Footsteps on the stairs draw our attention. Blake descends, taking in the scene with a knowing smile. Unlike the others, there's not a hint of surprise in his expression—of course there isn't. I discussed our plans with him extensively, weighing the implications for the team, preparing for the media response.
"Welcome to the Colton-Foster couple," he says, eyes twinkling. "Though I must say, the hyphenation needs work."
I blush deeper, while William's face lights up with a mixture of pride and bashfulness. "Colton-Foster has a niceringto it," he says, squeezing my hand.
EJ shakes his head, looking between us. "How did I miss this? When did this happen?"
Felix chuckles, clapping the younger driver on the shoulder. "You must not be paying attention if you didn't notice the tension between these two."
"Please"—I find my voice at last, though it comes out softer than intended—"don’t push this theme a lot. I... We shouldn't be the focus. I really don't like our relationship being a gossip topic."
"We all care about you two," Belforte says, his gruff voice gentler than usual. "So, congratulations. But don't worry—we've got a race to try to get as many points as possible. That's still the priority."
William nods, giving my hand one last squeeze before finally releasing it. "Speaking of which, I should grab Tom to talk about the car setup."
As he moves away, the rest of the team disperses as well, returning to their pre-race preparations with knowing smiles. Only Blake remains beside me, his presence steady and familiar.
"You okay?" he asks quietly.
I take a deep breath, surveying the motorhome that's been my second home for years. It feels different now—warmer somehow, despite the professional chaos resuming around us.
"Yes," I say, and for the first time since the taxi arrived, I truly mean it. "I'm okay."I think.
The comfortable chaos of our team reunion settles into work mode, everyone shifting back to their pre-race routines. William huddled with Tom over telemetry data, Maya guiding EJ through setup changes, Blake disappearing upstairs with his ever-present tablet. I'm just about to retreat to my temporary office when the main door swings open. Conversation halts as Oliver Lenox—four-time world champion, ProTech Energex's lead driver, the Ice King himself—steps into our motorhome. His piercing blue eyes scan the room, shoulders relaxing visibly when they land on William.
"Looks like someone is back," Oliver says, his usually reserved expression softening.
William turns at the sound of Oliver's voice, his body going completely still. I've never seen him look like this—frozen between disbelief and overwhelming emotion. For a moment, Iwonder if he's having a panic attack, but then he moves, covering the distance between himself and Oliver in quick strides.
He doesn't speak. Instead, he wraps his arms around Oliver in a fierce embrace, face pressed against the taller man's shoulder. Oliver seems momentarily startled but returns the hug with equal intensity. William's shoulders begin to shake, and I realize he's crying—not the quiet tears I've seen during our private moments, but open, unrestrained emotion.
"Thank you," William whispers, voice breaking. Then louder, "Thank you.Thank… you." The words pour out between sobs, raw and unfiltered. "You saved me. You stopped your car. You could have been hurt, too. Thank you."
Oliver moves his hand to the back of William's head, the gesture surprisingly paternal from someone known throughout the paddock for his emotional detachment. The rest of us stand frozen, witnessing something intensely private yet unable to look away. This is a side of William few have seen—vulnerable, unguarded, his usual cocky façade completely stripped away by gratitude.
"I'm a human first, driver second," Oliver says quietly, still holding William. His voice carries throughout the silent motorhome. "I've already lost too many important people in my life by being a driver first, and human second. I wasn't about to make the same mistake again."
The melancholy in his eyes catches me off guard. There's a story there—a painful one. I try to recall what I know about Oliver's personal life. He dated the same woman for years, since before he entered F1—Stephanie… something. They were the paddock's golden couple, childhood sweethearts. Then suddenly, around the time of his first championship, they weren't together anymore. No announcements, no explanations. Not that he owed any. He simply stopped mentioning her,stopped bringing her to races. The paddock gossip machine churned briefly before moving on to juicier targets.
William pulls back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, clearly embarrassed by his outburst but making no attempt to hide it. Oliver reaches up and ruffles William's hair affectionately, like an older brother.
Then, to everyone's surprise, Oliver's gaze shifts to me. "There you are," he says, voice warming. "How are you holding up, Ice Queen?"
The familiar way he addresses me sends a ripple of confusion through the room. The team's collective gaze shifts between us, questions forming. Only Blake remains unsurprised—he knows our history, of course. He was there during my early years, when I was still chasing the dream of being a driver myself.
Oliver crosses the room toward me, arms outstretched in greeting. I step forward into his hug, the casual familiarity still strange after all these years.
"Fairly well now," I say as we separate. "A bit stressed about having to manage expectations about a private relationship in public."
Oliver chuckles, the sound dispelling some of the room's lingering tension. "She's actually even more amazing than you think," he says, turning to address the others while keeping one arm loose around my shoulders.
William stares at us, confusion written plainly across his face. "Do you guys know each other?"
The question hangs in the air, innocent yet loaded with implication. Oliver's smile widens as he gives me a gentle side-hug.
"This badass woman handed my ass to me constantly in karting," he explains, amusement dancing in his eyes. "We were teammates in 2003 in the regional karting championships. That’s where our nicknames come from—the Ice King andQueen." He points dramatically in my direction. "She won the championship that year. I went back home to cry."
I laugh, memories flooding back of mud-splattered race suits and trophy ceremonies. "If it consoles you, you're chasing your fifth championship in F1, so... I think that's a good trade-off."
