Michael’s eyebrows lifted a fraction.
“The car just wasn’t working with me today.”I stared at the water bottle, unable to meet his eye.He was watching me, waiting for me to say something that wasn’t a deflection, but I didn’t have anything to give him.
Miami flashed through my mind.The car flipping, spinning through the air for just a few seconds before slamming into the barrier.It’d only lasted a moment, but it’d felt like an eternity.I could still feel it, that sickening helplessness from the lack of control.In the moment, all you can do is wait and hope.Hope the car holds itself together.Hope the barriers absorb the impact.Hope you walk away with nothing more than bruises and wounded pride.
This wasn’t new territory for me.That paralyzing fear had found me once before, back in my junior F2 days.But I didn’t want to think back to that.
“Look, I recovered,” I said finally.“The rest of the session was fine.”
“Fine isn’t the standard.”Michael set the tablet down, folding his hands on the table.“This isn’t about one bad corner.It’s about how you’ve driven this whole weekend, and on the sim, since the crash.”
“I’m driving the same way I always have.”
Michael gave me a disbelieving snort.“You’re second-guessing yourself.Braking early.Overcorrecting.That’s not you, Henri.”
I wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but the words stuck in my throat.I took a long drink of water, buying myself whatever time I could find.But this was Michael.He’d seen me in every condition: rain, dry, tired, injured, angry, happy.He knew my driving as well as I did, probably better.
There would be no lying to Michael.
“What do you want me to say?”The question was loaded with defensiveness, but Michael’s expression only softened.“That I’m scared?That I flinched?That driving through that turn felt like—”
I stopped myself, turning my eyes back toward the empty TV screen.Michael studied me for a long moment, the only sound between us the frantic tapping of my fingers.
He thinks I’m broken.He thinks I can’t do this anymore.He’s going to tell Verhoeven, and they’re going to bench me, or worse.I tried to shove back all the self-doubt that was crowding my mind.
“Let’s take a break.This afternoon is FP2,” Michael continued, as if sensing he was about to hit the mental wall I’d put up.“It’s a fresh start.But Henri, I just have to say, if you’re dealing with any lingering effects from Miami, there’s help we can get you.”
“I said I’m fine!”The words exploded out of me.My neck burned hot—the kind of heat that wasn’t from effort but embarrassment.
Michael’s offer was genuine, well-meaning.I could see that in his expression; hear it in his voice.But all I felt was a surge of hot, defensive anger mixed with shame.
No.I’d been down this road before.No one wanted a weak driver.Formula 1 had come a long way in discussing anxiety and mental health, but were they ready for a driver who couldn’t do something as simple as drive in the rain?
What did Michael want me to admit?That something in me had gone hollow at the worst moment?That I’d felt something I hadn’t in years?
There wasn’t a clean sentence for any of that.And even if there were, I wasn’t about to hand it to him.
Chapter Three
Lily
The weekend’s free practice sessions and qualifying were finally over, and now all that stood between me and a quiet Saturday evening was the press pen, which would no doubt continue to spend half its time dissecting Henri’s driving choices during Friday morning’s free practice.
What the hell had gotten into him?
After the crash in Miami, I’d tried to extend an olive branch.I’d called him repeatedly, apologizing and trying to explain the incident, but he never answered.So instead, I’d poured my apologies into voicemails that he probably ignored.
I exhaled slowly, pushing the thought aside as I climbed out of my car’s cockpit.It didn’t matter what Henri thought.This week was a new race, and I had qualified second today.I had a real chance to win tomorrow, and if I did, I’d be on top in the championship standings.
Focus on that, not Henri.
“Great work!”Mark’s voice crackled through the headset.Then he appeared in person, jogging around the car to meet me as I pulled off my helmet.“Impeccable driving this weekend.Unfortunate that Henri got P1 after he had such an abysmal Friday.Let’s just hope he can keep his car to himself…”
The comment landed with more weight than Mark probably intended.
The sun had broken through today after Friday’s rain, and Henri had somehow clawed his way to pole position in Qualifying.Something petty and raw inside me wanted to join Mark’s dig, but considering my car had actually caused a crash, I decided I couldn’t face the hypocrisy.
“I can practically smell the podium champagne!”I said brightly, forcing enthusiasm into my voice.
