Lucas is retiring, which is what he wanted. Adam has a replacement, which is what he wanted. Thomas is probably fucking Rafael, which is what they both wanted. Sam is on the podium, which is what he wanted.
Everybody is happy.
Sam pulls up to the second-place marker in Bangkok and heads straight for his team, avoiding the red car as well as he can. He can’t force a smile, so he keeps his helmet on as he rushes through congratulations.
Lucas wanders over to the crowd after his on-car poses, butSam thinks now is a pretty good time to get weighed. He manages to sneak away before the older driver can stop him.
The cameramen are more interested in the drivers who are celebrating with their teams, so Sam shucks off his helmet and balaclava in relative peace. He pops on his team cap and sponsor watch before drinking his water.
“Can we talk?” Thomas’s voice grates at his ears.
“No.”
“I just—” His accent is so thick.I jus’zink zat we?—
How did Sam suffer it for so long?
Oh yeah, because they weren’t supposed to talk during sex. It ruined the illusion of him being Rafael. Of his dick’s glorified dildo duties.
Sam leaves, retreating to his team to wait for his interview. He passes Lucas on the way, and the German driver does a double-take. There’s no rule about where he’s allowed to stand and—judging by the look on Thomas’s face—it looks like Sam found the best seat in the house.
If Adam tracks the exchange, he doesn’t say anything.
Later, after the podium, pictures, and press, Sam receives a room number in his texts. He ignores it.
He finishes first in India.
The race is a hot one, and Sam’s dripping sweat and swaying when he finally exits his car.
His exhaustion is a good enough excuse not to climb up and celebrate, but the truth is Sam just doesn’t want to. He doesn’t feel anything except a sense he has completed his job for the day. Still, stumbles over to the team and congratulates them.
This win is the one that cements the Constructors Championship for Red Boar—a fact Adam yells loud enough to ring in Sam’s ears, even through his helmet.
Everyone on the team is absolutely elated that they’ve doubled their bonus checks for the year, but Sam can only watch their happiness through a window.
In the cool down room, Thomas steals the middle chair.
Sam can’t bring himself to care. He stands as far away as possible to watch the highlights.
Despite his desire to be alone, Lucas stands next to him in solidarity. Thankfully, he doesn’t try to force a conversation.
Sam is no longer affected by anything Thomas says or does, but he feels the smallest prickle of satisfaction when the Frenchman turns his big-eyed stare to glare at him.
He must be frustrated if he’s resorting to such juvenile tactics. Maybe they’d be able to work on Rafael.
Room 1486
Sam finishes second in Austin.
Ferraro just barely misses the podium, but it’s enough for Sam to breathe a little easier.
On the stage, Sam celebrates with Owain, unloading his entire bottle of champagne on the McLean driver.
“Club tonight?” Sam asks after the press room.
Owain sucks a breath through his teeth when he grimaces. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Of course. Because everyone chooses Rafael in the end.
