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Summary
The track is still rain slicked and soggy when Charles reaches to touch habitually over the exact spot where the metal always rests only to find—nothing. He runs his fingers down the front of his neck a second time, covering more area, over his collar bones even, thinking maybe the chain came undone and slipped down his shirt, but no, there’s nothing. The ground around his feet, the pile of his things off to the side, every place it could be and still: Nothing.
Up and down the grid, drivers are preparing for the race start, eyeing the clearing sky skeptically, ducking into shared air with their engineers, and thinking of tires and corners, but not him. No, he’s losing air.
OR: Charles wears a hidden collar during races, but loses it before the Malaysian GP. Max finds him during the red flag and puts him on his knees to calm him before the race re-starts.
Series
- Part 4 of sweet, ripe verse
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