Redline | L.Norris

fifteen

A few months had passed, and Isla had settled into the world of F1. She did well enough in the handful of races, keeping her number 1 overall, Max trailing by 2 points. Red Bull would secure the Constructors Championship well in advance with the way things were going for their drivers.

The media had calmed down a bit for the female driver. After they realized it would be hard to get under her skin like her father, the questions all moved to racing and the cars performance.

Summer break was upon them all and Isla still hadn't made a decision on what she was doing. Something that was driving her dad up the wall.

"What do you mean, 'I don't know?' Summer break has been on the calendar since last year."

Isla was throwing the last bit of clothes in her suitcase, trying to be out of her hotel room by check out.

"The plan was to come home, but with you traveling with Robin for karting, I don't see a point." She winced at how that sounded.

The sigh was her first indication that he took badly. "You know I will make time for you. Robin is young and still needs my help, unlike you. But your days off are limited and I want to see my daughter before she heads back off across the world."

She closed her eyes and sat back on the bed. "I know, dad. All I was saying was that I wasn't sure how long I will be there. There are sponsorship things I need to do and also... I don't know, Dad. Maybe I just want to disappear for a bit," Isla said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kimi was silent for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, but still firm. "You can disappear in Italy too. I've got a house in the hills, no cameras, and a garden where nothing grows properly. Sounds like peace to me."

Isla smiled despite herself. "You really know how to sell it."

"I'm just saying, if you're going to vanish, at least vanish where the food is good."

She laughed, the tension in her shoulders loosening. "Alright, alright. I'll book my flight tonight. I just... I might not stay long, okay?"

"I'll take what I can get," he said. "Just bring something nicer than race gear. Minttu wants to drag us to some vineyard."

Once the call ended, Isla sat there on the edge of the bed, the weight of the season pressing down on her like a second skin. The suitcase lay open at her feet, but she didn't move to zip it yet. The past few months had been a storm of podiums, media headlines, simulator sessions, and that constant gnawing pressure to keep performing. Being number one wasn't the relief she thought it would be.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Max.

Max: You vanished. Did Lando scare you off at breakfast or was it the weird omelette?

She smirked.

Isla: Neither. Hotel checkout. I promise I didn't ghost you.

Another buzz.

Max: He looked genuinely concerned. Like you crushed his soul a little.

Her smile lingered. She glanced at her phone, debating for a moment.

Isla: I'm going to Italy. Taking a few days to reset.

Max replied instantly.

Max: That sounds nice. Get some sun. Recharge. And if you end up getting lost in a vineyard, tell your dad it's his fault.

Isla: I'll tell him it's yours. Way more fun that way.

She tossed her phone into her bag and stood up, taking one last look around the hotel room. Italy it was. The thought of clean air, quiet roads, and long dinners on her dad's patio suddenly sounded like exactly what she needed.

****

The sun was already dipping behind the hills when Isla's car wound its way through the olive trees that framed her father's countryside home. The villa wasn't flashy, not in the way people imagined a Formula 1 legend might live, it was quiet, tucked into the landscape like it belonged there, with sun-washed walls, a crooked stone path, and a perpetually sleepy cat that always managed to be exactly where someone was about to step.

Kimi met her at the door, arms crossed and expression unreadable.

"You're late," he said, voice dry.

"I stopped for gelato," Isla replied, lifting one of her bags over her shoulder. "Priorities."

A flicker of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. "At least you were raised right."

Inside, the house smelled like garlic and herbs, something bubbling quietly on the stove. Minttu's voice drifted from the kitchen, half-laughing with Robin about something he apparently did in karting training. Isla smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. It had been too long since she let herself be still like this. Too long since she let herself feel like someone's daughter.

Later, after dinner and too much wine, mostly Minttu's fault, Isla found herself sitting on the back patio with her dad. The cicadas had started their nightly chorus, and the warm breeze carried the scent of lavender and rosemary. Kimi handed her a glass of water, and for a while, they sat in companionable silence, watching the sky go dark.

"You're quieter than usual," he said eventually.

"Just tired," she answered, though they both knew it was more than that.

Kimi didn't push. He never did. But he did glance at her with that look, the one that always managed to see through her even when she pretended it wasn't there.

"You ever think about how weird it is?" she asked quietly, breaking the silence. "That I'm racing. In your world. It's like I was handed your legacy and told to make it my own, but it still has your name stamped on it."

Kimi was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward to set his drink down. "You think you're just following me?"

She shrugged, eyes on the horizon. "Sometimes it feels like I'm just the sequel no one asked for."

He exhaled through his nose, not quite a laugh, more like a frustrated sigh. "Isla... you're not me. You never have been. You're better with people. You actually talk in interviews. You smile more."

She rolled her eyes. "That's a low bar."

"But it's the truth," he said, more gently now. "And you didn't end up in F1 because of my name. You earned it. You work harder than I ever did at your age. You care more than I ever let myself."

She was quiet for a long moment. "It's just hard sometimes. The headlines always start with 'Räikkönen,' and I wonder if they'd even bother writing about me if it wasn't your name."

He looked at her, really looked at her, the way only a parent could.

"Then make them remember your first name instead."

The moment hung between them, soft and unspoken and full of everything they didn't always know how to say. He leaned back in his chair again, content to let it settle.

"And for the record," he added, "I don't care what you do. Race, retire, run off and open a bakery in Lisbon. I just want you to be happy. I already had my career. This one's yours."

She didn't trust her voice to answer right away, so she nodded instead. A lump was stuck in her throat.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Yeah, well," he muttered, staring up at the sky, "don't make me say that kind of stuff too often. It's exhausting."

She laughed, and he cracked a rare grin.

Before they went back inside, Kimi turned to her again.

"Also... Minttu invited some people over tomorrow. Don't freak out."

"What kind of people?" she asked, suspicious.

"Friends. Neighbors. Maybe one driver."

She narrowed her eyes. "Dad..."

He shrugged. "He was in Italy. Said he wanted to check in."

She groaned. "Max?"

Another shrug. "Not Max."

Her stomach did a weird little flip. She didn't ask again.