A gruff voice that sounds a lot like Lorenzo cuts in.“Your seventy-nine points have helped us maintain the lead in the Constructors’ for the first time in five long years. You’ve made Ferraro proud, Julien. Thank you for stepping up.”
Nevermind. That doesn’t sound anything like Lorenzo.
“Don’t make me cry before I face the press.” Julien downshifts and pops his visor open just enough to get some air flowing, drying his eyeballs. They’re probably still red, but that’s to be expected on a day like today.
He’s the best of the rest, so when Julien stops the car, he gets a good view of Thomas parked dead center in the winner’s circle. The Ferraro is flanked on either side by the Red Boars, and Thomas stands on top of it, posing for the crowd.
Julien watches the excitement and tries to soak it all in.
He did a good job. Not just today—for all six races. Two podiums, a win, a crash. He had the entire experience. If every team snuffs him again, at least Julien can look back on this season and be proud of what he accomplished in such a short time.
The sharks in the media pen ask the same “what’s next?”-type questions in every language, but Julien still has no response for them.
It’s his fault for saying he’d answer after the six races are up. Procrastination has never been his friend.
While he’s trapped in front of the cameras, other drivers drop in and offer their respects, hugging him tight like Julien’s about to die.
Maybe he will. If one more reporter asks him which teams he’s considering, Julien will combust on the spot.
It’s pretty late when he finally escapes media duties and drags himself back to the garage. After all this, he still has the post-race meeting to suffer through.
Julien sighs. He doesn’t need a lap-by-lap breakdown of the entire race. It doesn’t matter anymore.
Can’t they just call it a day? What would it look like to skip the meetings, eat some pasta, and finally go to sleep?
A man can dream.
Julien steps into a confusingly darkened garage. There’s no way the team loaded out so quickly, right? Media took a long time, but notthatlong.
He’s still wearing his race suit. They’re supposed to pack that.
A light flips on, and Julien jumps when a sea of red shirts shout exclamations in different languages. Over his side of the garage hangs a banner that spells out“Grazie, Julien!”and a few of his mechanics step forward with something that looks like a chocolate cake.
“No fires in the garage!” Julien yelps as a candle sparks over the dessert. Is it supposed to do that? They have like, petrol and shit all over the place.
“Blow it out!”
Julien does, but as he pulls away, the back of his head meets resistance. He has enough neck strength to fight against whoever is trying to shove him towards the dessert, but he’s powerless to avoid the guys in front who move the cake forward.
Julien pulls away laughing. He has a candle dent in his cheek, and cake in his nose and his hair, but he scoops frosting off his cheek and slaps it on whoever is closest to him.
It takes effort to clear his eyes enough to see again, but Julien pops his chocolate-covered thumb into his mouth and groans.
“Taste good?” Rafael asks, his voice close by.
“I’ve missed cake.” Julien wipes a bit off his forehead and turns, offering his finger. “Try it.”
“Can’t. I’m racing next week.” Rafael’s smile is radiant, even through the lingering globs of chocolate hanging from Julien’s eyelashes.
After group pictures, the team gathers at a small, local restaurant for dinner. Despite everyone’s hesitance to eat any part of it, Pit drags the chocolate cake along, face indent and all.
It stares back up at Julien while he orders, and he can’t resist the urge to take another forkful of the edge under his chin.
The atmosphere is electric with everyone speaking at once and gesturing to each other in excited Italian. Julien hangs close to Rafael and tries to tempt him with some of his tagliatelle al ragù.
“I’m good, babe. Enjoy it for me.” Rafael dutifully picks his trainer-provided microwaved fish filet with rice and vegetables. It looks terrible and boring, but he looks happier than he has in weeks.
They sneak back into their hotel through the side entrance and fall into Rafael’s bed with laughter and languid touches.
