Behind the Pit Wall: Jamie Albon's Challenge // Lando Norris // F1

Chapter 23: Frustration and Apologies

Lando was frustrated. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel before jumping out of his McLaren, the car stuck in the gravel after a frustrating spin-out. The first race of the season, and he hadn't even finished. He cursed under his breath, angry with himself but also knowing his mind had been clouded all weekend.

As the Marshall guided him to a path leading back to the garage, his thoughts swirled around Jamie. He couldn't get her out of his head since their argument. And now, she was treating him like a stranger. It infuriated him more than he wanted to admit. Ignoring him like they hadn't shared years of history? That stung in a way he hadn't expected. He needed to fix things, but how?

Back at the garage, Lando gave a brief apology to his team, feeling the weight of their collective disappointment. He half-listened to their reassurances. They told him not to worry too much—the car wasn't at its best, and the spin might not have been entirely his fault. But he barely heard them. His mind was elsewhere.

After the debrief, Lando headed to the media booth, where a group of journalists waited to ask the usual questions.

"What happened out there, Lando? Was it a mistake, or is there an issue with the car?" one of them asked.

Lando forced a smile. "No issues with the car. Just a late reaction on my part, and I spun out. It's not how I wanted to start the season, but we'll come back stronger next time."

The interviews dragged on for what felt like forever, and he gave each response mechanically. As soon as they were over, he headed back to the McLaren hospitality. Jon, his performance coach, walked alongside him.

"You alright, mate?" Jon asked, noticing Lando's silence.

"Yeah," Lando mumbled. "Just pissed off about the race."

"Back hurt?" Jon asked, knowing that a tough race could leave any driver stiff.

"Yeah, a bit."

"Let's get you sorted then. We'll do a quick massage."

Lando nodded, grateful for the distraction. Back in his driver room, he changed into his McLaren team gear, then laid down on the massage table. As Jon began working on the tension in his back, Lando's mind wandered back to Jamie.

"Jon, can I ask you something?" Lando said, his voice muffled by the table.

"Of course," Jon replied, his hands still working on Lando's shoulders.

"How... uh, how do you apologize to a woman?" Lando asked, trying to sound casual, but failing.

Jon chuckled knowingly. He didn't need to ask who Lando was talking about. "Well, that depends. If it's Jamie we're talking about, just be sincere, mate. None of your usual charm or jokes. Just... be real with her."

Lando groaned. "Yeah, but she's not gonna listen. She'll probably walk away before I even get a word out."

"Then don't act like the Lando who flirts with every girl in sight. Talk to her like you're talking to me right now," Jon suggested.

Lando remained silent for a while, his mind running through every possible scenario. Apologizing wasn't something he did often, especially not to someone like Jamie, who seemed determined to pretend he didn't exist. But after hearing from Alex about what she had gone through in the past, Lando knew he had crossed a line. He hadn't realized just how deeply his words had hurt her, or why his actions might hit a sore spot.

When the massage ended, Lando got up, ready to leave. The day's race was over, but the tension between him and Jamie wasn't. He needed to find her. And tonight, when the paddock was quieter, seemed like his best chance.

As the race wound down, Jamie was finishing up her work in the Williams garage. The race had been good for Alex—he'd finished in the points—but Logan had struggled, and Jamie had her hands full capturing content, editing photos, and managing the team's social media accounts. It kept her mind occupied, and that was exactly what she needed.

But as the paddock began to clear out, and the media frenzy quieted, Jamie felt a familiar knot in her stomach. She had done well in avoiding Lando all weekend, but she had a feeling that it wouldn't last any much longer.

She grabbed her bag and started making her way toward the paddock exit, mentally preparing herself for a quiet evening in her hotel room. But as she walked toward the gate, she spotted him—Lando—leaning against a wall, waiting. Her heart sank, and her hands tightened around her bag straps.

Of course, she thought bitterly. He just couldn't leave it alone.

Lando saw her coming and straightened up, clearing his throat awkwardly. He took a few steps toward her, opening his mouth to say something, but before he could, Jamie plastered on a fake smile and spoke first.

"I'm sorry your race didn't go well today, Lando," she said, her voice flat, void of emotion. "I'm sure the next one will be better."

Her words were polite, but there was an unmistakable distance in them. She wasn't talking to him; she was talking at him, like he was just another driver passing through her world. It stung, more than he thought it would.

"Jamie, wait," Lando called out as she walked past him, grabbing her wrist.

She froze for a second, then turned sharply, pulling her wrist out of his grip. Her eyes were filled with frustration and something deeper—something raw.

"Let me go, Lando," she said firmly, her voice wavering slightly.

He hesitated, searching her face. "Can we just... talk? Please?"

Jamie shook her head, her voice breaking. "I don't want to talk. I don't want to argue. I don't want to hear whatever it is you think you need to say to make this better. Just... leave me alone."

She turned to walk away again, but this time, Lando didn't stop her. He just stood there, watching her disappear into the darkness of the paddock.

As soon as she was gone, Lando groaned, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Why did she always run away? Why couldn't they just talk, clear the air, and move on? He felt stuck, like every time he tried to fix things, they only got worse.

Leaning back against the wall, Lando let out a heavy sigh. He wasn't sure what to do next, but one thing was clear—this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.