Rafael turns away and stares silently out at the boats parked along the marina. The waves topple them into the buoys and they clunk together rhythmically.
“You’re right,” he finally says. “I heard his radio. There was more than what they broadcasted, by the way.”
“Of course there was.” Julien still hasn’t actually heard them yet. The team worked overtime to keep him away from the transcripts all day.
“It was bad.Pathetic, really. It’d be career-ending stuff for any other driver.”
Oof.
“I heard it and I could tell he was spiraling, and I didn’t know what else I could do. You won—I thought that was enough. I didn’t think about what standing by him would mean to you. I'm sorry.”
“Yeah. Well, it sucked.” Julien swallows around the frog in his throat as he nods. “Thank you.”
“Other people hugged him too, y’know. Comforted him. Davide even apologized. Lorenzo, your family…”
“Well, I didn’t notice them.”
Everything was kinda frantic, actually. Between the crowds and the teams and Fritz leading him away. Most of it was a blur.
“But you noticed me.”
“What?” Julien huffs. “Don’t say it likethat.” Like he’s special or anything.
Rafael’s teasing smile only grows. “You care what I think.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Kinda sounds like you like me.”
“Definitelynot. We’re just friends.” Evenfriendsis pushing it. Julien shuffles away, but Rafael keeps in step until they’re walking side-by-side again.
“So, this is where you live?” The Brazilian driver looks up at the tall buildings that line the water. The motion knocks him into Julien and it feels purposeful. He’s soobnoxious.
“This is the city, yes, but I live on a much cheaper street.”
“Show it to me?”
Julien scoffs, but he doesn’t pull away. “We werejustarguing. I’m not going to fuck you because we aren’t yelling anymore.”
“I didn’t ask tofuck you,” Rafael says. “I want to see where you bought the wine and that pretty little dessert. Show me the lot where you park your shitty car. I want to know more about your life.”
Julien falters for a moment, but recovers. “It’s not going to be what you’re used to.”
“You’renot what I’m used to.”
Yeah, that’s probably true.
“Alright.” Julien pauses on the sidewalk and tugs the man backwards by the arm until he turns around. “It’s this way.”
EMILIA-ROMAGNA GRAND PRIX
IMOLA, ITALY
On Thursday morning in Imola,Julien silences his alarm with a feeling of imminent dread.
Only four days ago he won the French Grand Prix, but it doesn’t matter this weekend. Clean slate. Fresh start.
Fucking hell.
