He squeezed my shoulder before collecting his drink from the bartender.
I nursed my whiskey and tried not to track Lily’s movements across the room, failing spectacularly.The booth in the back corner had become a small gathering: Lily, Georgia, Ollie, and a few other drivers.
“I need some air,” I told Éliott, setting down my glass with more force than necessary.
“Want company?”
“No.Just give me a minute.”
I stepped outside through the side door that led to a narrow alley behind the bar.The night air was damp and cool, carrying the faint smell of rain.Cigarette smoke drifted from somewhere nearby, mixing with the scent of garbage bins and old cooking oil.
I leaned against the brick wall, letting my head fall back, eyes closing against the dull throb building behind them.The muffled bass from inside the bar pulsed through the wall, a steady rhythm that did nothing to settle my nerves.
You won today.You executed perfectly.This should feel good.
So why did everything feel like it was falling apart?
I went to head back inside but stopped just inside the doorway, something cold settling in my chest that had nothing to do with the windy weather outside.
Ollie had his arm stretched along the back of the booth behind Lily, not quite touching her, but close enough to stake a claim.She laughed at something Georgia said, her face more relaxed than I’d seen it in weeks.Luca was gesturing wildly with both hands, probably telling some ridiculous story, and Éliott was shaking his head with that fond exasperation he reserved for Luca’s antics.
The rational part of my brain knew I was being unfair.Knew that Georgia had invited them, that there was nothing wrong with Lily being here, that I had no claim on who my friends spent time with.
But the irrational part—the exhausted, emotionally raw part that had barely held it together all weekend—couldn’t stand there and watch this.Couldn’t pretend to be happy while Ollie smiled that easy smile and Lily laughed with my sister and everything I wanted sat right there, impossible and out of reach.
I turned and walked back out before anyone noticed me standing there.
The street was quiet, rain-slicked pavement reflecting the amber glow of streetlights.A few tourists hurried past, hunched under umbrellas, oblivious to the man who’d just won a Formula 1 race and felt more alone than he had in years.
I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Georgia:Sorry.Had to leave.Thanks for organizing tonight.No explanation, because I didn’t want to admit what I was doing.
Running away.
As soon as I walked into my hotel lobby, I couldn’t bring myself to head up to the room, so I opted for the hotel bar instead.A tired bartender polished glasses with the detached focus of someone working on pure muscle memory.A few scattered patrons occupied various corners, nursing late-night drinks in that particular solitude that hotel bars specialized in.
I claimed a table in the back, half-hidden by the darkness of the restaurant, jacket discarded over the chair beside me.I rolled up my sleeves at some point, undid the top buttons of my shirt, shed the layers of presentation I maintained for cameras and sponsors.
The whiskey in front of me was my second.Or third.I’d lost count and didn’t particularly care.The party had started to feel like too much, and I was pleased to escape into something quieter.
The ambient music shifted to something slower, lonelier, the piano barely audible over the quiet murmur of conversation and the clink of glassware.I was halfway through a thought about whether I should just go to bed when I saw her.
Lily stood at the bar, her back to me, talking to the bartender.Her posture was tense, shoulders drawn up slightly, one hand fidgeting with something I couldn’t see.It looked like she’d ordered a Manhattan, her favorite drink.She accepted it with a nod of thanks then turned to survey the mostly empty bar.Her eyes found me almost immediately, like she’d known exactly where I was sitting the whole time.
For a beat, we just looked at each other across the space.Her expression was complicated.I waited for her to look away first.To pretend she hadn’t seen me, to take her drink and claim a seat on the opposite side of the bar, to maintain the awkwardness we’d established over the past few days.
Instead she picked up her glass and walked over, sitting down at the table across from me.
“I, um, missed you at the bar,” she said when she reached my table.“I just wanted to say congratulations on a good race.I mean it—you drove amazing today.”
I looked up slowly, taking her in properly now.The fatigue around her eyes mirrored my own.Today had been exhausting for both of us.For a second, maybe less, surprise filled me.I genuinely hadn’t expected her to approach, to willingly step into this conversation, after that press conference yesterday.She had every right to be upset with how I’d acted.
“Thanks.”The word came out flat, emotionally stripped.
She gestured vaguely toward me with her glass, the maraschino cherry bobbing against the rim.There was something expectant in her face, and she kept swirling her Manhattan around as if it might release a magic genie who could give her the words she was clearly missing.Finally, she looked up at me.
“Can I ask you something?”
I nodded, not sure where this was going.
