That’s not why you had a falling-out?
No.
I hesitate. Should I say this now? I kind of have to.
What DID happen with Bernard?
I should probably know.
I start to tack on an addendum—if you feel comfortable sharing—then stop myself. Knowing the truth behind Faust’s grudge is necessary at this point. I have to know what I’m working with. The ellipsis of his text bubble floats across my screen, the dots hopping and dipping to the steady rhythm of my very loud heart.
My phone chimes.
We grew up together.
We met in the stark benzin karting program when we were kids. We were friends. Instantly.
And SB wouldn’t have kept me around if his parents hadn’t helped my family financially. But that was before his younger brother Jean started racing. I think that’s how it started to break down, right from the start. SB only wanted to invest in a few kids per “generation” and Jean wasn’t that much younger.
At first they tried to stop covering costs but Bernard said he’d quit if his dad quit on me. That was when we were about 13, in the feeder series. They knew Bernard would be good, so they kept going with me. But they knew I’d be good too.
When we both signed with SB we’d promised to keep it clean.
It worked for a while. Then it didn’t.
That was—a lot? He’s sharing a lot. I try to picture Faust sprawled out on a hotel bed in Baku, a big fluffy white robe on and his feet kicking as he texts me, like it’s nothing. Maybe it is to him, and sharing his life story doesn’t feel like razoring off the outer layer of his ego. Heisa celebrity. Ego death must be more attainable.
But he’s so private, too.
I fidget with my phone case as I reply.
So what caused the falling-out?
More ellipses. More wondering if this will be the final straw.
We’d gone out one night before a race. Monaco. Of course. He drank a lot. I didn’t. The next day, he drove into me. It’d been an accident. He was hungover. We talked right after, and he promised he’d tell the mediathe truth. I was dealing with the shit that comes from winning a WDC when you aren’t one of F1’s chosen ones. And it was Monaco. So.
So, the town that Formula 1 took over. Empathy makes my chest tight.
And then he has his interview and they’re asking what happened because F1 has always loved him. And he says it was my fault. Because I’d been having migraines. No one knew before then that I had them.
It broke my life.
I reread that one sentence so many times that my eyes burn. Faust is so strong, so stable. It’d take a true disaster to break him. And then I’m thinking about the medication bottles in his room, and how he’s been hiding that he wants to quit racing, and him protecting Christine’s image in the cooldown room, and how he’d followed me like a guard dog when he’d thought I was interested in Bernard. And if thinking about him and his big, loyal heart wasn’t suffocating before, it is now.
Am I keeping you from any important morning meetings?
Also, thanks. For sharing
I’m sorry you had to deal with that as a kid
And as a teen
And now
Haha.
And no.
