Page 40 of Dirty Air
When the song ends, Fritz looks out over the crowd, his eyes falling on the group of white and blue. His team.
The gold medal rests heavily around his neck. The trophy is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Fritz kisses it before showing it off to the crowd, to his team.
He’s the last to grab the champagne, and he’s ruthlessly attacked by the others, blinded before he can find his own bottle. Someone shows him mercy, handing him his champagne, and he immediately goes on the offensive, stalking after Henry, even after he’s retreated to the front of the stage.
Lucas upturns his bottle over Fritz’s head, pulling his race suit at the collar to make sure it really gets in there. Instead of retribution, Fritz and Henry both try to soak their team members, spraying the champagne as far as they can from the raised stage.
Once the carbonation has settled, the four tap the bottoms of their bottles together and Fritz takes a big swig. It’s way too fizzy to drink quickly, but he tries his best, nearly choking in the process.
Lucas grabs a hold of Fritz and faces him towards the crowd, waving. Hopefully someone takes a picture of them together like this. It would be better than a selfie, really.
“Ask someone to help wash it off,” Lucas says, his smile almost conniving. “Or your back will stick to everything for the next week.”
“Are you offering?”
Fritz and Henry haven’t talked about exclusivity yet, but it’sLucas Bauer. Henry will understand.
Lucas laughs and hooks his arm around Fritz’s neck. “I like you.”
It’s the second-best thing that's happened today.
After team photos and interviews and congratulations and social videos, it’s been hours and Fritz is still wearing his race suit. The fabric has long dried, but it sticks to him, his Nomex stiff and unyielding. It’s hard to bend his limbs at the joints, but he’s hyped up on enough adrenaline to keep pushing forward.
He had to surrender his trophy to someone who packs for the team, but Fritz continues to clutch the neck of his champagne bottle and offers a swig to anyone he talks to.
“We’re heading back to the hotel, y’all want a ride?”
Fritz doesn’t know William’s race engineer well, but he recognizes him at a glance. Not that it matters. At this point, he’d readily throw himself into any vehicle that promised to take him to a hot shower.
Fritz and Priya, his handler for the weekend, climb into the black SUV. When his eyes adjust, he’s surprised to see Henry in the back row. Fritz gives a meek wave with his bottle hand and Henry returns it with a smile.
Once they roll out of paddock parking, the car is immediately swarmed by fans who try to peer through the tint.
“Normally we get through this mess by lowering the windows. They leave when they see we’re nobody,” William’srace engineer explains from the back. “Harder to do this time. Maybe you can duck?”
“Sorry about this.” Fritz looks around for a marker but Priya already has one at the ready. “They usually leave after I sign some things.”
He rolls down his window and the volume of screams increases tenfold as Fritz waves to the awaiting fans. Some of them have his personal merch, which is nice to see. He’ll have to tell Ella it’s selling well.
Fritz signs whatever is thrust in his direction and takes a few selfies. None of the pictures look any good, with the lighting difference being what it is, but he’s happy to oblige and the mob slowly backs away.
“Stay safe,” he calls out, raising his window as the SUV peels away. He recaps the marker and hands it back. “I cannot imagine how difficult things are for the popular ones. This is already rough.”
William’s race engineer laughs, so Fritz turns to see what is funny. He’s just looking back at him.
“He’s completely serious.” Priya has her phone out as she searches for flights. “There’s one for 10 a.m., is that too early? If you’re planning on going out tonight, I can find one for the afternoon.”
“Afternoon sounds good.”
“You seriously don’t know you're popular?” William’s engineer asks. “Every time I wear the team kit, I get stopped by someone wanting to meet you. My own niece asks about you. She doesn’t even like Formation 1.”
Fritz turns all the way around, shooting an accusatory glance at Henry. “You said I was the least popular driver.”
“I said you had the least followers, and that was true at the beginning of the year.” Henry flashes his smuggest smile. “Youalso had zero points, zero podiums, and zero race wins. A lot can change in a season.”
When they arrive at the hotel, Priya makes a beeline to the front desk to postpone Fritz’s check out. “Congratulations on your win,” she calls behind her, though it obviously just added to her own workload.
William’s race engineer thumbs it to the hotel bar. “Wanna join me for drinks?” Just beyond his shoulder, people already have their phones out.
