“Careful, you’ve got to earn it.” Rafael drops his arm back to the side and the illusion is broken. “Did you practice for the race?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Good.” Rafael reaches out, closing the space between them with his newly released hand. His finger hooks around Julien’s belt loop and tugs him closer. “I’ve got a good feeling about this weekend.”
Julien nods slowly as he swallows. His overtakes could use some work, but his one-lap pace is indisputable. On a track like Japan? Julien’s staring straight at a podium finish.
And a podium finish?—
“Why are you two still in the hallway?” Lorenzo’s gruff voice barks out. “Get inside! Stop fuckin’ around.”
Julien and Rafael share a secret smile before ducking through the door.
Q1 goes down easy, but throughout Q2, it’s so windy, Julien can’t keep his car within the lines. Two of his times are deleted for track limits. It would be frustrating enough on an average track, but it’s absolutely infuriating on a track won in Qualifying.
Julien holds his breath when he sees the finish line, and radios in as soon as he crosses it. “Is the time going to stick?”
Even if it is, there’s a good chance Julien will be out in Q2 anyway. He lost his confidence in some of the corners and barely tipped a single tire over the line the entire time. Without using the full road, it might not be enough.
“We don’t see a potential issue.”
Julien meanders through three and four as he exhales. “Thank fuck. Is it?—”
A peach-colored car screams around the outside before turn five, and Julien startles, nearly driving off the road. What the fuck was that?! Where did that McLean even come from?
Oh no.
Julien was squatting on the racing line. Why wouldn’t he be? He had no idea someone was starting a push lap right behind him.
Fuck.
“Now we see a potential issue.”
“That was stupid.” Rafael says, again.
“I know,” is Julien’s tired response. He barely squeezed through to Q3, but he also earned a trip to the stewards after Qualifying.
“Stupid and reckless.”
“I get it! Can youdrop it?!” It’s easier to stay buckled inside the car between sessions, but it makes Julien a sitting duck for anyone who wants to take a shot at him.
Where is that stupid-ass reserve driver who made one honest mistake? Oh there he is! Strapped into the car with no way to escape! Perfect.
“Impeding is one of the easiest penalties to avoid, and this is one of the worst tracks to earn it at. You’ll be lucky to start in the top six after a three-place grid penalty.”
Berating Julien doesn’t help when he already knows he fucked up. He mashes the mic button and calls out, “Can someone take Rafael away from the car? I need to focus.”
“I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” Rafael grumbles, dragging his feet. “I’m just disappointed.”
“You don’t think I am?!”
When Julien lines up for the start of Q3, he’s second behind a Red Boar. He always needs a good lap, but with the impending investigation and probable penalty, he needs to set the fastest, cleanest lap anyone has ever seen at this track. Record-breaking shit.
The light at the end of the pitlane shines green, and Julien waits a few seconds before following the Red Boar out.
He knows this track. He ran it nonstop for two weeks—both by himself and with his team. He ran it in all ten cars, in all weather types. Julien knows Suzuka better than anyone possibly could.
Instead of stealing a tow, he slows before the final turns and extends the space between himself and the Red Boar. The last thing he needs is to choke on Friedrich’s dirty air.
