The Force of Gravity

Chapter Twenty-Four

Qualifying gives me whiplash. In the metaphoric and physical sense. Both cars were setting decent pace. Yet I still managed to put on a macabre show and end up in the stewards' office.

"Let's start with you, Jo. Just explain what happened as you best remember."

"Well, I was about to start my flying lap. I noticed Romain moved over to let me by. Since he gave me the racing line, I took it. I was just driving—then we made contact and I was in spinning into the wall." I explain unable to meet anyone's peering gaze.

Romain chuckles, "is that how you remember it?"

"Romain you will get your turn. Now Jo, why did you think he was giving you the racing line?" They ask me.

"Because I was on my flying lap."

They take notes then look up, "if you don't have anything else to add, Romain can you explain the event as you best remember."

"Yea she fucking turned into me. She didn't even look in her mirrors. She flew by me at race pace and then when I tried to get back over, she just turned into me."

"So, you weren't moving over to let her by?"

"No!" His voice booms, "no one told me to let her by, I was just driving. She is the one who recklessly passed me."

After some more back and forth, we're both sent out from the room for them to deliberate. In the end, I end up with a 5-place grid penalty—which means nothing since I totaled the car and failed to finish qualifying.

The team meeting is a stark contrast from the jubilation we shared after the last race. And unlike the stewards' office, no one is talking. Not even a small familial anecdote can be shared through the tension. Most, if not all, of us have our arms crossed.

Guenther storms through the doors in spectacular fashion. Romain follows closely on his heels and finds his seat across from me. Guenther continues stalking the front of the room. He turns away from the table and faces the shaded windows. His phone noticeably vibrates in his back pocket. The faint buzz of the unanswered call raises my blood pressure. It goes silent and just as quickly a dry cough fills it. Guenther's hand moves to pull the device out. Before his hand makes it, the buzz begins once more. He spins towards us. In his hand, he thrusts the buzzing phone in our direction. Those on his side of the table have to crane their necks to catch a glimpse. But for me, Gene Haas's name is burned into my eyes.

Eventually the buzz ends, but Guenther's rage does not. He cocks his wrist. Then as if he's skipping stones on a lake, he throws the phone onto the conference table. It clatters, and with cruel irony begins buzzing again.

Guenther presses his palms into the table. His tall frame bends towards me over the back of his chair. His eyes press into my own. "Answer it."

I stop chewing on my cheek to protest, but as soon as my lip's part Guenther interrupts me.

"Answer it." He repeats.

Uncrossing my arms, I reach my finger out and swipe to accept the call. Then, despite already hearing Gene's voice clearly, click speaker. He commands us for some minutes. No one interrupts or speaks in that time. Instead, we listen like children sent for punishment. I don't look up nor around, but I can feel eyes on me. Then, without any parting goodbye—he ends the call.

We sit in silence for a beat. Then Guenther finally takes his seat. He places his elbows on the table and stares at me pointedly.

"I think that went well, given the circumstances." Guenther starts, finally looking around the room.

My throat pinches. I try to cough silently. But the pinch grows as if someone is dragging their nails down my throat. I reach for my glass of water. The sip does nothing to soothe the ache.

Guenther's gaze returns to me. "Do you have anything to add?"

I feign fool and glance around the room.

"Jo?" He repeats.

I swallow trying to ignore the nails in my larynx. "That wasn't my best performance—," I start to speak but the nails only push in deeper. Covering my mouth with my fist, I try to clear my throat. But it only serves to open the flood gates. Dry coughs drag their way out. My engineer pushes the glass towards me. I nod a thanks, but even the water doesn't cool my throat.

"We can wait." He leans back stretching his arms, "we have all the time in the world—apparently engines too."

My eyes fall. "I fucked up." I start still not looking up.

Romain's laugh fills the room. "That's saying something."

"I'm sorry—not just to Romain—but to everyone." The nails still sit in my throat, but I swallow them down, "I bungled it up—for all of us."

Guenther nods. "And you've promised everyone here a long night."

Everyone shifts around confused.

"That's right. We're going to see if we can fix the cars. Mr. Haas ensured that we'll have the funds—some of us have a lot of making up to do."

My personal trainer is the only one to walk out with me. She follows closely and pushes a cough drop into my hands. Despite the passing night, cameras are waiting outside hoping to catch a glimpse of the shit show.

We walk past them then pull off into the alleyway between our building. Inka places her hands on my shoulder and squeezes.

"I will get you soup—that cough is no good." She promises.

I nod.

"You need to re-group. You made a mistake—they happen. It's done. Now is the time to do better."

"Actually, can you have the soup delivered to the garage? I think I'm going to stick around and see where I can help."

Inka dips her head, "but you need to sleep—it will help put you in a good position for tomorrow."

"But I put us in the position with my actions. If the engineers and mechanics have to be up working because of me—then I'm going to be there to support."

————
a/n
It took everything in my power not to write "we looked like a bunch of fucking wankers"