Page 79 of Dirty Air
Henry wants to be partners.
“Alright.”
“Alright?” Henry repeats, tentatively.
“I think a blow job would have been better than this conversation, but alright.”
Henry grins and pulls Fritz into a warm, sticky embrace. There's still drool drying on his chest. “I thought about you the entire time.”
Fritz buries his face in the nape of Henry’s neck. “I did not think about you at all.”
Henry laughs and pulls back. “We really need to pack now, c’mon.”
By the time Fritz has shoved everything into his bags, both Henry and Dieter are waiting for him in the lobby. At least withHenry sharing their car, Fritz can avoid Dieter saying “I told you not to do that” for forty minutes straight.
Fritz wanted to end the season on a high note, but it’s difficult to do so in a VFIBR. He finishes in the points, though—P8 for the last race of the year.
When he returns to the garage from parc ferme, everyone’s clapping. Fritz joins in, clapping and looking around, wondering if Lucas snuck in when he wasn’t looking. Instead, the mechanics laugh at him.
“Gonna miss you, buddy,” Antonio says, throwing an arm around him.
“Me?” Fritz is more than a little surprised. “But I am still going to be in the paddock. Just, over there.”
He points in the vague direction of the Red Boar garage. They’re at opposite ends this year, but next year they’ll be much closer, with VFIBR finishing fifth in the championship instead of dead last.
“You’ll have to come visit,” someone says.
“No, he’s not allowed,” another responds. “We can’t have him stealing top secret VFIBR secrets!”
Fritz laughs, though it probably isn’t nice to do so.
The group parts to let William through, and the other driver approaches with a modest smile. “It was good racing against you,” he says. “You always pushed me to do better, and I’m grateful for that.”
Fritz isn’t sure what to say but, “Yeah, you too.”
They shake hands and half-hug to the sound of clapping and camera shutters, but it feels just as forced as any of their other interactions.
“Hey,” William murmurs. “You wanna do a helmet swap?”
Fritz grimaces. “I am sorry.” He’s not. “I already asked Lucas.”
“Oh yeah, I understand.”
Fritz makes his rounds in the garage, accepting well wishes from his entire crew. As soon as one person takes out their phone, they’re all phones-out and asking for selfies.
With every new picture, with every new goodbye, it becomes clearer that Fritz is about to leave his entire team, not just his car.
They’ve had twenty-two races together. Some of them have stuck by him for double that. They’ve shared meals, flights, hangover remedies, a win, even.
Fritz grew close to his team over the course of the year, and the farewell hits harder than he ever expected it too.
He tears up—barely—but, since all eyes are on him, everyone immediately notices.
“He’scrying!” Jeremy laughs. “He’s going to Red Boar and he’s fuckin’ crying!”
“Shut up!” Fritz says, smacking him and wiping his eye.
“He’s going to miss us!”
