But Julien was already going to angle his wheels towards the center. To cutThomasoff. Why would he ask Julien to put up a bigger defense against himself?
“I was already planning to.”
“Good job!” Why is everyone so condescending today?! “And I will keep my wheels straight, to defend against Sam from the outside.”
Something is definitely wrong, but Julien can’t put his finger on it. Why would Thomas worry about Sam in fourth when Fritz is the bigger threat?
Maybe he’s lying. Maybe Thomas expects his own reaction time and straight-line speed to be faster than Julien’s—that he’ll be able to plow forward and make the first turn before Julien can cut him off.
So what then? Should Julien angle his car or keep it straight? If he defends too late, it’ll be useless, but if he attacks, he could be overtaken at the first turn if he isn’t careful.
Fuck.
What should he do?
“Ah! I almost forgot.” This conversation is too planned for Thomas toalmost forgetanything. “Did you know that no reserve driver has ever won a Formation 1 race?”
“Wait, really?” That's a weird statistic to lie about. It's too easily verifiable.“Really?”
Thomas nods and his face melts into a warm smile. “You will be the very first. A record-breaking Dubois. I am soproudof you.”
“Jesus, Thomas.” They're still going to battle it out on track, but the thought is touching. It’s just a nice thing to say. “You big sap, c’mere.”
Julien drags his brother in for a hug and tries to appreciate this moment.
Thomas is the reason he has this chance in the first place. Maybe he's actually sincere.
Julien sure as hell won’t count on it. He'll still fight off the line. After all, he can’t let anyone think he didn’t earn his first win.
His first win. The first reserve driver to ever win. A record-breaking Dubois.
Thomas rejoins his team, and Davide nearly snatches Julien back.
“What did he say? Did he talk about strategy? Our plan is solid—you have to trust me.”
“Did you know no reserve driver has ever won a Formation 1 race?”
When Davide pulls back, his eyebrows are drawn together. “I can think of a few podiums, but I’d have to check to find out whether it’s true.”
“Don’t bother.” Julien hums as he pulls his gloves tighter. “It won’t be true after today.”
Thomas overtakes Julien before the first turn.
It’s aDubois un-deux, but not in the order Julien hoped for.
Despite his mood, Julien has to suffer hours of press and meetings and pictures before he can finally breathe.
He should hire a taxi, leave the paddock, and walk into the ocean. Instead, he lays out on his thinly padded massage table with a towel over his face and forces himself to be happy.
Julien has a Formation 1 podium. He earned it. He was the second-best driver on the entire grid this weekend. That’s a major accomplishment.
He’s still just the second-best driver in his family.
Julien groans and throws an arm across his face, digging the scratchy towel fibers into his skin. He podiumed. He has a trophy and champagne-sticky skin to prove it. Julien stood on the world stage as the French national anthem played.
It didn’t play for him, though. It played for the top step.
No reserve driver has ever stood on that top step, and Julien is just another body to add to the metric.
