‘Box, box,’ I call out over the radio on lap thirty-two and he comes down the tunnel underneath the circuit into the pit lane. I watch the time it takes add up in the corner of my screen as I hope and pray for the quickest change over possible.
In a blink of an eye the wheels are on and ‘2.1’flashes in the corner of the screen. Someone around me lets out a ‘Fuck, yeah,’ and my brain screams it, too. That’s exactly how it needed to be. You couldn’t write this.
Lap thirty-three begins and I’m on the edge of my seat. The atmosphere around me grows tenser with every lap because the chances slip away with every one that goes by. But Johannes never stops pushing, and with his fresh tyres and knowing that Harper pitted earlier than him, he’s playing it to his advantage. He’s not overdoing it, but he’s making them work so that he won’t have to stop again.
Lap thirty-four hits us quicker than words and Johannes is now only 1.2 seconds behind Harper. If he can just knock that pesky point two off before turn four, he’ll have DRS and a whole kilometre of straight to knock his best friend off the top position. Except he can’t make it happen, not on this lap, because every time he gets closer, Harper pulls away. It’s a frustrating game of push and pull and I’m ready to tear my hair out.
And then lap thirty-five begins, and my eyes light up when Johannes hits the 0.9 mark going into turn four and this could be it. This really could be it. ‘You’re in DRS range, Johannes,’ I comment, trying to keep my voice steady. I don’t want to put any pressure on him unless I really have to. He knows what he needs to do.
‘Got it,’ he confirms and he’s not lying. He takes turn five like the absolute champion he is– and before I know it, he’s pulling up to the very back of Harper, the gap between them hardly noticeable. Then the second he knows the time is right, Jo pulls out to the right and speeds past him.
The way the pit wall erupts! And then less than half a second later, the paddock behind us goes absolutely insane. I’ve never seen anything like this, and I’ve watched Johannes win a lot of races at this point.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m out of my seat trying not to knock my headset off, keeping my eyes on the screen but celebrating, nonetheless. At the same time, I know it’s not over.
It’s wheel to wheel championship racing from then on. Lap forty Harper steals back, but lap forty-one comes just as fast and Johannes is right there taking it back and I’m sure the millions watching round the world are absolutely loving every second of this.
I’ve sweated through my RBF polo but I don’t care. It’s so fucking exciting.
‘Hold on, just hold on,’ I whisper to myself as they both brake going into turn six of lap forty-three and it could go either way as to who comes out on top after the turn. Luckily it’s Johannes and I allow myself to breathe for a second, until they reach turn nine and Harper, the little bastard that he is, zips past Johannes into the lead again.
‘Fuuuuuckk,’ I growl and Ian lays a hand on my shoulder.
‘He’s got this,’ he says over the noise of everyone panicking around us. He’s at least given me a bit of a break after we made it official with the team– now that it’s above board and signed off, it’s like Ian actually approves. I didn’t need it from him, but I have looked up to him since joining the team, so it is nice.
I have to wait till lap forty-eight to breathe again, when, as they go into turn twelve, Harper makes a small mistake as he blind-brakes and Johannes capitalises on it in the best possible way. He makes the last sector of that lap his bitch, putting a second and then two seconds between him and Harper– and finally he’s free.
He laps two drivers and finally speeds into clean air, Harper stuck behind the pair as the clock hits a six-second gap going into lap fifty.
Five to go. It’s my job to keep all eyes on the screen, but I couldn’t look away even if I tried. It’s not been easy, but it was never going to be, not against Harper. He’s the current world champion for a reason. But right now, flying down the straight between turns five and six, I couldn’t be prouder to be Johannes Müller’s boyfriend.
It’s beautiful to watch and this is why F1 is the best sport in the world. Nothing compares, nothing could possibly be as thrilling as this. Watching someone test the absolute limits of a car and a track and their mind and body. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a new layer of fear to the sport after falling for the man in the car, but I won’t let that get to me. Not ever. It’s my job to keep him safe and if I allowed that fear to creep to the surface, I’d have to quit.
Three laps to go and it’s all coming together. I can hardly breathe, yet at the same time I’m beyond focused on being Johannes’s eyes and ears, keeping him together on the track.
Nathan paces behind me, his headset discarded like he can’t watch or listen. I can’t imagine how much money he’ll make if Johannes brings the team the biggest win of all. I hate that that’s what it seems to be about for him, not that he truly cares about Johannes and this team.
I won’t look away, though. Not with two laps to go, not with Johannes silent and focused. I don’t want to miss a thing when the man I love becomes world champion.
‘Last lap,’ I say into the mic as he crosses the line again. I’m not sure why because he’s definitely aware. Probably the most aware he’s ever been of a lap in his whole life.
ChapterThirty-Five
Johannes
‘Last lap,’ Caleb says quietly into my ear, and I can’t find the words right now so I mutter confirmation that I’ve heard him. Anticipation and excitement and that tiny bit of stress crawls through my body as I go again for a final time this season.
This is it. The season has been so up and down and now I’m about to be world champion, as long as I don’t hit a wall or do something stupid this lap. It’s fucking insane. Through every high and low there’s one person who’s been beside me and that’s Caleb. And, fuck, I might have dedicated my win in Monza to him, but this one is all his, too. I would not have got this far without him. I’d still be crying in the corner of the team jet as we cruised over Europe, clinging to the shattered pieces of my broken heart.
He mended it with every coffee, every run, every soft glance, every squeeze of my hand, every passionate kiss. Hislove built me back up and I couldn’t be more thankful to him.
As I whizz through the third sector of the final lap, I spot the mechanics in RBF colours shaking the cage up by the finish line, screaming for me. The chequered flag is mere seconds away. This is it.
‘Johannes Müller, you’re the new world champion.’
Nothing means more than hearingCalebsay those words over the radio as I cross the line. The screams of pure joy in the background mean so much, but they are drowned out as Caleb congratulates me. ‘World champion!’ he shouts again, so it sinks in that tiny bit more.
My eyes swim and I can hardly see as I slowly do my victory lap, before crawling into the winner’s slot in the pit lane. I really, truly did it. I’m world champion. I did everything I set out to do in this race and I crushed it. I came back from the worst races of my life, and I took the top spot. I beat Harper, who’s probably going to kick my ass– but who cares? I did it.
