Pit Stop [LANDO NORRIS]

11

LANDO

Qualifying day. Always one of the most nerve-racking parts of the weekend. You can feel it in your bones, the pressure to deliver. The team had their game face on this morning, and I'm trying to stay calm, trying not to let the anxiety sneak in, but it's hard. It's always hard.

The brief was as tense as expected. They laid out the strategy, which in these conditions—rain, rain, and more rain—it's all about managing the car, keeping it under control. You don't want to be the guy that ends up in the wall, but at the same time, you need to push hard enough to get those good laps in. The weather was awful, heavy rain, spray everywhere. Honestly, the track's a mess, and we haven't even gone out yet. You can hear the raindrops pounding against the roof of the garage, and it feels like the whole world is going to slow down just as I need it to speed up.

Walking around the paddock, I see her. Avery. She's always there, somehow, right when you need a distraction or something to get your mind off the race. She's laughing with someone, maybe one of the engineers or a media guy, and even though she's surrounded by people, it's like the noise fades and everything zooms in on her. I keep telling myself to focus, to keep the nerves under control, but damn, it's hard. The pull to go over there, to talk to her, it's like gravity. I haven't really figured it out yet—why she has this effect on me—but there it is.

Oscar's been joking around, of course, keeping the mood light. The banter is always there, especially with the two of us. He's the one person who can always take my mind off stuff for a minute. You need that kind of release before going into a session like this. Oscar was teasing me about my wet-weather skills earlier. He's convinced I've got this secret mastery over the rain, but I'm not so sure about that. I just try not to let myself get too in my own head.

Then it's time. Q1. I'm about to go out, and the nerves kick back in. The rain's only getting worse, and the track's a mess. It's such a scramble, just trying to find the grip. The first lap is a disaster. I don't know if I'm just struggling to adjust, or if I'm too tense. Either way, I barely scrape through into Q2. Barely. My heart's pounding in my chest, thinking about how close I was to being out already. Not the way you want to start a qualifying session, but it is what it is.

I've got to regroup. Q2. The pressure's on again. The rain hasn't let up, but we're trying to make sense of it all. There's a moment in the middle where everything feels like it's going to fall apart when Liam Lawson spins in front of me. The track's so slippery, and I almost lose it, but I manage to fit in a final lap before the checkered flag and I nail it, those wet weather spider senses kicking in and I manage to put it into P2. Not bad at all. Better than I thought, actually. My heart rate's still up, but it feels like we've got something good to work with.

Now, Q3. This is where you make it or break it. I go out there, and from the start, I feel like I've got a rhythm. The car's behaving, I'm finding grip in places where I didn't expect it. First two sectors? Spot on. I'm nailing it. I'm thinking, "Okay, this is it. This could be a really strong lap." I hit the third sector, and I'm convinced I've done it. Cross the line, and I'm in P1.

Now, the waiting. It's always that brutal waiting game. My stomach's twisting as I watch the screens, hoping no one can come close to beating that time. But of course, Max goes out, and my heart skips a beat when he crosses the line and takes P1 from me. My stomach drops. I thought I had it, but now I'm second. Just when I'm processing that, the news comes through: Max's lap time gets deleted. It's a relief, but at the same time, it's like I can't believe it. I'm back to P1. Pole position.

The media circus dies down, finally. The photographers have packed up, the team's celebrating in the background, and the buzz from the qualifying session is starting to fade into the usual post-session chaos. I'm feeling that familiar mix of relief and adrenaline. The team's in a good mood, and I've finally got some time to breathe—time to find her.

I spot Avery near the garage, leaning against a wall, scrolling through her phone, looking like she's just waiting for the madness to die down. For a second, I think about how I might be imagining things, but the truth is, she always seems to be right there when I need to find a distraction. Kind of almost looks like she's waiting for me too. 

I approach slowly, trying not to look like I'm making a beeline for her. You know, keep it casual. But it doesn't take long before she looks up and catches my eye. That easy smile of hers lights up, and I can't help but feel a bit lighter, like something just clicked back into place.

"Hey," I say, my voice sounding way more casual than I actually feel.

"Hey, pole-sitter," she replies with a playful wink. "Big day for you, huh?"

I raise an eyebrow. "I think I just got lucky"

She shrugs, but there's this mischievous glint in her eye. "Maybe," she says, leaning in just a little, like she's letting me in on a secret. "I mean, you did put it on pole. Maybe I'm your lucky charm, don't you think?"

I can't stop the chuckle that slips out. "Oh, that must be it. Should I start bringing you to all the races?"

Her eyes sparkle as she tilts her head, pretending to consider it. "Well, you might want to keep me around. You know, for good luck and all that."

"Alright," I say, shaking my head with a smirk. "But if I get a penalty tomorrow, it's on you."

"Deal," she says, shrugging with that same playful smile. "But if you win, you'll know it's because of me, right?"

I laugh, enjoying the lightness between us. The whole world feels like it's just a little bit smaller, like it's only the two of us in this crazy circus of racing and media. But then I glance around, instinctively checking if anyone's watching. The last thing I need is some nosy photographer or reporter catching us in the middle of this conversation.

She notices the glance, raising an eyebrow, her voice quieter now. "You worried someone's gonna see us?"

"Always," I admit, leaning in a little closer. "You know how this works. One wrong picture, and suddenly we're the talk of the paddock."

Her lips curl into a small, amused smile. "Well, I wouldn't want to cause trouble for you," she teases. "But don't worry, I won't let anyone know who your lucky charm is. At least not yet."

I shake my head, feeling that familiar pull, that gravity between us. "You're trouble, you know that?"

She just grins. "Only if you let me be."

For a second, I feel like time's stretching out, and it's just us here, away from the chaos of the paddock, the rain, and the pressure of tomorrow's race. But I know, of course, I can't let myself get too distracted. Still, there's something about her presence—just talking to her, being near her—that makes it all a little bit easier to handle.

"I want to take you on a date" I suddenly blurt out. 

She notices, her eyes widening in shock. "Oh?" is all she mumbles. 

"I mean it. Like a real, honest date. Two people, sharing dinner, casual chat, getting to know one another" 

I notice the small grin on her face, not being able to hide liking the idea, but I also see the worry take over her face just as fast. "But... people" she throws her hand around aimlessly. 

It makes me chuckle, "People?" 

"Yes, people, with phones and cameras and conspiracies. I'm not sure if you've noticed, but a lot of people care about your every action" she sasses. 

I shake my head in amusement, but I hate how true that does seem to be lately. "I'll find a way. I promise"