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Fernando is missing Lance like crazy.
He is sitting in the restaurant of his hotel. The pre-season test in Bahrain was over and he has to rest in the hotel for a few days waiting for the real race weekend.
This isn’t right. Fernando is thinking.
It is only been a month or two since they really started to get to know each other. Well, they did know each other for a long time, but it was like Fernando knowing all the pretty young drivers in the paddock, saying hello and chatting occasionally.
But since Fernando started discussing a transfer with Aston Martin's management, they quickly became acquainted. Lance seemed to have a magic touch that quickly hits the mark, getting close and capturing his attention. Fernando has never hidden his fondness for pretty young boys, and he has even joked in public that new generation drivers are much better-looking than the old ones. But Lance? Lance seems different. Lance's eyes sparkle when he laughs, Lance is pale but couldn't hide his strength, Lance tells jokes with no antecedents, and Lance has a sticky, honey-like accent.
The coffee cup in front of Fernando is already empty, but he hasn’t seen Lance yet. How many days has it been since he had seen Lance?
Fernando has just met Lawrence, his boss to be exact, searching the hotel lobby before crossing the whole restaurant and walking straight to him. The older Canadian businessman told him that Lance would be at the race this weekend and that he would be arriving at the hotel soon.
"I implore you to convince him, Fernando," Lawrence's voice is still echoing in his ears, "he's hurt badly and shouldn't be in the race."
Fernando agreed without comment, but he didn't feel he could afford it. What is Lance's medical team doing? Where is his manager? What about his father?
He’s hurt badly.
Damn it. Fernando couldn’t care less about the fact. How badly was he hurt?
Of course he knew that Lance is a grown man and he is capable of taking responsibility for his own body. But Fernando just couldn’t ignore the impression of Lance’s stubborn eyes.
Lance hasn’t messaged him recently, was it possible that he couldn’t even pick up his phone with his hands?
When did they start messaging each other frequently? Was it from the day he visited the factory? Or earlier, from the day he went to Aston Martin’s HQ to sign the contract?
Fernando couldn’t recall any valuable thing they has talked about on Whatsapp, just simple greetings, meaningless details of lives, and mindless chats. But Fernando just misses these nutritionless messages.
He’s hurt badly.
It is like there is some kind of magic in these words that he cannot shake off. Damn it. Fernando begins to regret that he shouldn’t have come to breakfast today, that he shouldn’t have had coffee afterwards, that he shouldn’t have sat here doing nothing afterwards, and then stumbled upon the goddamn Lawrence Stroll.
Why did his boss have to deliberately come over to talk to him about this? If Lawrence as a father couldn’t convince Lance, why did he suppose Fernando could?
“Lance is always willing to listen to you.”
Although Lawrence said so, but Fernando feels that Lance is willing to listen to the most is only his opinion in racing, he does not feel that he can have any influence on Lance on the important decision-making.
Rather, he was more influenced by Lance. Fernando laughs bitterly. Every several minutes he wanted to pick up his phone to check if there’s a message from Lance, and every now and then he remembers Lance’s unfunny jokes, their discussions at the HQ, and the look of concentration in Lance’s eyes as he listened to his research insights.
Hold on.
Influence? Decision-making?
What’s the important decision-making for himself recently?
Join Aston Martin. For sure.
How did he decide to sign with Aston Martin? A meeting with the team principal, a meeting with the technical director, a meeting with the HR manager, several contract discussions, a talk with Lawrence Stroll… and what else?
Fernando can recall very vividly his third meeting with Aston Martin’s management, the Silverstone factory, a narrow conference room, with Lawrence present. Their lobbying of Fernando entered a ridiculously impassioned phase.
Fernando felt a little bored. In fact, this meeting should not have existed. If he was sure he wanted to join, he would have obediently signed the contract even if no one had lobbied him; if he was not interested in Aston Martin at heart, no amount of meetings would have helped. Aston Martin might be good, but staying at Alpine was not a terrible choice.
The Canadian businessman looked at his watch and announced that their show was over. Fernando breathed a sigh. He left his assistant in the room and quickly opened the door and went out.
The corridor outside the conference room faced a huge floor-to-ceiling window, and the rare clear weather in Silverstone reflected the entire corridor in a clear and transparent manner. The young Canadian boy leaning against the window, as if he heard the door open, turned and gave Fernando a smile against the light. The smile gradually blossomed, hidden in the outline of the glow, the young body seemed to be soaked in the warmth of the sun's energy as he approached, leaving Fernando in a momentary trance.
“Fernando!” Lance was wearing a white pullover without his green team shirt.
“Lance, hey!” Fernando greeted gently, “I didn’t know you were also at the factory today.
“I…” Lance scratched his hair, letting a strand of dark hair by his ear stick up as he stammered a bit, “I happened to be in the vicinity today, so, you know, came by to check it out.”
May be here to see the progress of the new car. Fernando thought. He glanced at the boy in front of him, whose cheeks were slightly flushed, perhaps from standing in the sun.
"Do you want to look around?" Lance stammered, "I mean, see the factory? Or, uh, have you already taken a tour?"
Fernando tried to say something when his phone rang, the sound of a special message from his assistant.
Alpine sent new contract terms, we need to compare in detail with Aston’s. ASAP.
Fernando looked up at Lance, the boy clasped his arms, put them down again, seemed aware of his cocked up hair, ran his hands through them a few times and clasped his arms again.
"Are you leaving?" The boy asked in a whisper, his eyelashes slightly drooping, the blush on his face still not dissipated, making his fine freckles look lively and cute.
"What did you just say?" Fernando locked his phone screen and put it back in his pocket, "A tour of the factory?"
Lance's expression instantly lit up, "Ah, I mean, I can take you on a tour!"
Fernando laughed, "I haven't signed a contract yet. You’re violating the confidentiality agreement by taking me to the factory, aren’t you?"
"You seem to be right when you say that ......" Lance scratched his hair again, and that strand of hair by his ear stuck up again.
Fernando restrained himself from reaching out and smoothing it down for him. "Maybe you can just tell me about it, to the extent that you’re allowed."
"Of course!" The wrinkles in the corners of his eyes leap up and down as Lance narrows his eyes and smiles, "I'll take you to the restaurant! The chef here is Italian! "
"Is there lasagna?"
"Of course! You'll join us for the lasagna!"
Lance guided him, descending the revolving staircase on the other side of the landing, and Fernando saw two frolicking migratory birds flying by the window.
"I can tell you about the development of the new car!" Lance was still chattering excitedly.
"You can talk about it?"
"I'll think carefully about what I can and what can’t."
"You seem to know a lot about R&D?"
"Hey, are you trying to set me up? I won't fall for it!"
Fernando followed Lance as he pulled out his phone and typed a few words.
Screw Alpine.
Fernando looks down at the green team shirt on his body, the silver plume of the Aston Martin shining. His assistant didn't have any criticism of his decision, the offer Aston Martin made was really good, and leaving Alpine wasn't the wrong decision.
But Fernando never pondered whether he would have made the same decision so quickly if Lance hadn't shown up at Martin's factory that day.
Fernando certainly didn't make a hasty decision on the little career he had left just because of a pretty boy's charming smile. He certainly weighed the performance of the car, the strength of the development, the funding of the team, and compared all the options he currently had side-by-side. He didn't think about Lance and his promise of lasagna when he signed Aston Martin's contract, but Fernando couldn't deny that perhaps Lance was the last straw that influenced his decision.
Nowadays, reflecting on it from the beginning, it might not have been some coincidence of fate and a beautiful encounter.
Damn it.
Fernando didn't "just happen" to be called to the meeting that day, and Lance didn't "just happen" to be at the plant that day. Fernando becomes more and more convinced that the deliberate, pointless, unnecessary and superfluous meeting was a trap by Lawrence Stroll, who arranged for his son to wait outside the conference room to give a sweet, relaxing breeze to the irritable, wavering Fernando. Yes, how possible a businessman as shrewd as Lawrence would sacrifice his precious time to arrange a meaningless meeting, how possible he would not understand Fernando's indecision, how possible he would not know the possible impact of his son's charisma.
Well, he succeeded.
Not only did Fernando gladly sign the contract, participate in the development of the new car, attend PR events and complete pre-season testing, but he is also on the edge of his fucking seat worrying about Lawrence Stoll's son.
It's not that serious. At least it wasn't this serious two hours ago.
Until this morning, he hadn't worried much about Lance, who was just injured and missed pre-season test and maybe a race or two, which was unfortunate, but that's what athletes do, and it's impossible to have a long career with everything going smoothly. He’ll visit Lance, he'll tell Lance he misses him and hopes he gets better soon. Or Lance's injury maybe not as bad as the media is making and he'll show up in the paddock this weekend. Fernando will be there to care for him and to help him catch up on his missing pre-season test.
But now, Lawrence Stroll told him with all sincerity that Lance was hurt badly, that Lance couldn't even unscrew a bottle cap three days ago, that Lance couldn't walk smoothly so far, and he begged Fernando to go and persuade Lance. He said Lance was willing to listen to him.
Lance was willing to listen to him.
Fernando looks once more at the front door of the hotel. Perhaps the Canadian boy would appear behind the glass doors in the next second. Will his medical team accompany him? Will he need assistance to walk? Will his hands be covered in bandages?
Fernando ordered another cup of coffee, and he takes several deep breaths to attempt to shake off these confusing worries and anxieties.
This is not right, this might be another trap for Lawrence Stroll. Fernando is thinking. The shrewd businessman has already taken advantage of his son once, and it is hard to say he won’t do it again. Last time he used this trick to sign the most experienced racer in the paddock, so what is the purpose of this one?
Lance finally appears in the hotel lobby.
Fernando uses his coffee cup to curb his urge to jump up and rush over. Lance walks slowly, but doesn't need any assistance. His manager and medical team surround him.
The agent whispers something in Lance's ear, and the Canadian nods and heads straight for the restaurant, leaving his manager to check in at the front desk.
Lance obviously knew Fernando was here.
Lance starts waving at him from 30 meters away, and when he gets a little closer, Fernando gets a good look at his smile, just as he did that day outside the door of the conference room. Lance walks slowly, and Fernando has enough time to watch his smile blossom into a warmer and warmer one.
Fernando tries to maintain a graceful social etiquette and doesn't stand up, instead just waving at Lance.
"Fernando!"
The Spanish swears he has fallen in love with the lazy R's pronunciation as Lance calls his name.
Instead of sitting across from Fernando, Lance pulls back the chair to the Spanish's right - rubbing his thighs together, to be exact - and sits in without hesitation.
Fernando only has to extend his arm to touch this source of his anxiety and unease. He could even smell the faint scent of Lance's antiseptic water.
"Let me see your hand." Fernando says.
The corners of the Canadian's mouth tightened for a moment, as if hesitating, but eventually he puts both arms out in front of Fernando.
Were his wrists always this slender? --Fernando couldn't believe that was his first thought. Then he too reaches out and gently rests Lance's wrists.
Both wrists are covered with sterile patches, in different places, covering the surgical wounds. His wrists are even slimmer than they look, and Fernando has no doubt that he could hold them in a single grip.
"Does it hurt?" Fernando asks with a frown.
"It hurts," Lance answers honestly.
"Then ......"
"Hey, stop." Lance interrupts, "I know what you're going to say."
"Lance."
"I know what I'm doing." Lance interrupts again, "I know my dad came to see you."
He knew? Fernando looks up at Lance, whose eyebrows are habitually furrowed and a ripple drifts through his dark eyes.
"I never should’ve told him that much," Lance mumbles as if to himself.
Another thought drifts through the depths of Fernando's consciousness: maybe it wasn't all Lawrence's trap at all, but Lance's.
But before he can think about it, he is interrupted by Lance's sudden blooming smile, "Fernando, you have to tell me about the test."
This almost begging tone hits Fernando's heart, and against the backdrop of Lance's brilliant smile, the Spanish is suddenly a little overwhelmed.
"I still have to run the simulator." Lance beams, putting on an innocent and helpless expression, "Can you give me a little guidance?"
"No problem." Fernando thinks for a long time and only holds out this sentence.
"Seriously, tell me quickly, how is our car really?" Lance smiles, takes Fernando's hand with one hand and tries to pull him up from the chair. The force of that hand is very light, but Fernando can't resist; he's not afraid of it breaking because it's injured, he just can't refuse.
The only shred of sense left in Fernando's mind couldn't tell him whether this was Lawrence's trap or Lance's strategy. Well, Lance has inherited the shrewdest businessman's brain after all, and if Lance was sure of tempting him from the start, how an ordinary Spanish driver can get away with it.
Fernando looks at Lance's back, full of youthful strength and leaping energy, as he is gently tugged by him out of the restaurant and towards the place where they will fight together.
Whatever.