‘All right, Kian. Keep your focus. You’ve got this.’ Cole’s voice has been in my ear for years, and it’s reassuring that he hasn’t lost faith in me either.
‘Thanks, Cole. Let’s do this!’
Yesterday was admittedly a little shaky, but I always seem to perform better when I’m wheel to wheel with every other driver on the track. Even if that includes Harper, who I can’t help but see is waiting to go in fourth.
Starting in eighth isn’t ideal, but the second the race starts I feel myself slipping back into the focus that’s got me where I am today.
Everything feels good around me – the halo is secure, the steering feels smoother, the skid on the track so much better than yesterday. It doesn’t take me long to feel the thrill of driving again.
I start moving up, first P7 and then P6. I feel good, I feel settled, and I’m starting to enjoy myself. That trophy will be Cassie’s, just like I promised.
It takes a couple of laps, but I’m powering in to P5, Harper just ahead of me. He hasn’t managed to move up at all, but he’s maintained his position, so I’ve got to give him that at least. I’m determined to take him. I cannot finish behind this little twat who seems to know how to push every single one of my buttons.
But he’s got some impressive little techniques to force me into bad positions behind him so I can’t sneak past. We don’t run a policy at Hendersohm where driver one has priority. I know some teams have a strategy and they work together as a pair, but that’s not how we do things. Elijah and I were always equals on the track, and that worked for us.
But there’s something about the way Harper’s driving that really pisses me off. It’s like he’s teasing me with opportunities and then swinging in to close them off the second I take the bait and go for it. He’s playing with me.
But I’ve got years of experience under my belt. I know this track, I know the car, I know what I’m doing.
‘Cole, what’s the difference?’ I ask.
‘Point six,’ he replies.
So, when I see the opportunity, I open the DRS and gain an advantage, sliding past him with the grace and poise of a ballet dancer.
It’s unbelievably satisfying.
Take that, you arrogant twat. Watch and learn how the big boys do it.
But when I move up into P3, Harper’s right behind me.
I just need to tune him out and focus on my own race, my own schedule, my own routine. He’s a rookie. He’s good, but he’s a rookie. I’m the reigning champion and I’m defending my title. One bad press interview doesn’t change that.
I’m pulling overtaking manoeuvres that feel as natural to me as breathing, until I’m nearly up front where I belong. It’s easy to feel content here, especially when I’ve only been able to see one person up ahead of me for the last half a lap. Whoever it is, I’m close enough to see that their car is bouncing almost out of control. If we weren’t racing, I would think they were listening to ACDC up ahead.
‘Can you confirm I’m in P2, Cole?’ I ask over the headset, just in case I’ve been so in the zone that I’ve missed something.
‘P2 confirmed. Just Yorris out ahead of you.’
So, only one rogue Ferrari guy to fly past and with how bad he looks and how good I feel, I’m confident it won’t be difficult.
The last third of the race sitting up front, almost leading the pack, feels like the heaven I’ve spent the last decade and a half building. My eyes are on the road and with Cole in my ears there’s nothing we can’t do. We’re unstoppable. Not even Yorris will stop me.
‘Three laps to go, Ki. Straight coming up.’ I take the bends, watching mostly for the narrow one, and the second I hit the straight I’m on max power, looking for the sweet spot and then flying past Yorris and whatever issues he’s facing.
‘P1!’ Cole tries not to shout, but there’s an eruption going on behind him in the garage.
I’m three laps from smashing out of the first race of the season, my mind sharp and the car performing, as I pass the line for one of the last times. Two laps, just two laps from victory. So close and yet so far because before I know it there’s a car up my ass locking on to me, and I can feel them being pushed by a car right behind them, too.
‘Give me P2 and P3, Cole.’
I need to know what I’m up against right now so I can plan how to handle these final laps and still keep pole position.
‘Yorris in P2 and James in P3,’ Cole confirms, and for a second I almost lose focus. He can’t be right.
‘Can you confirm P3 again, please?’ There’s no way. It’s one thing for a rookie to shit out a good lap in qualifying, but another for them to be battling for podium in their first race.
‘It’s Harper, mate. Really battling with Yorris. Might be one of those moments for the history books.’
