Chapter 26
Zaid
@LIGHTS_OUT_GOSSIP
Summer break is over and the boys are back!
As much as we loved having a little time to catch our breath after that wild first half of the season, we’re ready for more action.
Zandvoort always brings a surprise or two – like the double D’Ambrosi DNF of last season or the rainy race start disaster of three years ago, when we witnessed three drivers not even make it to the starting grid and four more spin out on the first lap.
What chaos do you think we’ll see today?
Zandvoort
The first race after the summer break is always either a bore or a shit show. And this year, as a treat, it’s a complete and utter shit show. So much of one, in fact, that I’m currently sitting in between Axel and Dev in Zandvoort’s medical center like some sort of exclusive DNF podium.
‘I would like to say, from the very bottom of my heart,’ Dev announces, ‘fuck Raphael Marchand.’
‘Seconded,’ Axel grumbles about his teammate, who torpedoed his way down the outside of the first turn, had a lockup, and then shunted us all into the barriers as a result.
I’m left to grunt my agreement as I lean my head back against the wall.
We’re all fine, but we’re here because of tripped g-force sensors that automatically earned us a visit to the medical center.
I’ve already been examined and cleared, but I’m waiting for Dev to get checked out before I leave.
We’re expected to be in the media pen and then the team debrief once we’re done, and I have no interest in fielding extra pitying looks and sad slaps on the back while I wait for him, so I won’t be heading over any sooner than I have to.
The only saving grace is that Axel was taken out in the same crash, meaning we’ve both finished with zero points today.
We’ll go to Monza next week on the same points we came here with – another week of me still trailing by seven.
And since Specter Energy and Mascort lost all four drivers in the incident, the Constructors’ Championship won’t budge either.
Not that it matters much for them, considering Raphael hasn’t been pulling his weight and Specter keeps falling further behind.
I can’t imagine his contract negotiations for next year are going well.
Dev stands when someone comes to retrieve him for his exam, brushing lingering sand and gravel dust from his race suit, a parting gift from the crash.
‘All right, boys, off to get my head examined,’ he says, nodding to us. ‘Let’s hope I have a brain somewhere in there. Thoughts and prayers appreciated.’
‘Bon voyage,’ Axel deadpans.
‘Godspeed,’ I tell him.
When Dev disappears, it’s just Axel and me, though I’m not sure why he’s still here. He was checked out at the same time I was and could have left when he was cleared. Instead, he took up in the hard plastic chair next to mine and has been staring at the floor ever since.
We haven’t been paired together for any press conferences since Ava announced her pregnancy, and he takes care to sit on the opposite side of the room from me in driver briefings.
He’s made it clear that he doesn’t want to be anywhere near me, and I’m not interested in spending more time than necessary in his presence either, so his lingering is odd.
‘I’m avoiding Omid,’ he mumbles a few seconds later, as if he’s read my mind. ‘He’s been on my ass about preparing for Singapore. This crash is just going to make him even more annoying about it.’
I tense at the mention of the Singapore Grand Prix, something I’ve been doing more and more over the past few weeks as the calendar counts down to it.
I’ve upped my sessions with my psychotherapist from once a month to once a week in order to talk out my anxieties, and my physio has been working me to within an inch of my life so that I’m ready for the strain the race will put on my body.
Basil hasn’t talked to me about anything regarding Singapore aside from offhandedly suggesting I get more time in the simulator back at the factory, but clearly Omid’s being heavier-handed about it.
If Axel is feeling anything like I am, Omid is right to worry that he’s prepared for it. Most of my fear of returning to racing faded away when I got back behind the wheel for testing, but it’s creeping up again at the idea of driving the circuit where I could have died.
There’s a well-known piece of advice in racing that when the fear starts to win, it’s time to leave. There’s no time or place for it out on the track, because when you’re afraid, you hesitate. And a split second of hesitation can mean the difference between winning and losing – or life and death.
I haven’t hit the boiling point of fear yet, but the temperature is edging up day by day. Is it the same for Axel?
Being competitors, especially ones who are only fighting each other for the title, I shouldn’t ask.
It’s his secret to keep, his possible weakness to overcome, and one I would exploit if I were smart.
He knows it and I do too, and I’m sure he wants to do the same to me.
But he’s also one of only nineteen other people who can fathom what I’m going through.
More than that, he’s the only one who knows exactly what it’s like to experience a life-changing crash and then be forced to return to the scene of the crime.
The evidence may be physically hosed away, swept up, and paved over, but it will forever live in the shallow scars on our bodies and the deeper ones in our minds.
Competitors and comrades. Survivors and rivals. We’re the epitome of this sport in a nutshell.
‘Speaking of Singapore . . . how are you feeling about it?’ I ask. He can tell me to fuck off or he can answer, I don’t care either way, but at least I’ll walk away knowing I tried to bridge the sea of animosity that has grown progressively deeper between us.
Axel runs his tongue over his teeth, considering the question. ‘I’m not particularly interested in racing there again, if that’s what you’re asking.’ His eyes finally drag up, not quite to me, but somewhere near my shoulder. ‘You?’
‘The same.’ I should leave it there. That’s all our conversation really needs to be. But I still say, ‘Even on the sim it’s a bloody nightmare.’
He practically slumps at my admission. ‘It’s like I’ve never driven the circuit in my life,’ he grouses, folding his arms over his chest. ‘Might as well be someone’s granny with how slow I am.’
A snicker escapes me before I can stop it.
I won’t say that I hate Axel. I won’t say that I like him either, because – even barring his cutthroat on-track behavior – there are things he’s said and done that will never sit right with me.
I have, however, watched him grow from an intolerable little shit into a slightly less intolerable one, something that likely had to do with Omid Farahani’s influence.
Maybe even Ava’s too. So I don’t feel too bad laughing at his self-deprecating joke, especially because I know exactly what he means.
‘I guess neither of us has to worry about fighting for pole then.’
Axel huffs a breath. ‘I’ll be happy if I’m P-fucking-19.’
‘I’ll shoot for P18, then.’
Strange as it is to joke about this, it’s a weight off my shoulders knowing I’m not the only one struggling. This is as close to a heart-to-heart as we’ll ever have.
It’s quiet again as Axel sinks farther down in his chair. He still hasn’t looked at me full-on, but I can feel his eyes dart over before he asks, ‘Is Ava doing all right?’
I blink in surprise, not having considered we’d ever talk about her beyond his righteous threats. He already knows how she’s doing considering they’re back in touch after weeks of him ghosting her, but I suppose he wants me to confirm it.
‘She is,’ I answer, forcing myself to leave it at that despite wanting to rave about her to anyone who will listen.
Axel nods, swallowing thickly. ‘How’s she handling all the media attention?’
I’m cautious with my answer, wondering where he’s going with this line of questioning. ‘Fine. She’s learned to ignore it, I think.’
It’s only then that he looks over at me. His gaze is guarded, just unreadable enough to be unsettling, but I recognize the set to his jaw and the dip of his brow. He’s worried about her.
‘I remember what it did to her the last time she got close to you,’ he says quietly. ‘I watched her gather the pieces of the life you blew up. I don’t want to see that happen again.’
There’s a part of me that’s tempted to get defensive, to snap that I would never let that happen, annoyed that he’s pinning the public’s treatment of her on me.
But he’s not wrong. It is my fault that she was put through the wringer then and that she’s dealing with it again now, no matter how much we try to block it out.
Was I selfish to have publicly claimed the baby as mine?
To have thrust Ava into the spotlight that way?
To have guaranteed that she and our daughter have a life of endless media attention and limited privacy?
It’s a sentence I could have prevented by not taking responsibility, but the idea of not having either of them in my world is almost too much to bear.
So, no, maybe I shouldn’t have brought this hellish attention upon her, but what’s done is done. And what’s going to be different this time is how I support Ava. How I love her through it, proudly and out loud.
‘I won’t let that happen,’ I vow.
‘We both know that’s not a promise you can keep.’ He exhales a defeated laugh. ‘Just . . . take care of her. As long as you’re racing, there’s going to be a target on her back.’
‘It won’t be that way for long,’ I reply without thinking, nearly giving away what I want to say. I’m leaving this all behind while I still can.
Axel’s brow dips, lips parting like he wants to question me, but we’re interrupted by Dev swanning out of an exam room, arms lifted above his head as he declares, ‘Turns out I do have a brain.’
‘Could have fooled me,’ Axel grumbles as he shoves up from his chair, stalking toward the exit.