Hate You - LN

30

It's race day and Lando's starting fifteenth. It's not good, even the team is acting like this weekend is already a wash. Oscar qualified better but was still out of position. It's as if the car has just fallen apart on pace, instead of chasing the Ferraris and the Redbulls. Lando and Oscar are trying to pass Haas' and Aston Martins. A small part of me is happy for my previous team, Aston's brought a bunch of upgrades this weekend and they seem to be working well. Fernando qualified third yesterday and Lance is fifth.

Back when I worked with Aston Martin last year things had been so much easier and now looking at this year I wish it hadn't been a two-year contract I'd signed with Aston. As much as the team is very money-forward and driven by investors and politics. The core of the team, the ones on track every day and the people I met briefly back at the factory when I'd visited were all friendly. The head trainer I worked under was a bit of a hard ass sometimes and he liked to take the big fancy projects from me, but he was still kind. I was allowed to do most of the work with Lance on his wrists, which was what ended up helping me in finding a new contract for this year, and next year with Mercedes.

I only wish that the Mercedes contract had been this year, not next year because working with Lando is hard.

And not in terms of his injury or the team. In fact, those are the easiest parts. Helping him with his shoulder is what I have been training my entire adult life to do. The same goes for all the other people I help around the team like the mechanics and engineers.

Zak has been nothing but kind. I've had my ribs probably almost crushed when he's been super happy, and I feel completely comfortable around him asking for things or better yet, changing policies to make the health department within McLaren a bit better.

It's been amazing with McLaren.

It's just not been amazing with Lando.

I thought we were getting somewhere. He was being nicer, and of course, there is the whole room-sharing thing he keeps letting me do. He bought me food, kept giving me rides to the track and made sure I had transport from the airports during race weekends. He's been doing everything right to make me think he cares about me.

And then he goes and keeps pressing me about the scar on my hip and I have no reason to believe he wants to know for any reason other than stupid curiosity.

Because maybe he's just been nice because he thinks I'm some puzzle to decode.

Or maybe he just wants to get under my skin that bit more.

As if I don't get goosebumps every time he walks by, or heat spreads under the skin of my cheeks when he groans as I work with his shoulder.

Or-

No.

I need to stop this. I need to focus. I can't go falling back in love with Lando I just can't. I was selfish when I slept with him but I can't be selfish now. Because even if he is genuine, he does care. I could never forgive myself for letting him love me again, letting myself love him, just for me to be gone by the end of the year.

Maybe to Mercedes, or maybe I'll be gone in a whole different way. But gone all the same, just like before I would break him and break my heart all over again in the process. I can't do that to myself, and especially not him. I won't break again.

"Red flag, red flag!" Someone yells from across the garage and I look up to see a spun-around Haas and Alpine car. There's an Alfa Tauri, or VCarb, whatever that team is called nowadays in the gravel and in the wall and a Ferrari with a missing wing limping it back to the pitlane.

"Shit," I mumble under my breath. There is debris all over the track and I watch on the screen one by one as each driver involved in the crash signals they are okay. I wasn't watching and have no idea what happened, but by the way, Charles is screaming over the radio and Xavi on the CCTV broadcast my guess is it was an unavoidable roadblock somewhere along the track. "Shit," I mumble again. Charles.