Gridlocked Hearts

II

Claude's house was too big; too empty; too quiet. It was a stark, modern structure, almost clinically minimalist in its design and seemed to loom over him as he dragged his suitcase behind him, his footsteps echoing through the hollow space. Not enough furniture filled the rooms and not enough memories filled the walls for him to call him to call it home.

It was an investment property, purchased with his first ever F1 paycheck at the tender age of eighteen. Back then, Claude had been so desperate to get away from his parents' house and didn't care much about the house's appearance.

The grandeur of the space had excited him at first. So many glass windows and high ceilings but the appeal quickly faded as he realised that he was living in a house without a soul. Over the years, he had barely set foot in it, too busy jet setting across the globe. He'd tried to make it work. He'd thrown countless parties and social events, inviting people over to marvel at the sleek design and luxurious amenities. But the guests had always seemed uncomfortable, as if the house's sterility had infected their spirits. And as soon as they left, the silence would descend once more.

After yesterday's race, it felt more isolating than ever.

His suitcase buzzed incessantly as he shoved it into a corner of the living room. He had haphazardly thrown his phone in there in a rush to pack and fly back to Italy before Don Campbell, his boss and the team principle of Ferrari, could corner him. Was it cowardly to run away? Absolutely, but Claude couldn't deal with him or anyone else at the moment. He wanted to be alone.

*buzz buzz*

"Merde! fermez la bouche!" [Shit! Shut up!] He yelled as the phone kept ringing. Claude grabbed his case, and began throwing clothes across the room, unbothered by the mess he was making, determined find the dreaded device.

"There you are!"

As Claude picked up his phone to turn it off, the screen lit up, and a notification came through.

Breaking News: Ferrari to discuss Claude Beaufort's future with the team following violent actions at the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix

Claude stared at the phone for a moment. This was not happening. Claude knew he had messed up, but he never expected his future with the team to be on the line. They were his only family, and he could feel them slipping away from him. He had done everything he could to escape his past but his temper had cost him everything he had worked for. He really was his parent's child.

He gripped the phone hard, as another notification came through:

How Claude Beaufort cost F1 legend Sander Moe his last team championship

Claude threw the phone across the room, The sound of it hitting the wall and the shattering of glass jolted Claude out of his thoughts. He watched as the pieces of his phone scattered across the floor, a small part of him feeling satisfied at the destruction. But it was fleeting, and he was left with a sense of emptiness and despair.

His career was over, his only real friendships were finished, and his only family were going to fire him.

As he reached for an unopened bottle of Belvedere Vodka from the pantry, Claude couldn't help but feel bitter. It wasn't fair, he thought, that he should lose everything because of someone else's mistake. Noah Blanchett had been reckless, had caused the accident that had led to everything that had happened. And yet, he was probably being hailed as a hero, while Claude was being vilified.

The taste of the vodka burned his throat as he took a sip, the warmth spreading through him. He knew that it wasn't the solution, that drowning his sorrows in alcohol wouldn't fix anything. But in that moment, it was all he had, all he could do to numb the pain and the overwhelming sense of isolation.