‘For sure. He’s just got to put the last two weekends behind him and focus on what’s in front of him. He can do it. He’ll show us all what he’s made of, just you wait.’
I sound more confident than I feel, but I know he has it in him to pull it back. I’m just waiting for him to know it, too.
Less than an hour later, it’s like magic on the track again. The garage is alive with excitement as Johannes and Nils both make it into Q3 to compete for pole position on the grid tomorrow. Nils is performing above his expected standard, upping his game again here in Hungary, but Johannes is on fire.
Not literally, thank God.
He’s focused and driven, making fearless choices and finding the smallest opportunities to exploit. He’s working the car to its limits and feeding back to us any issues he’s picking up on along the way, which makes our life easier to get the car ready for tomorrow. He’s back in tune with the vehicle, and it’s so beautiful to watch him come back to life out there.
‘Fastest lap out there right now,’ I tell him, with seven minutes to go of this final round of qualifying. Of course, so much can change in that time and I’m watching on the second screen the way Harper completes a purple first sector, but the boost is good for Johannes after his last two races. He needs to hear he’s doing well.
Two minutes later, Harper’s back in P1, pushing Johannes down to P2, but it’s better to be P2 than to be out in Q1 or Q2. Elijah’s fighting to challenge Harper and Johannes’s times, but he’s not even putting in personal bests right now, his sectors turning yellow, so I’m more than confident that Johannes will take up the second slot of the front row of the grid.
Nils is still in P6 when the timer runs out and everyone finishes the lap they are currently doing. I watch intently for any change, but thankfully, there is none.
‘You’ll start front row tomorrow, Johannes. P-Two, man!’
He whoops down the mic and the whole garage cheers, clearly happy to see their main man back in action.
I can finally take a deep breath, and it feels so, so good.
ChapterSeven
Johannes
I’m actually excited when Nils and I enter the paddock on race day. My body feels looser than it has in weeks and my mood is much better, too. The atmosphere is frenetic as teams gear up for the race this afternoon, and for the first time in almost a month, I feel like it could be my day.
There’s no lying about how rough this week has been, but this sport waits for no one. Not even a heartbroken idiot like me. And yeah, maybe I’ve had to give myself one hell of a pep talk, but I’m ready.
I’m not even tempted to hide myself away until I’m actually needed. I might stick around, sign some fan stuff, actually interact with my fellow drivers. The pain that was drowning me, I’m determined not to let it win. Instead, I’m going to use the anger I’m beginning to feel instead to push myself to be a better driver. Prove to him that it’s his loss, not mine.
‘You’re happier this morning.’ Nils throws it out there like it’s the most casual thing ever, especially with cameras flashing around us capturing our race-day-outfit pictures. ‘Did you have a good run this morning?’
Nils was still fast asleep when I crept out of the villa at 6a.m. It wasn’t even hard to wake up this morning, especially with the chance that if I got lucky, I might bump into Caleb again. Despite circling the area a couple of times, I didn’t see him, but there’s always tomorrow.
‘Wasn’t bad,’ I say. ‘Good to be up and about to get my head in the game.’ I offer my signature smile to every cameraman and woman on the grid and in the stands.
‘You’re crazy. I slept for ten hours, and I still feel tired.’ Just to prove his point, he punctuates the admission with a big yawn.
‘You’ve just got no stamina, kiddo,’ I tease, nudging his shoulder.
‘I have plenty, I’ll have you know.’ He shoots me a sly grin and I fake a gag.
‘I’d rather not know, to be honest.’
‘Fuck you! You’re just jealous, old man, because I’m getting lots and you’re being mopey. I’m going to find Ian. Catch ya later.’ He takes off in a jog.
‘I’m sure he’s really looking forward to having his ear talked off all day,’ I yell after him and he just shoots me the middle finger.
Whilst he goes to annoy the man who looks after him on the track, I’m scouting the paddock for my best friend. I need the pre-race chat we’ve been having since we were gangly teens in go-karts.
I spot him, but then my stomach lurches. I’m frozen in place.
Harper claps his hand on Jackson’s shoulder as they both laugh about something I’m too far away to hear. Why can’t this man just disappear back to his damn computer screen, his stupid podcast, and his even stupider blog?
I feel my breakfast loosen in my stomach.
As long as I continue to race, I will never get away from him.
