Collision [𝗠.𝗩.]

England, December 17th

HOT MIC! Jos Verstappen overheard talking to someone about his son's relationship: Young drivers sometimes make impulsive decisions, influenced by those around them. Max is at that stage in life where such impulsive behaviours are inevitable. He will outgrow them. - @F1Gossip_Guru

Motherfucker. - @TotallyNotJess🔒

@TotallyNotJess🔒Don't hit him - @NotNotLiamLawson🔒

@TotallyNotJess🔒 @NotNotLiamLawson🔒 Let us get the cameras ready first! - @WamesJebb🔒

@NotNotLiamLawson🔒 @WamesJebb🔒 I'm not going to hit him, you idiots. But I am starting to consider it. - @TotallyNotJess🔒

⸻

ENGLAND

DECEMBER 17TH

I'm practically giddy with excitement as I make my way through the large glass double doors that take me into the heated factory. Half the place is a building site, because of something to do with providing the Formula E team with better facilities - I briefly try to remember the names of all the guys they have driving for the team. My mind goes blank because all I really want to focus on is that I'm getting into the sim today.

I get to try and prove myself.

I know it's been only days since I struggled with driving, but the fact that Claire agrees I can try and hit the sims for four days in a row has my chest ready to burst with hope and excitement. At the same time, though, I'm vaguely aware of the phrase I used before. Emotional pinball. I can't let myself ride on this high and assume I'll be able to get in a car this quickly but god do I feel that hope trying to claw its way out of me. It's so violent and loud that the traitorous voice in the back of my head has been thoroughly silenced for the past twenty-four hours.

My phone buzzes insistently. I do my best to not roll my eyes at it, pointedly not looking. Maybe it's a text from Max. Maybe it's Lance. Or it's some random notification off one of the stupid number of apps I have that I can never be bothered to delete. Either way, I'm not looking. I know I shouldn't throw myself into the routine of work but I want to get to the sim now.

I flash a smile and wave quickly at the guy working at the reception desk. He looks new and like he's slammed four energy drinks before getting to work. The empty, white foyer is littered with new framed posters - photos from the successful season the team has had in both Formula E and Formula 1. The shot of our team celebration from Silverstone is the largest, proudly displayed above a replica of the trophy — the real one is further in the building, with the other trophies the team has collected over the years.

As I smack the button for the lift, I hear trainers squeaking against the tiled floor, making me wince from the ear-piercing sound.

"Wait! Mein Gott!"

I turn as the lift doors open, sticking one hand in against the edge of the doorway to stop them from closing. Mick looks like he's just got out of bed. His hair is a lot longer than it had been at the end of the season, and it's a total mess. His shirt has a coffee stain down the front that looks fresh, and he's panting while he runs up to me. I'm far too curious about what's happened to him, yet I wait until he's in the lift with me before I dare to try and speak.

"Don't ask." Mick hisses before I can open my mouth. He looks shattered. Without much care, he's yanking his shirt off, eyebrows drawn together as he inspects the damage from the coffee stain. "Scheiße."