“Umm… Castera.”
“Is she okay?” I shoot back immediately. Lucia Castera was in a huge fiery crash in F2. I was out there, with her, when it happened. I could see the ball of fire engulf her and her car as I drove past the crash. It was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen. She miraculously made it out with only a small burn to her hand.
“Fine. She’s already out of the car. Focus on you, Gabriel.”
"I can multitask, thanks," I snap.
Yeah, that's not going to win me favors but fuck him if he thinks I'm not going to worry about another driver. It isn't long until we get the green light again, but I don't make it to the start line before time runs out.
I swear a blue streak until Pablo interrupts me. “No need for the potty mouth, Gabriel. You finished ninth.”
Ninth!
“Really?”
“Yes. Congrats.”
“Thanks.” I keep my tone chill but inside I’m screaming with excitement. It’s my first time qualifying in the top ten. If I manage to keep my spot through the race tomorrow, which might happen, then I’ll earn my first points in F1. This is a big deal.
When I get the car into the garage, I’m greeted by only four people. A couple mechanics, my dad, and Axel. Everyone else is watching Sterling do interviews because he qualified third. I wish it didn’t deflate my emotions, but it does. And it batters my ego just a little bit. I’m like a helium balloon with a slow leak.
My dad is beaming at me. “Amazing job, Gabriel. I know the conditions weren’t your favorite.”
"If I could have squeaked in another lap I could have gotten higher, I know it," I say softly as he leans in for a hug after I pull off my helmet and fireproof balaclava.
Axel is standing beside my dad and he lifts his hands, like he might reach for his own hug but then shoves them in his pockets. Becausethat’snot awkward. His weirdness is not just amusing to me, but appealing. He gives me a pained smile. “Great finish!”
I laugh under my breath and step right into him. I cup the back of his head and pull his face to mine, planting a firm but chaste kiss on his stunned mouth. "Thanks, babe!"
My dad’s smile slips, and he leans closer. “Easy, now.”
I sling an arm around Axel’s shoulders. “Sorry if you thought I was going to go about this like a tween crush.”
Axel’s pale skin is red and his eyes are a little wide but he nods. “He’s right, Mr. Allard. Your son isn’t exactly known for being subtle. We have to sell this.”
“Then drop the Mr. Allard and call me Louis in public,” Dad suggests with a small nod.
I give Axel’s shoulder a squeeze before letting go and walking over to Aimee who is waiting patiently to walk with me to the media gallery. “See you back in my dressing room?”
I wink and Axel gets redder but nods.
Maybe this is going to be fun after all. I mean, I kind of love making him uncomfortable.
9AXEL
This is goingto be much harder than I thought. And I thought it was going to be a struggle of epic proportions. I stand in the corner of the room watching Louis pace and Damien sit with his arms folded sternly across his chest. Zack stands with his hands on his wide hips in the open door to the conference room.
It’s been a week. We’ve moved on from Montreal, where Gabriel finished eleventh. Not in the points, which are only given to the top ten, but the closest he’s come. Now we’re in Miami. The Mayflower team is in their element, being American-based. I am in hell. It’s hot, the track is an over-the-top spectacle, and Gabriel is still not doing himself any favors. He’s playing along with me in public—walking close to me, rubbing my back, whispering in my ear, kissing my cheek—but he is being a complete arsehole with the media.
“You’re going to have to handle this too, obviously,” Bob Johnson announces and Louis looks up at him with a scowl that can only be described as withering.
In that glare, I can see the cut-throat businessman gleaming in his hazel eyes. The guy who built a fashion empire from scratch and raised a son alone and would burn the world to the ground to save either. "I thought you had staff for this? Perhaps if you assigned him a public relations person that wasn't in diapers we wouldn't be having this conversation."
Bob frowns, creating large rolls on his forehead. "Even if we assigned him someone else, he likely wouldn't listen to them either so I'm not wasting my time or resources."
Bob turns and leaves. Louis hisses out something in French which I'm sure is vulgar but I don't understand it. Damien does though, being bilingual, and his eyes flare but he doesn't say anything. We all just heard about the last few press interviews Gabriel had given this weekend. He's flippant and downright rude with a lot of the reporters because a lot of them are asking questions about this lawsuit and not the race he just finished.
He qualified tenth, but finished the race twelfth today, by no fault of his own. His mechanics fucked up a tire change on lap forty-four and then he had an unsafe release. That means he entered the pit lane, to head back onto the track when another driver was already in it, and he could have caused a crash. That's the fault of the team because they're the ones who tell the driver when they can enter. He got a five-second time penalty for that. If he hadn't had the penalty he would have finished ninth. Points. And so yeah, he was pissed and it was a big deal and I was worried the media would push all his buttons about it. But instead, they asked him questions about the lawsuit because the woman making the accusation did an interview with Figaro, a French paper. And Gabriel exploded, actually telling one reporter to "Fermez votre gueule” which is the rudest French way to say ‘shut your mouth’.
