‘Let’s send this car off in style,’ Afonso instructs me with a laugh. ‘Give me some big loop-the-loops, please.’
‘WHOO!’
I feel like I could probably burst from anticipation as I wrench my steering to the side and bring the car around for a doughnut, and then another, and then another. It’s the end of the season, and with no other use for the Heidelberg car, the tyre burnout and doughnuts you earn as a champion are some of the most fulfilling moments of your life. Except there’s only one moment I can think about right now, and it’s definitely not the doughnuts.
I pull up to the P1 board triumphantly, with my third consecutive win under my belt. My heart is pounding triple-time, my entire body weightless, my limbs shaking with an overload of adrenaline. It’s so bad it takes me an extra minute just to get up on top of my chassis, fists pumping as I raise the Brazilian flag, keep my neck on a swivel, in search of Shantal.Where is she?
‘DARIEN!’
It’s Miguel, who has climbed out of his car in P2. He tucks his helmet under his arm and gestures behind me with a broad smile on his face. ‘LOOK!’
My entire body turns involuntarily, on edge from the already insane day I’ve been having, but the seed of hope deep in my chest bursts open when I make out the figure far in the distance, the crowds parting to let her through.
She’s running down the track in a massive lavender traditional dress embroidered with flowers and leaves and peacocks, way faster than she should be with all the netting on the skirt. She grabs hold of it to give herself enough room to run, the soles of those white Hokas of hers slapping the asphalt. Her eyebrows are knitted out of exhaustion, and the lanyard of her paddock pass flaps about uncontrollably. I can see the tears shimmering on her cheeks as she storms towards us, a tempest of a woman.
Shantal Sanjeevani Mangal.
Before I can register anything, I’ve run towards my team. She smacks right into me, and I hug her tight, my eyes squeezed shut as she breathes heavily. She smells of expensive perfume and peaches, and she trembles against my chest, her hands digging into my back, her face buried in my shoulder. It’s been months, but we still feel right in each other’s arms, as if nothing has changed, and in a way, it hasn’t. I’ve still pictured nothing but her face before every race, and her face in the crowd after each one. It’s surreal that she’s back, that I’m actually touching her right now, that she’s not just a part of my imagination.
‘Dar, I’m … I’m so, so sorry—’
‘It’s okay. It’s okay, Shanni. Just stay with me.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. Stay, just stay.’ I hold her tight, crushing the veil pinned to her head so hard that it slips down. I don’tever want to let go of her again. ‘What happened? You’re …’ Hesitantly, I pull away to regard her get-up. ‘Tell me you didn’t …’
She shakes her head vehemently. ‘No, no, I just decided … I decided it was time to open my eyes, I suppose. With the help of a very, very insistent cousin.”
‘Well, don’t stop now.’ I let out a nervous laugh before taking her into my arms one more time, as if to confirm that she’s truly here. ‘I’m still fucking proud of you, Shanni.’
‘I’m prouder. Of you.’ She holds my face in her hands, presses her forehead to mine. ‘World Champion.’
‘I love you, Shantal,’ I blurt, and I’m not totally sure where the courage comes from, but it’s the moment – the cameras flashing behind us, the fireworks bursting above us. Everything is perfect, and she is perfect.
‘You make my heartwhole. I don’t think the word has been invented yet,’ she whispers, ‘for the kind of love I feel for you, Darien.’
Maybe it hasn’t. But I feel every drop of that love when I bring my lips to hers, and I kiss her, wrapping my arms around her, unable to let her go. Part of me feels that even if I hadn’t gotten that Championship, I would still have won, because I have her here in front of me again, and that, in itself, is a miracle.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Darien
When a Formula 1 team wins a race with either of their drivers, they are able to choose a member of their staff to come up and accept a second trophy awarded to the constructor. For this one, in Abu Dhabi, the finale of the season, the vote is unanimous.
Shantal climbs the podium, now free of the dress and wearing her team T-shirt and shorts, hoisting the trophy for Heidelberg Hybridge. Later, she’ll attend the prize-giving held by the FIA to accept the Constructors’ Championship, along with the rest of our team.
I feel weightless when the Brazilian anthem plays, for the first time in years, for a Brazilian champion, fans screaming every word of the hymn with me. It’s almost surreal that this has finally happened, and in the year I suffered the injury I thought would end my career for good. All the tribulations of the season are left behind as I stand on the top step of the podium. And even though I was only on that top step for acouple of minutes, the feeling of being on top of the entire world doesn’t dissipate.
I extend the flag wide behind me as the anthem comes to an end, complete with roaring and applause. I wave animatedly to the fans at the fence. And for a moment, I think I see Pai’s face among them, beaming as he holds up the Brazilian flag as well, calling out my name with tears of happiness in his eyes.
When I bring the fabric back around myself, there are tears in my eyes, too.
It feels like my Pai is giving me a great big hug.
Demir is the first person to reunite with me after the ceremony. The guy’s clearly had an evening, his hair plastered back from his forehead with sweat, his sunglasses gone missing, and confetti sticking to his button-down. ‘Darien!’
‘Hey, man,’ I chuckle as he gives me a big hug full of stray confetti pieces. As ruthless as Demir can be, I have to give him credit. If he hadn’t taken a chance on me those few years ago, we wouldn’t be here. With a title, and a legacy in the making.
