Julien hadn’t even considered that. He was just grateful not to be naked in the hallway for any amount of time.
“Is he actually fine?” Rafael asks again. It’s quiet, like he’s giving Julien the option to pretend not to hear him.
“I don’t know.” The sound is a hush buried in the fabric of the fireproof shirt Julien shoves his head through. “He’s trying to hide his symptoms, though. That can’t be a good sign.”
“He wants to race. I can’t blame him.”
Can’t blame him? If Thomas suffers another accident because his brain is too swollen, he coulddie.
Racing isn’t worth that.
But Julien would rather argue with an actual brick wall than try to convince Thomas there are some things more important than racing. It’s his entire life.
Maybe that’s the real difference between reserve drivers and full-time drivers. The former has had to find other sources of happiness and success to accommodate for their lack of racing. The latter knows nothing else.
Only some people have what it takes.
Maybe Rafael was right. Maybe the reckless disregard for his own life iswhat it takes.
If so, Julien won’t apologize for not having it.
“Do you still fit?”
The Frenchman zips up the suit and checks himself in the mirror. After a couple of squats to test the legs, he nods. “Thankfully yes.”
“Good thing Lorenzo told you to stay ready.” Rafael lifts his head, his gaze racking over Julien’s body. “Bet he never imagined it’d be Thomas’s seat you’d take.”
It sounds accusatory.
“I’m just doing my job, same as you.”
“Sure.” Rafael rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his phone. “Well, sorry about your brother, but I won’t be giving you advice this weekend.”
“I don’t need your advice.”
“Then you can leave.” Rafael flicks his fingers out, towards the exit. “And read doors before you open them. Dubois is over there.”
“Right.” Julien wants to be angry. He wants to spit insults back in Rafael’s face, but between the medical center and preparing to qualify, he just doesn’t have the energy. “Um, thank you. For letting me change here. And for not making me go in there alone. I’m sorry.”
Rafael’s hardened expression falters before he waves him off again. “Don’t make it a habit, okay?”
“Okay.” When he leaves, Julien shuts the door as softly as he can.
Hector is Thomas’s race engineer. He’s a mousy little man with thick glasses and shaky hands.
Julien worked with him briefly during the mandatory FP1 runs, but he’s never felt compelled to have an actual conversation with the guy.
As soon as he spots him, Hector steals Julien away into a meeting room and produces a laptop from his thickly padded backpack.
“You adapted well to Rafael’s car, but Thomas’s car is more sensitive, particularly in the steering.” On his screen, he pulls up a map of the circuit and points to several corners. “These are the areas you’ll need to watch for oversteer. Have you driven this track before?”
“Not since Formation 2.”
“Yes, I was afraid of that.” Hector hunches over as he clicks through multiple tabs of charts.
“But, um…” Julien almost doesn’t want to mention it, since it’s notrealracing, but maybe it’ll help. “I’ve driven it on the sim.”
“Yes, I have your runs here.” Hector opens another group of tabs and flips between video angles and test results. “It’s not an information-heavy track for us, so unfortunately these are from last year.”
