Trackside Tensions (Carlando Landoscar Charlos)

Final Decision

The hotel room was dimly lit, the first light of dawn just beginning to filter through the curtains. Oscar Piastri finally stumbled inside, his head still buzzing from the celebration that had stretched into the early hours of the morning. The night had been a chaotic mess of champagne, laughter, and the jubilant congratulations from his team for an incredible rookie season. The sweet intoxication of success lingered in his veins, mixing with the faint buzz of alcohol.

Oscar leaned against the door, letting out a long, exhausted breath. The room, with its muted colors and soft lighting, felt oddly calm compared to the frenetic energy of the night before. As he made his way further into the room, he noticed something unusual on the floor near the door. It was a small envelope, slightly crumpled, with his name written on it in neat handwriting. Curiosity piqued, he picked it up and sat down on the edge of his bed.

His fingers trembled slightly as he opened the envelope and pulled out the folded paper inside. The rustle of the paper seemed unusually loud in the quiet room. As he unfolded it, the words began to reveal themselves, and with each sentence, Oscar's breath caught in his throat.

The letter was from Charles Leclerc. Charles had poured his heart out in those pages, expressing feelings that Oscar had never imagined someone would have for him. The words were raw, honest, and filled with a warmth that Oscar hadn't felt in a long time. Charles spoke of admiration not just for Oscar's driving skill, but for him as a person. He revealed how he had been drawn to Oscar despite the emotional walls Oscar had put up, and how his feelings had grown over time. The letter was a testament to a connection they had shared—one that Oscar had been too focused on racing to fully acknowledge.

As Oscar read the letter over and over, he felt a warmth spread through him, a feeling he hadn't allowed himself to experience since everything had fallen apart with Lando. He had been so focused on shutting everyone out, on becoming the best, that he had forgotten what it felt like to be cared for, to be loved.

The night's celebrations seemed to fade into the background as the letter consumed his thoughts. Could it really be true? Could someone like Charles, who had seen him at his worst, still care about him this much? The thought was almost overwhelming.

The young driver stayed awake for another two hours, clutching the letter, contemplating how he should respond. The idea of reaching out to Charles, of opening himself up again, was both terrifying and tantalizing. But a small flicker of hope, a glimmer of something he hadn't felt in a long time, began to emerge.

As the first light of dawn began to filter through the curtains, Oscar made up his mind. He would reach out to Charles right after he got some sleep to be able to articulate his thought properly. Maybe invite Charles to dinner the next evening and see where things went from there. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Exhausted but feeling a strange sense of calm, Oscar finally drifted off to sleep.

The next day, Oscar woke up late, the events of the previous night still fresh in his mind. His head throbbed slightly, a persistent reminder of the champagne he had downed during the celebration. Groaning softly, he rubbed his temples and reached for his phone, intent on texting Charles. But as he stared at the blank message screen, he hesitated. The memory of reading the letter while tipsy made him pause. Perhaps it was a good thing he hadn't sent a message right away. Now, with a clearer head, he could think more carefully about what he wanted to say.

Just as he began typing, his phone buzzed with an incoming call. The name on the screen made his heart skip a beat—Christian Horner. The call was not unexpected but it seemed like a strange timing.

He took a deep breath and answered. "Hello?"

"Oscar," Horner's voice came through the line, calm and measured, yet with an edge that suggested there was more to this call. "Congratulations again on the race yesterday. You did an incredible job."

"Thank you, Christian," Oscar replied, trying to keep his voice steady. He knew this call wasn't just about congratulations.

"I'll get straight to the point," Horner continued, his tone shifting to one of serious business. "You've had an amazing season, Oscar. And we both know that you've got the potential to go even further. Red Bull can help you achieve that. Max has already spoken highly of you, and we believe you could be the next big thing."

Oscar's heart pounded in his chest. He had been expecting something like this, but hearing it out loud was still overwhelming. "I appreciate the offer, Christian, but I have a multi-year contract with McLaren. I'm committed to them."

Horner's laugh was light and dismissive. "Ah, the old contract dilemma. Don't worry about that, Oscar. We have experts who can handle these things. If you really want out of it, there's always a way. Money is not an issue—we can buy you out if there's no loophole. This is Formula 1; loyalty to a team isn't something a driver needs to have. What you need is the desire to win and the fastest route to make that desire a reality."

Oscar swallowed hard. The gravity of Horner's words weighed heavily on him. "I understand. But this is a big decision. It's not just about the contract; it's about the future."

"Exactly," Horner said. "And in this sport, you have to be selfish. You have to think about yourself and your career. We're offering you a chance to be at the forefront of the sport, to fight for championships and to prove yourself on the biggest stage. This isn't just an opportunity; it's a chance to make your mark."

Oscar's mind raced. This was everything he had ever wanted, everything he had worked for. Yet, the letter from Charles lingered in his thoughts, its emotional weight contrasting sharply with the business-like approach of Horner's offer.

"Take some time to think about it," Horner added. "But not too much time. Opportunities like this don't come around often. I like people who are able to keep their thoughts clear. You got to know Max, I need a driver just like him, a driver who knows that the number one priority will always be racing. I need someone who is able to make big decisions with a clear head. I know you can do that Oscar, the question is just if you know that as well..."

"I understand," Oscar said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Christian."

After the call ended, Oscar sat in silence, his phone still in his hand. His thoughts were a chaotic swirl. The weight of the decision pressed down on him, mixing with the lingering warmth from Charles's letter.

He looked over at the letter, still lying on the nightstand where he had left it. The words seemed to taunt him now, a reminder of a connection he had started to cherish. But with Horner's offer on the table, those feelings seemed to pale in comparison to the magnitude of the decision he had to make.

Oscar stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. He walked over to the nightstand and picked up the letter, holding it gently in his hands. The paper was soft, worn from the long minutes he had spent reading and rereading it.

He knew what he had to do. It was the only way forward to ensure nothing would hold him back. With a final, lingering look at the letter, Oscar walked over to the small balcony that overlooked the city.

The morning air was cool against his skin. He pulled the lighter from his pocket, his hands trembling slightly as he flicked it on. The small flame danced in the gentle breeze. Oscar took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do.

He held the corner of the letter to the flame, watching as the paper caught fire. The flames spread quickly, consuming the words that had meant so much to him just hours before. As the letter burned, Oscar felt something inside him harden. The warmth that Charles's words had brought him was replaced by a cold, steely determination.

He watched in silence as the last of the letter was reduced to ashes, carried away by the wind. Oscar stood there for a long time, the lighter still in his hand, his heart heavy. The last traces of warmth were gone, replaced by a cold clarity.

As the final embers disappeared into the sky, Oscar whispered to himself, "My heart only beats for racing."

In that moment, he made his decision. His future was clear, and there was no room for anything—or anyone—else. Charles's words were gone, and with them, any hope of a different path.

Oscar turned away from the balcony, his expression unreadable as he walked back into his hotel room. The cold, hard reality of his decision settled over him like a shroud. His soul had turned to ice, and there was no going back now.

And with that the 2023 season comes to an end.