Drive me Wild, Rival(BL)

Alaric

When I finally pulled into parc fermé, the blue P1 winner’s board was already waiting in front of my designated spot.

The media cameras were closing in on the cockpit before I had even turned off the engine, and the Ferrari mechanics were climbing over one another at the pit wall barrier, screaming my name in pure ecstasy.

Dami was there first.

He grabbed me the absolute second we both climbed out of our cockpits and dropped onto the tarmac.

He lifted me completely off my feet.

"You did it!" he shouted, his helmet knocking hard against mine as he shook me. "You crazy driver, you actually did it!"

I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him back, letting my body mimic the motions of celebration because my head was entirely somewhere else.

What was happening to Nico?

My teammates all gathered around, and I gave them a few handshakes, accepted congratulations, and let a team coordinator shove a Pirelli winner’s cap onto my messy hair.

Camera flashes burst repeatedly against my face, and every smile I gave them felt completely borrowed.

My mind was not at rest.

Across the pit lane, the Red Bull mechanics were completely silent.

They were not celebrating their double podium finish.

Instead, they were clustered tightly around the garage monitors, their heads bent together and hands pressed firmly against their headsets.

I kept looking back at them.

Again and again.

Dami seemed to notice because he stepped beside me and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Hey."

I blinked, tearing my eyes away from the Red Bull garage.

"Hey."

"You won," he said proudly. "The king of the track is back."

I just smiled at him, pretending everything was alright deep down when it really was not.

My eyes caught the giant screens hanging above the paddock again, and I could not help but watch the slow-motion replay of the final lap being broadcast to millions worldwide.

Nico’s Red Bull had inexplicably slowed down during the final moments, and that was how I took the win.

I heaved a deep sigh and looked away, trying hard not to think about it because, after all, I had won.

When it was time for the podium ceremony, we received information that Nico had been taken to the hospital.

He had badly injured his shoulder.

I rubbed my hands together as I stood on the very top step of the podium, holding the winner’s trophy tightly in my hands.

The last time I ever tasted a victory like this was two years ago, when life had not completely fallen apart for me.

But as I stood there, I felt empty because the second-place step remained entirely abandoned.

Down below the actual podium structure, standing awkwardly on the flat level where the dignitaries and mechanics had gathered, was one of Nico’s team members holding Nico’s trophy on his behalf.

A heavy, dark unease settled deep in my gut.

I had spent months, years, tracing the lines of what victory over Nico would feel like.

It was supposed to feel triumphant.

It was supposed to feel like a declaration.

But instead, looking at somebody else holding that silver trophy from the floor while Nico’s step stood abandoned made the metal in my own hands feel utterly counterfeit.

Did I even deserve it? I wondered.

The national anthem began to play, filling the night air while the crowd below cheered in rhythm.

Kelvin stood proudly on the third-place step for the second race in a row, smiling and waving at the fans.

But I, the one who had won, could not pull myself together.

My eyes kept dragging back toward the empty second-place platform.

Then came the champagne.

Someone sprayed me from behind first, the cold sticky foam hitting the side of my face and dripping down the collar of my race suit, and I had to force a laugh and pretend everything was alright.

I wished it was.

I did not know why, but not hearing Nico’s annoying teasing voice in my ear made the whole celebration feel incomplete.

I blocked out all the noise around me and focused instead on his face.

His beautiful face.

His annoying smirk.

The way he called me princess.

Was he alright? I wondered.

My fingers tightened around the glass neck of the champagne bottle until they trembled.

That absolute, unhinged crazy bastard had somehow managed to get under my skin.

I was worried about him as if he were my lover.

Lover?

That word made my entire body tense while my heartbeat suddenly pounded wildly again.

Hell no.

I shook my head at the thought and immediately drank from the glass.

Then came the post-race media pen interview I could not avoid, and I already expected the questions they were going to ask.

"Alaric, congratulations. Your first win of the season. What an incredibly dramatic finish. Can you talk us through those final moments on track with Nico?"

There it was.

The exact question everyone in the world wanted to ask.

And the one question I had absolutely no idea how to answer.

I wiped a streak of white foam from my jaw with the back of my glove, forcing myself to look directly at the interviewer instead of letting my eyes wander back toward the silent Red Bull hospitality suite.

"The race was very brutal," I began. "Park defended his position incredibly well the entire way through. I pushed the car as hard as I possibly could, and when the gap finally opened in the final sector, I took it."

Lies.

Nico had allowed that.

That was how I won.

"Did you notice anything wrong with his car prior to that?"

Yes, I noticed, I wanted to say.

But instead, I replied, "I really do not know."

I lied smoothly because the cameras were too close and Nico was recovering, and I did not want to upset him with my words.

"I have not had the chance to look at the telemetry data yet, but I just hope he is okay."

The interviewer’s expression instantly softened with sympathy.

"Do you have any message for him?"

I looked straight into the lens of the main camera and kept my face carefully neutral.

When I spoke, the concern in my voice was genuine.

"Get well soon, Nico."

My fingers flexed tightly around the microphone stand.

"We still have a championship to fight for."

The interviewer nodded before proceeding to ask more questions.

Once the cameras stopped rolling, I immediately broke away from the PR team and rushed toward the Ferrari hospitality building.

I could not wait any longer.

I had to find out what had happened to Nico.

But then I heard Dami’s voice behind me.

"Are you worried about Nico Park?"