HOME | charles leclerc

nine.

I think I fell asleep earlier last night than I had in months.

The group of us went out for dinner a tad late, but when we reached our hotels, I showered and climbed into bed almost immediately. I don't even remember falling asleep, but I do remember my alarm blaring and startling me awake.

Charles had convinced me to go to breakfast with him and the others, all of us quiet with tiredness, only starting up conversation toward the end of the meal. Max and Charles had to disappear to head to the track earlier than the rest of us, needing to get ready to race later today. Kelly, Danny, Grace, and I, however, enjoyed a few more hours around the area before I was the one who had to head to the track.

I got ready in our lone reporter room, the place packed with all of us trying to get camera ready. Lissie and I joking around with Caleigh for the rest of our time before needing to be in position.

It was turning out to be a pretty good day.

Until it wasn't.

For the drivers, at least.

My jaw hung low as it was announced that Charles would be retiring at lap 39, DNFing the race, something he rarely ever did. Apparently, he was having some serious engine trouble.

All of us reporters stood quietly as Charles all but stormed through the area we were set up in. It was obvious he wasn't in the best mood. I get it, I wouldn't be either.

The race continued and a couple more laps passed before I felt my watch vibrate. I looked down at it, a text from Charles. Je ferai une interview après m'être calmé, juste pour toi. (I'll do an interview after I calm down, just for you.) I smiled at the text, "loving" it before returning my attention back to the race. Secretly, I loved the special treatment I received from him and the other drivers. It made me feel special - and made the male reporters jealous.

We still had about 15 laps to go in the race when Charles texted me. Knowing him, we'd be down to nearly the last 5 before he emerged from his driver room. I knew Charles too well to know that he wouldn't cool down quickly, he always took a hot minute to level himself out again.

Unbeknownst to me, Oscar had DNFed much earlier than Charles had. I'm not sure why I hadn't caught it, but I only realized when I saw that Esteban DNFed and the screens only read that 17 drivers were still in the mix instead of 18.

A familiar name being said over the radios caught my attention, my eyes going wide at what they were saying. Lando's car was having problems and had been nearly the whole race. He was having to pit every 10 laps to fix whatever was going on in his car. Gosh, I don't want to be the subject of his wrath when the race was over.

Sure enough, like I had predicted, when 5 laps left flashed on the screen, Charles showed up in front of me. I could hear other reporters calling to him, but his attention was nowhere else but on me.

I winced at the question I was about to ask him, but thankfully, Charles knew I was just doing my job. "Charles, a DNF on lap 39. Not the best start to the season after you P3 in Qualifying. What are your thoughts?"

He sighed, shrugging, "I mean, it is what it is. We've got an off weekend coming up, so hopefully the engineers and the rest of the team can fix the issues before then. I'm not too down about it, still hopeful for the season."

A few more questions were asked and then it came to be the last 3 laps. Everyone turned their attention to the screens, anxious to see the final results. Charles tucked himself behind me, next to James, the cameraman. He was still blissfully ignoring the other reporters and had probably decided to just stick around me until I was free to go.

My jaw dropped for what felt like the twentieth time this weekend. Max crossed the finish line and everyone a lap or two down was immediately considered to be done. I studied the results, Lando was two laps down and in last place. This was a terrible start to his season.

Moments later, all of the drivers flooded in to the area, even those who were on the podium. They'd do a couple quick interviews before leaving to go get their trophies.

I, however, winced every time I heard a reporter ask Lando about how rough the start of his season was. How they'd mention how his car had failed him but also how he seemed distracted the whole time.

Before I could focus too much on him and his rightfully foul mood, a figure arrived in front of me. My eyes lit up when I noticed who it was.

"Max Verstappen!" I cheerily greeted him, hugging him quickly before returning to the interview. "First win of the season, how do you feel?"

I was just as proud of Max today as I had when Charles had qualified at P3 yesterday. I'd know Max for years seeing as he and Charles used to compete against each other as teens. They'd been competitors, enemies, and friends for over a decade now, which meant I had been the same.

"I feel great, thank you for asking."

My interview with Max went quick, seeing as he had a podium to get to. I watched as Lewis began approaching me, ready for his own interview, but something was pulling at the back of my mind. Reporters were still criticizing Lando and his performance this weekend.

I tried to not let it bother me, they weren't even talking to me. But, somehow, their words made me feel like my world was crashing in. I couldn't take their harsh words anymore, knowing that part of his distracted state was entirely my fault anyway.

I must've been breathing too heavy, I couldn't tell, but I did know I couldn't see anything. Someone's hands gripped my biceps, guiding me away from my station. I was hyperventilating as we walked, tears stinging at my eyes. I can't believe this was happening, why I was letting myself be so weak. But at the sound of a door closing and the feeling of being forced to sit down on a couch, I let the tears flow, falling into the chest of whoever had guided me back here.

The familiar scent of a certain cologne mixed with sweat clued me in, Charles had grabbed me. He'd been standing there beside me for a while. I wonder if he had seen this breakdown coming and had chosen to stick around to help me out?

"Shhh." He whispered pulling me closer as I sobbed.

His hand soothingly rubbed my back, "You're okay. He's okay." Charles knew I hadn't been crying for myself but for the Mclaren driver we both cared greatly about.

We sat there for a moment, my body molded into his. My sight returned a couple minutes ago, now just blurry from all the tears. Charles let us relax on the couch of his drivers room, knowing that Caleigh had probably seen what was going down and let me off for the rest of the day.

I'll have to apologize to Lissie later.

"He'll be okay, Della, don't worry. One bad race doesn't mean a bad season." Charles reassured me as we sat up, unfolding ourselves from each other. "Carlos talked to him earlier and the kid spilled everything before making Carlos swear not to say anything about the two of you."

I furrowed my brows, trying to figure out where he was going with this.

"He told Carlos he doesn't blame you in the slightest."

Even though I knew that meant that Lando blamed himself, I felt comforted. The last thing I wanted was to be the reason that he didn't do well this season.