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The sound of your phone ringing pulls you out of your early morning slumber and you blindly reach for where it’s laying on your nightstand, swiping right to accept the call without really looking at the screen, “Hello?”
“Hey,”
You pull the phone away from your ear and look at it in disbelief, thinking maybe this is all a bad dream, but the caller ID confirms it's not, “Blake?”
“Yeah.”
Shit.
“Taff-” there’s an urgency to his voice that makes your heart beat faster and sends your mind racing because there’s no reason to call this early unless- Oh God- Daniel- What if-
Blake tries again, his voice kinder now. “I need you here.”
You let out a whimper in pain because no- Not like this- God, not like-
“Oh. No that’s not why- Shit. He’s ok,” Blake quickly tells you, “but I need you to listen, ok?”
You nod, then realise he can’t see you and so you whisper, “Ok.”
“There’s a flight from Perth at twelve ten,” Blake tells you, using what you and Daniel dubbed his ‘manager-Blake-voice’. The one that doesn’t take no for an answer. The one who you trust blindly. And so you listen. Even if you don’t know what the hell is going on. “You’re flying Qantas, so you can use priority. I’ve already checked you in, I’ll send you the boarding pass in a couple of minutes. I’ll text you the rest of the information for when you land in Singapore, but there’ll be someone to pick you up, drive you to the track so you can see him before the race starts, ok?”
Twelve ten. Ok. That’s means you’ll have to be at the airport at ten at the latest, even if you only bring a carry-on, so you’ll have to leave here at nine-thirty, which is an hour from now, so technically there’s enough time, unless-
Blake’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “I need you to make this flight, ok? It’s important.”
It’s important.
The words echo through your mind as you try to connect the dots, try to figure out what it is you’re missing, try to understand why Blake would call you at eight AM on a Sunday morning during the Singapore Grand Prix weekend, asking you to fly out not even four hours later. You try to come up with a million other reasons why he needs you there but it’s no good- You know there can be only one.
People say that whenever something mentally or physically terrifying happens, a person will either fight, or flight. You like to think there’s a third option; save what you can and make sure no one gets left behind. And so you ask, “Do you want me to pick up Joe and Grace?”
“No.”
You push yourself up from where you’ve been sitting on the edge of the bed and walk over to the window, peeking through the curtains to find the sun already high in the sky, “No, they’re driving to the airport themselves, or-”
“No, they can’t make it in time.”
“Blake,” you whisper, something heavy settling deep in your chest because this is not how it’s supposed to go. “If this is- If he’s-” You take a shaky breath, “They should be there.”
“I know, babe, but-” he sounds absolutely defeated. “I looked at all the options but with them at Karroun Hill they’re too far from an airport to make it work on such short notice.”
You feel your throat go dry, because his parents should be there. “Michelle then?”
“She’s got the kids-”
“I can take the kids,” you offer immediately. “If I go over there and watch the kids, Michelle can go. They might still let you change the name on the ticket if you-”
“No-”
You start to feel yourself get desperate, “He needs his family there, Blake.”
“Babe,” Blake tries again, his voice filled with sympathy. “You’re his family too.”
***
It takes you forty minutes to shower, pack a small overnight bag, and leave the house. Of course you need to stop for gas, which costs you another ten minutes, but ninety minutes after Blake called you’re at the airport and waiting for your flight to board. Which isn’t for another two hours.
You kill the time by having breakfast, or try to anyway, because you’re way too nervous to eat more than a couple of bites and so instead you find a quiet corner and send a text to Grace and Joe to let them know you’re flying out to Singapore. Michelle gets a text too- by now you know better than to call anyone in a public place, especially with this kind of sensitive information- and she replies within minutes, telling you to give her brother a big hug when you see him.
You decide against texting Daniel, don’t want him to be distracted, and instead you spend your time people-watching and remembering the last time you were in Singapore, two years ago, when Daniel finished fifth in that piece of shit McLaren. It was his best result in that god awful final year with the team and so you ignored Zak Brown’s pleas to celebrate with the team and instead opted for a quiet celebration with just the two of you.
You’re so lost in thoughts you almost miss the final boarding call but there’s a kind gentleman next to you that nudges your elbow and says, “Isn’t that your flight, sweetheart?”
***
In the end, there’s a delay leaving Perth, a delay arriving at Singapore, and a neverending queue at customs. To say you’re on edge when you finally get into the car Blake sent to pick you up would be an understatement. It’s already past eight in the evening and there’s no way you’ll make it to the track in time to see Daniel before the race. Your already broken heart breaks into a million more pieces at the thought of that and it takes everything you have not to break down right then and there.
The driver seems to feel there’s an urgency, weaving in and out of traffic effortlessly, dropping you off at the paddock entrance a mere twenty minutes later with a hesitant smile. You make sure to thank him by tipping generously before you get out of the car and step into the hot Singapore air.
With only a few minutes left until the race starts there’s an almost eerie quiet in the paddock, most people getting ready in their respective garages, pit walls, or starting boxes, and so you make it through the gates and into the alley behind the garages with relative ease. No one seems to pay you any mind as you walk to the VCARB garage, which suits you just fine.
The formation lap starts just as you enter the back of the garage, the roar of the engines sending a shiver down your spine. You find your way through the maze of corridors, offices, and driver rooms with relative ease, grabbing your pair of headphones as you pass the comms wall, and then all of a sudden you’re in the actual garage and there’s no going back.
You look around and find Blake in his usual spot, near the back, standing a little to the side so he can keep an eye both on the monitors and the pit wall. The pit crew is too busy watching the cars line up on the starting grid and so you’re able to sneak past them to stand next to Blake. You look at him once you’ve put your headphones on and connected them to the comms unit and your heart, oh your heart. He looks so defeated, the sad smile he wears so unlike him, and you hate it.
There’s so much to say and yet you both keep quiet, knowing now’s not the time. It’ll come- After.
And so when Blake puts his arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, just as the red lights come on one by one, you have to bite your lip to keep from crying and try to get time to slow down. You don’t want this race to ever start. Or end.
***
It’s when Daniel gets boxed on lap fifty-eight that Blake nudges you and motions for you to take your headphones off. When you do, he leans in and puts his mouth close to your ear, “Pierre’s going to share his channel with yours after the finish, ok?”
All of a sudden there’s a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod.
***
“Ok mate, thanks again for the hard work,” you can hear Pierre tell Daniel. “When we stop at the bridge, P1 on full-car switch-off, P0 on everything else.” On the screen you see Pierre looking at the garage from over his shoulder, “There’s someone here with a special message for you, Daniel.”
“Hi babe,” you start, the tears you’ve been fighting all day finally spilling over. “I just want you to know that I’m so proud of you.”
There’s a lot of static on the line but you think you hear him let out a quiet laugh, “Ah, I can’t believe this.”
“I’ll see you in a bit, ok?” You smile through your tears, “Take it all in, Dan. It’s yours.”
On the screen that shows you his onboard camera, you can see him nod. It takes a while before he answers, but when he does his voice is full of emotion, “Yep. Understood.”
***
It’s when the screens show Daniel sitting in his car, in Parc Fermé after the race, that you need to step out of the garage and into the corridor that leads to Daniel’s driver room. Because all of a sudden it hits you. He’s never going to have a moment like this ever again. The quiet crying from earlier turns into big, ugly sobs because God, it hurts. There’s too many people around for anyone not to notice you and so you use your access code to unlock Daniel’s room and step inside, a safe haven in the middle of all this madness.
You try some of the breathing techniques Michael taught you when he was still working with Daniel and after a few minutes you’ve calmed down, if only a little. It’s then the door opens and Daniel steps inside and all of a sudden it’s like nothing else exists. He looks the way you feel and so you are wrapping your arms around him before he’s even had the chance to close the door behind him and tell him, over and over and over again, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
You know there’s not much time, know he has interviews and debriefs to get to, and so you pull back a little and cup his face, rubbing your thumbs over the stubble of his beard before you lean in and kiss him. Hard.
“I should go,” Daniel whispers against your lips.
“I know-”
“Wait for me?”
“Take as long as you need.” You stand on your toes and press another kiss to his lips, “You know I’d do anything for you, right?” There’s a hint of that mischievous smile you fell in love with all those years playing on his lips, and so you match his smile and add, “And-”
Of course he plays along, “And?”
You rest one hand against his chest, over his heart, “You love me for it.”
He lets his hands fall to your hips and rests his forehead against yours, sharing a breath, “That I do.”
“That you do.”
He presses a kiss to your forehead then, “Always.”