Henri is there, just like Louis promised, with a VIP pass for me. “They’re on lap fifty of sixty-one. Hurry!” Henri says and we start to jog. “Gabriel is in third.”
“Third?” I echo and fuck the jogging, I am full-out running now.
He didn’t have a great race in France. They fixed the car, but he ended up with a grid penalty because of new parts and started second from last. The track wasn’t great for passing opportunities, so he floundered toward the bottom of the pack the whole race, ending up sixteenth. I know it doesn’t matter. He’s had a solid season without it. Other rookies have definitely done worse. But I want him to have some points this season. A podium, well that would be more than even I dare to ask of the Universe. But points… sitting in third means he has a long way to fall to miss points. He won’t. I know it. He won’t miss points this time.
Louis looks a little aghast when he sees my condition when I arrive at the garage. Henri broke off to go to the paddock. He hands me some headphones and whips his handkerchief out of the front pocket of his tailored blazer and hands it to me. I pat myself down, eyes glued to the race. Gabriel is doing amazing. In front of him is Grady Lewis and Cristian Rivera. Behind him, and I mean right up his ass, is Billy James. They come out of a turn, into a straightaway, and Billy immediately tries to overtake Gabe. I’m clenching my fists and holding my breath. If they collide, which happens a lot, it will kill both of them.
Their battle is “epic” according to Adam, who brings me a water. But when we’re on the final lap, the battle causes Billy to lock up, and he nearly slides off the track but regains control. Still, he gets passed by Nord, who doesn’t gain enough speed to challenge Gabriel before the checkered flag is waving.
Louis lets out a roar and I scream at the top of my lungs and bear hug him. Adam is jumping up and down like a trampolinist beside us. Pablo is a foot away grinning despite himself. Into the comms he announces, “Gabriel Allard you are P3. P3. Your first points and podium. What is it they say in your country?Magnifique!”
Gabriel lets out a hoot and a bunch of French words they'll probably have to bleep on television. "Yes. Thank you, Mayflower. Thank you, Adam and my dad. And my boyfriend, wherever you are. Thank you all. This is…c’est une reve. A dream.”
Louis yanks off his headphones, and I pull mine off and we grab Adam and run to the place where the top three cars park before the trophy ceremony. I'm shocked to see the entire team waiting to congratulate him as he pulls himself out of the car. He stands on it, pumps a fist into the air, and people cheer. And then, he jumps down, lifts his visor, and rushes the Mayflower team. They lift him off the ground. Good. He deserves their praise. Finally.
Louis leans over to me. “He has an offer from another team for next season.”
I shoot him a wide-eyed stare and he lifts his hands. "I have nothing to do with it," he promises. "This one is all him. And I am staying out of it. But let him talk it through with you."
I nod. “I’ll always be there for him.”
Louis smiles and nods.
"You made it!" Gabriel's voice calls out in awe. He's still standing with his team but he sees me and his dad at the back of the crowd. People part for us and we move forward as he yanks off his helmet and wraps his arms around both of us and we hug him.
And then, before he rushes off to get weighed and do press and get his first F1 trophy, he leans over, grabs my face in his hands, and kisses me. Cameras flash, people cheer, and he slips me the goddamn tongue. I laugh and step back. “You…” I laugh, turning red.
He winks at me and walks away.
He may be the one about to collect a trophy, but I’m the one who is the real winner here. At least, it feels that way.
EPILOGUE
LOUIS
I feel allthe things I’m supposed to feel watching my son stand on the podium for his first win in the ultimate league of his chosen sport. Pride, joy, excitement. But I feel a couple things that might not be as normal. Relief. Sadness. Relief that he’s done it. Gabriel could never be a failure to me. I wouldn’t care if he finishes every race last as long as he’s happy. But I know he wanted this and he worked for it, despite what people think. I’m also sad because… well, he’s done it on his own.
I've been an overbearing parent his whole life. I see that now. And Gabriel has let me. I don't think, looking back, it benefited either of us and though I've tried to step back and let him make his own way in recent weeks, it isn't easy. I miss being the one person he relied on.
Beside me, Axel beams up at Gabriel who is walking to the little round platform for the third place winner. Thankfully most of the Mayflower crew is there behind us, cheering and clapping. They didn't need to be told to come and support their driver. I would have demanded it if I had to, and Axel would have been right there with me, I know. He's a great young man. I didn't think there would be a real connection when I hired him. It was honestly the furthest thing from my mind, which seems stupid now.
It's not that I didn't want Gabriel to find someone to love. I've just never really done it myself, so I assumed he inherited my inability to settle down. And don't get me wrong, my life is full. Even before I decided to have Gabriel I had a full life, so the one thing I never meddled with was Gabriel's romantic life. If he had one partner or a different one every month it didn't bother me, as long as he was happy. And Gabriel hadseemedhappy. Now, with Axel, I know without a shadow of a doubt that he is.
A woman in a formal dress walks in front of the podium and gives Gabriel his trophy. He lifts it high in the air and Axel whistles so loudly I may be deaf in my left ear now. Bob is beside me and he winces.
“It’s third,” Bob says quietly, with a scowl.
“It’s a podium, as a rookie, with basically no help from his team, a-k-a you,” Axel clarifies. “So yeah. I’m gonna cheer the hell out of my man.”
I grin. Bob huffs in disgust and walks away. Axel is a little pink as he looks at me. “Sorry. I just…”
“Don’t apologize,” I shush him. “That was glorious.”
Axel laughs and I pat his back. I would ruffle his hair like I do Gabriel but he’s too damn tall. We turn back to the scene in front of us as the other two drivers get their trophies. Grady Lewis from Arete finished second and, not surprisingly, Cristian Rivera easily took first.
And then it hits me, as the Spanish national anthem is played, for the winner, all three men on this podium are LGBT. “Mon dieu, le chemin parcouru…”
Axel looks at me inquisitively. “I think I should take French classes over the break.”
