Pit Stop [LANDO NORRIS]

14

LANDO 

The car hums beneath me as I dive into Turn 1, the vibrations of the wheel tickling my palms. The Austrian Grand Prix, the red and white curbing flashing by so close it feels like I could reach out and touch it. The air's thick with the rush of speed, and the engine's roar is all I can hear, drowning out everything else. It's just me and the road now—every corner, every apex. Max is behind me, I can feel it, but I don't dare look. It's not about him anymore. It's about every corner I'm about to attack.

I push through Turn 2, feeling the tires grip, the G-forces pulling at my neck. The car feels alive, almost like it's working with me. No mistakes. Focus. I make sure to brake just a little later into Turn 3, and I can already hear the fans, the echoes of their cheers seeping through the walls. My heart's thumping in my chest, but I don't let it control me. One lap at a time. It's still a long way to go.

The laps click down, but each one feels like a lifetime. There's something inside me that keeps telling me it's not real, that this is all some kind of dream. But no, it's happening. I'm leading. My hands are steady, my focus razor-sharp, but inside, something is stirring. The checkered flag still feels so far away, but with every sector, it's just a little bit closer.

Lap after lap, I find myself getting a bit better—tighter into the corners, smoother on the throttle. Max's pace is relentless, but I'm doing just enough. I feel the gap growing ever so slightly. The pit wall is still buzzing, Will's voice crackling in my ear, but I barely hear it. My whole body is tuned in to the rhythm of the car and the track, like every part of me is part of this machine. It's a dance, and right now, I'm leading it.

Final lap. I'm starting to feel it—the adrenaline, the excitement, the pressure—all of it hits me. I'm almost there, but I can't lose focus now. Not for a single corner. As I fly through Turn 1, I feel that rush again. It's now or never. I brake late into Turn 3, pushing everything just that little bit more. The car's responding, I'm responding, and it's all coming together.

I'm so close now. I've never felt like this before, every muscle in my body tense but steady. Crossing the line in first, my body can barely contain the explosion of relief that washes over me. The world feels like it slows down, the sound of the engine fading into a dull roar in my ears. I can barely believe it. I'm doing it. I'm really doing it.

The radio crackles, Will's voice is jubilant, "Lando, P1! Well done, mate, you did it!" The weight of it finally hits, and I feel a wave of emotion break through. My hands are shaking as I take in a breath, my throat tight. I let out a quiet laugh, more out of disbelief than anything else. I'm trying to hold it together, but it's all spilling out—the relief, the pride, everything.

The team's waiting for me, and as I climb out of the car, the heat of the track and the engine still on my skin, I see them all standing there, waiting for me. I leap from the car, and there's a moment where I'm just lost in the sea of people. I'm grinning like an idiot, but my eyes are scanning through every face, searching for one in particular.

I can't find Avery. Not yet. There's a part of me that wants her to be the first to make eye contact, to share this moment, but she's not there. Maybe it's just the rush. Zak's there, though—his arms wide open, his face lit up with the biggest smile I've ever seen. I run toward him and he pulls me into a massive hug, lifting me off the ground for a second. "We did it, Lando!" he says, and it feels like everything is finally coming together. That's the moment the floodgates open, and I can't stop grinning, the weight of it all finally sinking in.

I've always dreamed of this. But now, I've done it. And in this moment, all I can think about is how grateful I am for this team, for the work they put in, and the people who've been with me every step of the way.

The cool-down room is buzzing with energy. It's that odd limbo right after the race—highs and lows all mixed in one room. I'm trying to catch my breath, wiping sweat off my brow when Max walks in, a familiar smirk on his face, like we're just two mates after a weekend of karting.

He tosses me a nod, then grins. "You know, I had to work for that second place." There's a teasing tone in his voice, but it's good-natured. We've been pushing each other for so long that it's hard to hate the guy, even when he's giving you hell on track.

I give him a shrug, still breathing a bit heavier than I want to. "Yeah, I bet. But you know, I didn't let you get close enough to actually make it interesting."

Max laughs, shaking his head. "You were fast today. I'll give you that. But you won't get off this easy next time." He raises an eyebrow, like he's planning his revenge already.

I laugh too, feeling lighter than I expected. "Sure, mate. I'll be ready. I might even let you lead for a lap or two just to make it fair."

He smirks again, but this time there's no bite to it. "I'll hold you to that." He flicks a finger at my shoulder, then turns to chat with one of the other drivers, the mood already shifting. It's weird. We just went to war on track, and here we are, bantering like nothing happened. That's racing for you.

I take a deep breath, trying to let the emotions sink in. It feels good—no, it feels great. But there's still that pressure building as we head to the podium. I'm trying not to let it overwhelm me, but the closer I get to standing there, the more it hits me: I've won.

We're led out into the bright sunlight, the noise from the crowd deafening. The podium steps are in front of me, the familiar climb of victory. But today, it's different. This is mine. As I step onto the top platform, I glance down at the sea of faces. And then—there she is.

Avery.

She's standing there, a few rows deep, eyes locked onto mine. It's like everything else in the world fades away. My heart skips a beat. I can see her eyes glimmering, just a little, the shine of a tear catching the light. I know it's pride, and it hits me like a wave.

I try not to let my focus slip, but I can't help it. It's impossible to look away. Seeing her in the crowd, knowing she's part of this moment with me, it makes it all feel real in a way I never imagined. Her smile is everything.

But I'm standing up there, in front of the whole world, and it's as if I'm suddenly reminded where I am. Cameras are flashing, the crowd is roaring, and I'm supposed to be in the moment, the spotlight on me. I force myself to look away, but I can still feel the warmth of her gaze in my chest.

I stand tall as the English National Anthem begins to play, the first notes vibrating through the air. I close my eyes and let it wash over me. This moment—this victory—it's everything I've dreamed of. The anthem is playing, and I take a deep breath, trying to etch it all into my memory. The weight of it. The pride. The accomplishment.

The anthem fades, and I open my eyes, just in time for the champagne.

It's a reflex now—smacking the bottle on the floor before spraying the team. The liquid bursts out in a joyful stream. I spray it around, laughing as it sprays across Will first. He's holding his arms up, letting the champagne hit him, that big grin on his face, like he's just as much part of this win as I am. Stepping forward to the edge of the platform, I spray out over the sea of people below, finding Avery's gaze again and sending her a quick wink before darting my eyes away. 

I get one last spray on the crowd, and it's like a release. The whole thing—winning, the joy, the team—it feels like this one big, perfect moment.

I finally glance back at the sea of faces again, but now it's different. Now, there's nothing to distract me. I know who I'm looking for. And there she is—Avery, still watching, her eyes shining with pride.

This time, I don't look away.