5. The Raptors
The Raptors
Lucy
If I thought yesterday was packed, today is utter insanity.
I couldn’t even fight the crowds to wait for Elio at the turnstiles like I did yesterday.
Instead, I went straight to the motorhome, where I’m now waiting in the hospitality suite.
The place is a whirlwind of polished smiles, expensive perfumes, and champagne flutes clinking in the hands of impeccably dressed guests.
The scent of freshly brewed espresso mingles with the faint tang of engine oil wafting from the paddock.
Floor-to-ceiling windows provide a panoramic view of the pit lane below, where crew members in vibrant uniforms buzz around the cars like bees in a hive.
Elio was already knee-deep in interviews when I arrived, his face splashed across the TV screens mounted on the walls. I’ve been waiting for him in the suite, keeping myself occupied with a cappuccino that’s long since gone cold.
Elio finally arrives, and after shaking what feels like a thousand hands, he spots me and saunters over, taking a seat next to me.
“Lucy, are you ready for the thrill of your first Grand Prix?”
I can’t help but smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Oh look, there’s my friend Caleb and his teammate James,” Elio says, glancing at the door. Sure enough, Caleb Hawthorne and James Adler from the New York Raptors step into the motorhome. When Elio gets up to greet them, he and Caleb fall into each other’s arms like long lost friends.
“Hey, man. So good to see you,” Caleb says. “Ready for today?”
“You know it.” Elio hits him on the chest. Turning to James, he says, “Hey, I’m Elio.”
James grins as they shake hands. “Nice to meet you, man. First F1 race for me.”
“Just like Lucy,” Elio says, turning to me. “Lucy Williams is a journalist for Pulse Sports, shadowing me for a feature.”
The burly hockey players shake my hand in turn, and I suddenly feel a bit more in my element. “I usually report on hockey, actually.”
“Cool!” James says with a wink. “Where are you from?”
“Chicago, so I’m not going to lie, the last game against the Cavaliers is still stuck in my throat, but—”
They both laugh hard. “Yeah, that was brutal,” James says, shaking his head.
“But congrats on winning the cup. It’s a tough championship,” I continue. “You deserve it.”
“Thanks,” they both say, grinning widely.
We keep chatting about hockey for a while, and despite playing for New York, they’re both pretty cool guys.
It’s nice to finally know what I’m talking about after spending two days feeling like a fish out of water.
Hockey is what I live and breathe. I could talk about it for hours.
Plus, it doesn’t hurt that you can hide your curves under a thick jersey and a coat when going to a game.
Elio is clearly not a huge hockey fan, but he knows some basics. He participates in the conversation as much as he can before being pulled away.
I’m still chatting with James and Caleb when I notice Elio from the corner of my eye, talking to a fifty-something couple and a guy who looks to be in his late twenties. They hug him tightly, and I swear I can spot a family resemblance.
“Oh, that’s his family,” Caleb confirms when he notices me staring.
“I was wondering. They look ali ke.” All three are tall, and they all sport the same combination of dark hair and brown eyes as Elio, except for his mom, who has pretty green eyes.
Caleb nods. “Yeah. He and Matteo, his brother, were practically twins growing up. It was crazy. Today, they look so different with the way their bodies are shaped.”
“That dude has some serious shoulders,” James says, whistling. “What does he do?”
“Pro swimmer.”
“How long have you known them?” I ask, still staring at Matteo. It’s interesting how the bodies of athletes become a representation of their sports, whether it’s the bulky strength that Caleb and James boast, the strong shoulders and back of Matteo, or Elio’s lean and toned body.
“Since we were kids. We used to go to camp together. Our moms work for the same bank, and their employer used to offer summer camps in the US or in Europe every year.”
“Dude, I didn’t know that. Pretty sweet,” James says.
“Definitely,” I add.
“Yeah, so that’s how we met.” Caleb rubs the back of his neck.
“We’d see each other every summer, and as we grew up and started our careers, we kept supporting each other.
I try to come to a race every summer, and Matteo always makes it to New York during the winter.
Actually, do you mind if I go say hi for a minute? ”
“Not at all,” I say, smiling.
He gives James a sharp look. “Will you behave?”
James scoffs. “I am not a child .”
“I have yet to see evidence of that,” Caleb says, then turns to me. “If he starts to be gross or flirt with you, just call for help.”
James holds up his hands in exasperation. “I swear, he thinks the worst of me.”
“Don’t worry,” I say with a chuckle. “I’ll be fine. Elio has been hitting on me for two days straight. I can handle it.”
“Right.” Caleb puffs out a laugh. “I forget how he is.”
Once Caleb leaves to chat with Elio’s family, James shakes his head. “You have nothing to worry about,” he says, his voice serious. “I’m not really like that. Besides, there’s only one girl I’m interested in right now, and she’s back in New York.”
“Gotcha. I hope it goes well for you. I mean, you’re a Stanley Cup champion. That should work in your favor.”
He barks out a laugh. “You’d think so. But so far, no change.”
Our conversation shifts back to hockey, but I keep stealing glances at Elio and his family.
They look tight-knit, and his parents have stars in their eyes as they speak to him.
Elio catches me looking and offers a smile, but just when I think he’s going to introduce me to them, he places his arm around his mother’s shoulders and leads her in the opposite direction.
Elio
It’s go time. My focus is on the performance ahead. After all the wins I’ve snatched up this season, I can’t lose at home. Driving here always comes with added pressure, but I can’t let it get to me. I know what I have to do.
Muffled voices carry from the room next door, and I stop to listen.
It’s my teammate CJ, talking on the phone.
Probably with his dad, judging by the tension in his voice.
Yeah, it’s hard to keep secrets in F1. These temporary buildings may be efficient and versatile, but the sound isolation isn’t the best.
Suddenly, I hear a loud noise, and he stops talking. I check my watch. Only thirty minutes to the race. I leave my driver’s suite and knock on his. He opens the door, and his face relaxes when he sees me.
“Hey, Elio. What’s up?”
“ Tutto bene ,” I say. “You? Ready for today?”
CJ joined the team four races ago, and three of those ended with a DNF. That streak has taken a toll on him. As Rossi’s senior driver, I feel it’s my responsibility to give him advice, but I also know he’s getting plenty of that already from his dad—a former driver.
He shrugs, dragging himself toward the couch and sitting down. “I guess. We’ll see how many laps I can complete before—”
“Come on, man. That’s not the mindset you want to go in with. I get that you’re frustrated, but two of those DNFs weren’t even your fault. And it happens to the best of us. Even me.” I wink.
“Right, but you’re a six-time champion. Who cares if you DNF?”
“ I do! Trust me, none of this gets any easier. The pressure, the thirst to win, the need to prove yourself. It only gets worse. With each victory, you want it more and more. You feel a need to prove it wasn’t a fluke, that you’re really as great as they say you are.
And I’m sure that’s true for you, man. You just have to unleash your potential. Drive with confidence.”
He looks away, then back at me, swallowing hard. “Right. I guess I’ve lost some of that.”
“Then grab it back. You won’t win with that attitude. Channel your fighter mentality. It’s the only way to get through life.” And I know that firsthand. I wouldn’t even be here if I’d given up on myself. Although, he doesn’t need to know my personal history to get my point.
“Yeah.” He bobs his head eagerly. “Yeah, you’re right. How do you block out all the noise? All the advice?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Are you telling me to shut up?”
His eyes widen slightly. “No! I don’t mean you. I—”
“I’m kidding,” I say, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“I know what you mean. Dads give great advice, and yours knows what he’s talking about.
But he’s not you, and he’s not the one behind the wheel.
Trust yourself. Nothing is more important.
You got here by yourself, and you can bring yourself to the finish line. ”
The corners of his lips twitch into a smile. “Thanks, Elio. You’re not bad at giving pep talks. Any other tips?”
I stand up, looking around the ro om. “Listen to your race engineer, and try to have some fun. Now, let’s do this.”
We both get ready, then head to our respective garages where everyone is waiting for us. I put all my equipment on and walk to the car, listening to Nick’s last-minute instructions.
“Got it,” I say to him, putting my helmet on.
“No unnecessary risks today, Elio. I mean it. It’s an important race, but what matters most is finishing.”
I nod. Exactly. Finishing first . I don’t tell him that, though.
Sometimes, my drive to win puts Nick on edge.
Frankly, he should be thrilled. I know that’s true of Claude, the team principal, but Nick is very cautious.
That’s why he makes a great race engineer, but it’s also why he’d be a terrible driver.
Caution has no business on an F1 track. This is a dangerous sport, but the only way to win is to take more risks than your opponents.
Caution is what sends you into the ditch.
I lie down in the car, and someone hands me my wheel. Once I hook it in, they push me to my first-place position. The grid is full of mechanics and team members tending to the cars before the warming lap.
“Radio check?” Nick says in my earpiece.
“Loud and clear.”
“All right. Thirty seconds.”
We get the all-clear for the warm-up lap, during which the focus is warming up the car and the tires as much as possible until we place ourselves back on the grid.
I’m surrounded by noise, banner s, and stands full of screaming fans as I stop my car in pole position, but they don’t exist to me right now. They never do before the race. It’s just me, my car, and Nick’s voice in my ear.
“Last car on the grid,” Nick says in my ear. “Watch the lights.”
I tighten my hands around the wheel and focus on the five red lights above me.
I love being in pole. Obviously for the privileged position, but also because of the exhilarating sensation of both freedom, with the open track in front of me, and being chased down by nineteen other drivers who all want to overtake me.
It’s always a grueling fight, but I was born to fight.
I’ve been doing it since I was two years old, and I’ll keep going until the day I die.