5. Elizabeth #3
My brain immediately replays the moment from Thursday where I got in Wes’s face.
I meant to put him in his place, to make him feel like an asshole, to show him that I can’t be teased into submission.
Going all dominant on unsuspecting men typically pisses them off.
I’m used to men calling me terrible names and even trying to get physical, all because they can’t handle a woman refusing to entertain their bullshit.
But Wes? I had a front row seat to his pupils dilating and that long, shaky inhale.
He liked it.
Suddenly, Hyunjoon’s voice comes through the headset. “The reaction time on the brakes seems slow.”
Everyone in the garage sits up straighter. His engineer says, “We’re looking into it.”
The screen shows a little pop up that relays what we just heard Hyunjoon say as the cameras show his car.
He’s in fourth place at the moment, following the car in front of him closely—but the car behind him is very close, too.
The three of them zoom down a straight and then all start braking into a corner.
“Shit,” Hyunjoon’s voice says. “I don’t have brakes, I can’t—”
There’s a squeal of skidding tires, followed by a horrifying crunch.
A second later, we see what we just heard.
Hyunjoon tried to brake as he went into the turn, but ended up ramming into the car in front of him, sending them both flying off the track, tumbling over and over until they hit the barrier.
I’m immediately out of my seat and headed directly for Sora, whose eyes are filled with tears as she stares at the live image of the mangled car her boyfriend is currently in.
“Hyunjoon, are you’re okay?” his engineer asks, his voice still level but less calm now.
“Oh my God,” Sora says, as a tear falls down her face. I grab her hand in mine, and she squeezes it. “He still hasn’t said anything.”
On screen, the other driver gets out of his car and officials run toward the collision. In my headset, Wes’s engineer mentions a red flag, and Wes asks who crashed.
“It’s Hyunjoon,” the engineer says, his voice steady, but laced with horror.
“Damn,” Wes says. “Is he okay?”
The engineer doesn’t respond, but soon, Wes’s car is stopped out front and the pit crew snaps into action, bringing it into the garage.
Wes hops out, and removes both his helmet and balaclava.
He’s sweaty and his dark hair is wild, but he doesn’t reach for a towel.
He walks directly to Hyunjoon’s side of the garage, coming to stand right beside me.
He’s so close I can feel the heat radiating off him and I’m surrounded by the earthy aroma of sandalwood and salt.
When he sees the screen, he curses quietly.
On my other side, Sora is trembling violently. “Say something,” she pleads.
Wes moves so that he’s standing in front of her, blocking her view of the screen.
“Hyunjoon will be fine,” he says, his voice soft, but assured.
“The car is built for speed, but also for impact. Hyunjoon is wearing a fireproof suit, a HANS device, and monitors that are sending his vital signs to the team. The medical team is already there. He will be okay.”
But as soon as the words are out of Wes’s mouth, the car on screen goes up in flames. Several people in the garage scream, and Wes turns to see what’s happened, then wraps his arms around Sora, pulling her into his chest. She drops my hand, clinging to her boyfriend’s teammate as she weeps.
I’m suddenly aware of television cameras in the garage, of a photographer’s lens trained on Wes and Sora.
I want to scream at the broadcast director who has told his crew to be here so he can package this moment as entertainment, to put my hands over the camera lenses, to growl at them to go the fuck away.
But then I see Hyunjoon climbing out of the car.
Everyone is glued to the screen, watching Hyunjoon move slowly as the fire rages around him.
Once he’s out, medics help him to a vehicle while marshals continue working to put out the fire.
There’s applause and long, relieved exhales from most members of the team, and an F1 official calmly speaks with Sora and Hyunjoon’s parents before they all exit the garage, their arms around each other.
“What a shitty way to end a race,” I murmur.
“Yeah, watching someone’s race end like that never gets easier,” Wes says.
“What do you mean ‘someone’s’?” I ask. “Isn’t the race over now?”
“Oh, honey,” Wes says, his Boston accent out in full force. “The race will resume as soon as the track is clear.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“Welcome to F1. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a race to win.” He shoots me a cocky grin, then walks over to his performance coach, completely unfazed by the fact that his teammate could have died mere minutes ago.
Just like he said it would, the race restarts, exactly the way it did an hour and a half ago. It’s pandemonium as the drivers push to gain positions and make the most of the last 12 laps. But just like he said he would, Wes manages to get ahead and goes on to win the race.
He stands on the podium with his hand over his heart as the U.S. national anthem plays. He pops the bottle of carbonated rosewater—no Champagne in Bahrain—and sprays it everywhere, a smile on his face. He dedicates the win to Hyunjoon during the interviews in the media pen.
And no one asks him about Elio, Stas, or his possible involvement in an international scandal.