admit to something like that?

Alonso would, the voice whispers. He did have to drive while injured last year - not something many knew about until he admitted it recently. Lance would get it too. He was driving with broken wrists at the start of the year; something I had completely missed because I was so wrapped up in my own bullshit... yeah, nevermind. Not asking Lance.

I can rule out Liam and James with ease: they've dealt with so much of my shit over the years, it's not fair to keep piling more on them. Cassandra is away with her boyfriend... I think. She did sound really mad about something he'd done lately. Either way, she's busy.

The car grumbles as we make it through the last of the traffic, back into clean, flowing lanes. I scratch Logan, Oscar, Charles, Daniel and Esteban off the list in my mind for various reasons.

It leaves me with nothing. The rest of the drivers are either people I don't know personally or Max, who has been unsubtly watching me from the corner of his eyes over the past few minutes. A sigh works its way out of my nose before I can stop it. I see his soft eyes briefly dart in my direction.

I force out a yawn to cover up my messy head filled with stupid thoughts; my right hand is over my mouth as I do so.

"Try not to miss our exit; Uxbridge traffic is shit." I mumble, as if the random statement will help me to keep my thoughts firmly under the surface.

Max does manage to avoid missing the exit, and somehow the M25 is playing nice today. We're at the shopping centre well before the estimated time the hire car's navigation system gave us. It's almost too lucky.