“He is upset, mostly.” Thomas taps around on his phone. “I can have Jakob add you to the drivers’ group chat—at least while you are racing. Rafael did not answer my texts, but he posted there.” Thomas leans into the cockpit and shows off his phone screen.
Rafael’s long message is mostly just the medical stuff Julien already knows—broken collarbone, eight weeks of physical therapy, unable to drive for the first six races.
See you guys in Australia
“He’s gonna be in Australia?!”
Sure, the Brazilian driver would probably judge Julien from wherever he watched the race from, but Julien didn’t expect the man to be right there in the paddock. Or, even worse, inside the Ferraro garage.
“Of course he is.” Thomas pulls his phone back and scrolls. “He is still an important part of the team. He will be expected to do press and fan stages and sponsorship duties.”
Of course he is.
After all, Rafael is the real Ferraro driver. Julien is just there to keep his seat warm.
AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX
MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA
“Let’ssee if we can catch—Julien!” A reporter stalks after him, her microphone poised at the ready. “Can we have a word?”
“Sure.” Julien slows to a stop outside the Ferraro garage. At least if this one goes poorly he can make a run for it.
The reporter pats her hair and stands next to Julien, facing the camera. After a quick glance behind and up at the wall they’re parked in front of, she grins. “Perfect. Count me in?”
While the cameraman counts down, Julien looks up. They’re standing in front of a giant poster of Rafael. Ah. That’s not ominous or anything.
“We’re here with Julien, Thomas’s younger brother. Julien, how are you feeling this weekend?”
He’s feeling like he’d kill to be called anything other thanThomas’s younger brother. “I’m excited to be here and eager to show the world what I can do with the car.”
The reporter looks taken aback, though her eyebrows barely move. “You sound English.”
“I’m speaking English.”
“No, I—” She laughs and Julien can’t tell if it’s at his expense or not. “You don’t sound like your brother, even though you lookso muchlike him.”
“Yeah, well, we’re still two completely different people.”
It’s been the same thing all fucking day. Everything falls back to Thomas.
Thomas is such a good driver. Thomas is such a good brother. How could you ever live up to your perfect brother? How do you wipe your ass if he’s not around?
As soon as he spots an opening, Julien excuses himself and bolts down the long hallway.
A vinyl decal of Rafael, large and triumphant, spans the wall at the end of the tunnel, judging him with every step. Julien keeps his head down, avoiding the Brazilian’s dark stare.
Even in the garage, Julien can’t escape the pointed looks or the sudden breaks in conversation. He nods when he catches a mechanic’s eye, but the man quickly turns away.
Julien has traveled with the team for threeyears. He’s not some stranger nobody knows—he’s the same reserve driver he’s always been.
Solitude has to be better than this.
Once he’s safely inside his driver’s room, Julien slumps back against the door and exhales.
To be a full-time driver is to attract attention. Of course people stare at him. It’ll only get worse if he manages to earn a seat at the end of his six-race run. He better get used to it now.
Julien slowly slides against the hard surface until his ass hits the ground and he can bury his face in his hands. Even behind his eyelids, he sees hundreds of eyes staring at him, watching his every move, waiting for him to fuck up.
