Chapter Text
Logan’s first time at a racetrack was filled with excitement, wonder and hope. The second he stepped out of his parents’ car; he could hear the engines of the go-karts and his body filled with a tingling sensation with knowledge that it would be him driving around in just a few hours or so. Even at a young age, he knew that getting out onto the track was important, this would be fun but also a testament to his ability. The result and skill he showcased today would decide his future.
The thought that Logan could be up there with the greats such as Schumacher drove him. Yet, the most exciting thing he was looking forward to experiencing was the friends he’d make at karting. He couldn’t wait to have friends who would have the same hobby as him, friends who he could talk karting with, friends who would understand what it’s like to race on a track.
He found a good group of friends growing up around the circuit, none more prevalent than Oscar. The Aussie always had a way of brightening up the young American’s day, and always knew how to make him feel better. Any dark day would turn light, and Oscar gave Logan the confidence he needed to drive far more than anyone else did.
Everything heightened when he realised, he had fallen in love with Oscar.
He would never tell him. He wouldn’t dare. Their friendship meant too much.
More years passed, Logan stayed in F3 and Oscar flew higher, a reflection on the years to come. Yet, despite the ranks, despite the differences Oscar always stayed. He always walked next to Logan, being the support he needed through tough times. He was always there and never lost his hope in Logan’s ability. He surrounded himself with other drivers too and being thousands of miles from home never mattered.
He thought F1 would be the same. He’d seen the way other Rookies had been accepted; Lando, Alex, George, Yuki. He saw them flourish in their cars, by themselves but also with their friendships, with their support networks. These drivers had known each other through the ranks, Lando had raced with Max, Charles with Geroge and Alex. The current drivers already knew those Rookie drivers. Even Oscar had spent a year on the paddock, getting to know the drivers.
No one knew Logan.
It became obvious through interactions or rather lack of them. How he only really felt comfortable with Oscar and later Alex. No one came to speak to Logan and Logan didn’t have the confidence, or the authority to reach out to the other drivers. He saw them as superstars and proper drivers in their own right, while he just plodded along at the back. A false driver perhaps, a liability on the track and for the team.
And no one wanted to talk to the liability.
It’s twenty minutes until the race starts and Logan finds himself along the pit lane, his back against the fence, facing the grandstand. The Chinese Grand Prix is lively. He looks around and can see all the other drivers chatting in small groups, Zhou having the biggest smile on his face with it being his first home grand prix.
He scans through the other driver groups and spots that Lando has the McLaren camera out again and is filming the likes of Max, the obvious and popular choice. He then wonders halfway down the pit lane to speak to Carlos, a loving smile plastered on his face as he does so and then how he walks back up to find George, the pair laugh like childhood friends would.
He watches how Lando makes the effort to film his friends. He asks them how they think they’ll do the race and they all respond with some generic thing about the car. He watches as they laugh and Lando passes the camera to Oscar.
Oscar takes the camera rather shakily holds it up towards Lando and starts asking questions, whose signature smile was already painted on his face, before spinning his body clockwise and landing on Daniel. Both of the drivers fall into hysterics rather quickly.
Logan watches on and he hopes no one with a camera is pointing it his way. The last thing he wants is for someone to capture the way he is wishfully hoping Oscar would come his way.
Max has wandered into the McLaren interview with Daniel, both are now in hysterics and Oscar looks on almost lost between them. He laughs at the married couple's antics and shakes his head fondly before turning the camera to Lance, who looks awkward and only says probably five words at most. Oscar nods thanks and then shuts the camera before passing it back to a member of the McLaren team.
Logan tries not to feel upset and most importantly, he tries not to feel forgotten. His heart keeps sinking but the Williams Driver takes a shaky breath and puts on his headphones. He tries to let the music distract him from the others and instead focuses on how he’s going to overtake both Haas at the start.
As he turns towards the wall and reaches for his water bottle, he wonders what age he’ll be when loneliness in his life will stop causing him to ache.
P15.
That’s all he manages. A pathetic p15. All that work, all the training, all that investment and nothing. No points. No overtakes. Nothing.
It’s the same thing every race.
After the debrief, he goes straight to the hotel. He didn’t deliberately mean to avoid Alex or James or anyone from Williams really but he didn’t make much effort to see them either. Well, maybe he had been deliberately avoiding his trainer, seeing as he was obliged to be stuck to Logan’s side when he wasn’t racing.
He gently entered his hotel room and slammed the door shut. Like a child scared of the dark, he runs over to the bed, grabs the covers and pulls them fiercely over his head. He slowly and cautiously, as if he was being watched and any movement would cause someone to find him, turns onto his stomach and plants his face heavily into the pillow. The Williams driver takes a few deep breaths as he resists the urge to scream.
Five minutes, maybe ten, no more than twenty at most pass before Logan lifts his head out from under the duvet and goes in search of his phone. It’s on the bed somewhere, he knows that. He had before he hid. His left-hand feels around on the mattress before it finds the familiar rectangular device.
Logan unlocks his phone and on screen, still there is his last message wishing the young Australian a good race. He was starting P5, a great chance at a podium. Not that it happened, Logan only glanced over at the scoreboard as he got out of the car and saw the McLaren driver had only remained there. The message had two blue ticks next to it, read at 14.27.
Logan swung the phone towards his face, the top of the phone touching his lips gently as if he were kissing it. He tried not to take the lack of response to heart. Oscar had other priorities before the race, they all had. Just…he always responded before the race in the past. Always responded with a good luck message of his own. It was their thing, their tradition.
Not today.
He tried to ignore the hurt sensation racing through his veins.
He clicks off messages and decides to risk Instagram. He doesn’t tend to use it nowadays, only when Williams asks him to post something. He manages to avoid all things F1, most of his posts being related to some friends back in the States and companies promoting sports equipment.
The McLaren account finds its way onto his feed and Logan can see the video title is Lando’s interview with Carlos, no doubt a ploy to attract the Carlando fandom. He scrolls down to the comments and finds that McLaren has called it Friend Cam. The comment mentions how Lando and Oscar interviewed all their friends before the race to wish them luck.
He scrolls into the public comments and immediately finds ten comments about the lack of Logan. He reads the comments stating how they thought Logan would be in this, wondering why he’s not in it and if he and Oscar are even friends. That leads to a whole other thread of fans commenting, wondering when the last time they saw the pair together was. He probably should scroll to find out but Logan has never been good at doing the healthy thing.
He decides to scroll.
Turns out it was the Australian Grand Prix.
Logan locks his phone and shuts his eyes.
He’s getting left behind. Not just by Oscar but by everyone.
Everyone else is on the finishing the race and he’s barely left the start.
He feels anxious entering the paddock into the next race. Its Miami. It’s his home race and yet Logan knows he doesn’t feel the comfort any of the other drivers feel at their home races. The Hard Rock Stadium is a childhood memory, not a frequent one and the hot air is unfamiliar to him still after all the years living in London.
The only upside is that his parents and Dalton are around this week, it’s the only race they’re able to visit. He left them in William’s Hospitality Centre, enjoying the food. It wasn’t his intention to leave them there. Just, coming to Miami brings even more expectations than any other race. Here, Logan wants to do well and he tries to do well but everyone knows he’ll be lucky if he doesn’t finish last, or in front of Alpine.
He leaves the Hospitality Centre to take a breather- not to hide. Logan doesn’t need to hide. He is coping perfectly fine. The anxiety is a constant friend now he carries it around for comfort.
It doesn’t stop him from finding the nearest deserted area, which happens to be a group of bins and sitting there. He tries a few breathing exercises he’s been taught in the past and found on YouTube. They manage to calm his pulse and his chest feels a little looser than it did when entering the paddock but everything still feels overwhelming.
Logan decides to stay for another five minutes or so. His family won’t be wondering where he is just yet and he has a lot of time before FP1 to get ready.
He’s just shut his eyes and started breathing through his nose for four seconds when he hears footsteps approaching. He automatically holds his breath, as if whoever is coming will hear him breathing behind the industrial-size bins. The pressure in his chest starts to build, not from anxiety but from too much Carbon Dioxide and Logan slowly and quietly starts exhaling through his nose as the voices become clearer.
‘We should interview Logan on this one.’ He hears. It’s Oscar and Logan gives a small smile as he leans his head against the bin at the calming presence of a familiar voice. He exhales, his chest aching with pleasure.
‘Should we?’ Lando asks and suddenly the calming presence turns sour as Logan shuts his eyes at the question. His breathing becomes shaky and he feels a stab to the heart. He’s not sure why, it’s confirming what he already knew, what he discovered back at the Chinese Grand Prix. Logan doesn’t know Lando and clearly Lando doesn’t think much of Logan, ‘Everyone’s socials are already big and over the top and ‘American’ because of Miami. I don’t think we should add Logan to this. It’ll make it even more…’ American’.’
Logan bites his lip and tries not to let the hurt build. He’s tried so hard since the season started to be more than the American driver. He thought he was doing well with the social posts, the podcast with Alex and greeting more of the fans but to hear Lando state, that to his fellow racers, he will always be the American driver, well, it doesn’t stop the tears that run down his face. He tunes out everything around him and tries to regulate his breathing
He looks straight up, his upper body shaking, and his eyes widen in fear. His gaze is frozen on Nico Rosberg, who looking straight at him, frown on his face and arms crossed. Logan opens his mouth and his initial instinct is to shoot his body across the floor and deny everything to Nico. Instead, Logan opens his mouth and nothing happens. He can’t form any words and his body doesn’t move. Nico opens his mouth with his eyebrows furrowed with a question but some small part of Logan that still works, that still had some instinct instantly shakes his head and he’s able to mutter ‘please.’ The ex-Mercedes driver closes his mouth and glazes over to the McLaren drivers and the other sky reporters.
Logan watches for a few more seconds before bowing his head down again resting on his thighs. He whispers ‘Please go away’ like a mantra, his heart beating fast at the thought of Nico walking over to him and making sure he’s quietly ok. A few seconds pass and Logan doesn’t feel anyone gently touch or shake him. He lifts his head cautiously again to find Nico gone and neither McLaren driver’s can be heard.
He remembers hearing, maybe from Alex, that racing drivers have a 20% chance of dying when racing. It just cements that he’s always had a close relationship with death but somehow it seems even closer these days. It’s not something he’s scared of anymore but something he has started to welcome.
The William’s driver is not sure when he first started imagining his death but over the last few races, his mind has drifted from just thinking of the anxiety. He knows it’s not healthy and if he ever disclosed any of his thoughts to his trainer or James or even Alex, all of them would sit him down and talk to him about all of the help available. That he doesn’t need to live with these thoughts but right now, they’re the only thing that gives him any form of hope.
He’s never thought about taking his own life deliberately either. Not recently. Australia was a low point, one that still hurts but moved on and tried to leave it behind. All his thoughts surround him crashing into the barriers or being injured through an incident with the car, something out of his control.
He’s never the one in control.
Except the bin incident runs through his head, the night before qualifying and in that daydream he becomes the one in control, the one who ends his own life.
He sees it’s a blip the next morning, a moment of tiredness, a moment of weakness. Plus, it was only one thought, one daydream. It meant nothing until every moment he found himself alone, he found himself with only his thought to entertain him the story of him being the one in control, being the one to end it all because frequent. It grows like mould in a damp room, reaching every space available and by Imola, it’s all he can ever think about.
There’s a big difference between thinking of ending your life and actually doing it. He knows that. That’s why he doesn’t say anything to anyone but with a P17 due going wide at Turn 3, the thoughts slowly start to become more. It becomes a decision yet to be made.
He starts tittering on the edge by imagining his funeral, the sad faces, who would go and who wouldn’t. He imagines his parents' eulogy speech and contemplates whether anyone from Prema would make one. He likes to think Oscar would but nowadays he’s not so sure.
It’s the comments on social media that become the final push for him to make the decision. Most of them push for him to give his seat up and give it to more deserving drivers like Ollie, Mick or even Liam. They state how at least one of them if not all, would have gotten points in that race.
Logan can’t help but agree.
He starts to search online, on his own personal phone, because he’s not sure how much monitoring Williams does over his work one. He reads the options available and contemplates options. None of them seems viable, all of them would cause some form of suspicion aside from one.
Overdose.
He decides to keep the tab open so he can easily find it when he needs it.
Once he decides his life is near the end, ironically, he becomes braver. He starts to open up more because what does he have to lose? His seat is definitely going to be a better driver, he won’t be here to read the comments on social media. He’ll just be a footnote in a long list of drivers, who failed to achieve their dreams.
He starts to talk to more of the drivers. He doesn’t care what they think of him, whether they think him bold for even daring to talk to them, or they find him to be ‘American’ or they look at him like dirt on a shoe. He doesn’t care.
The William’s driver finishes his conversation with both Carlos and Charles before leaving with a smile and finding his way to the McLaren drivers. Lando has the camera in his hands again with Oscar looking down at it as if he’s assessing it.
He taps Oscar on the shoulder as a greeting and the young Australian greets him with a smile. Logan smiles back and glances down at the camera.
‘Reckon I could be part of the interview this week?’ Logan asks, feeling brave and even bold. There’s some bite to the question. It’s noticeable too, a slip-up and Oscar side-eyes him, with a frown. Lando looks up from the camera, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. There are a few seconds of silence. Oscar looks between him and Lando and Lando just stares at Logan confused, with some annoyance mixed in
‘If you wanted to be interviewed, all you had to do was ask.’ The older driver states frowning, camera pointing to the floor. There’s a little bit of an accusation with a tone suggesting the Williams driver is making a fuss out of nothing but all Logan can think of is how Carlos, George, Max, Charles or anyone else Lando has interviewed never had to ask.
Worse has been said to him, whether that be to his face or online. A lot worse had been said to him and he’s simply just ignored, defended, or swiped away. Instead, Lando’s statement hits deep. It’s not the suggestion he had to ask to be interviewed, that seems reasonable in a normal situation but on friend cam, it’s the implication that Logan isn’t a friend.
It becomes apparent that Logan, like his driving, clearly overestimated his ability to be brave. The new emotion he had entering the weekend fades because, after all, it was just a façade. Instead, the anxiety that has always been there like a long familiar friend replaces it and swirls in his stomach making itself home again.
‘Ok. Cool. Noted.’
He says it fast and with a smile. His cheeks hurt from the movement, tight due to lack of use and Logan wonders when the last time he smiled was. Lando stares at him still confused and Oscar looks between his teammate and childhood friend, debating whether to say something. Logan notices that he looks agape between them as if he wants to say something but can’t. Five seconds pass and the pause is long enough for Logan to realise Oscar won’t be saying anything today. The American driver nods his head with a huffed laugh, turns his back on the drivers and walks away.
It could be considered an overreaction. It probably is.
‘Logan-‘ The young Australian calls after him and Logan squeezes his nose as if he were in pain. He’s never ignored Oscar calling him before. He was like a pet dog inching closer to his owner, one small shout and Logan would be running to Oscar’s beck and call.
Not anymore.
He strides at a quicker pace than normal to get away from the McLaren drivers and when he knows he’s out of sight, his strides turn into a run which ends with him running to Williams Hospitality Centre and slamming his driver-room door shut.
The tears he held back throughout his escape suddenly start to run down his cheek and he chokes back a sob but keeps his mouth tight shut. He sniffs and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. His skin becomes wet and he rubs it on his fireproofs.
He slowly eases himself into the sofa and inhales shakily. He shuts his eyes and thinks about what an idiot he was back then. Why on earth did he think he could be brave this weekend? What on earth was he thinking he could talk to other drivers? What on earth made him think Lando or Oscar would want him on their Friend Cam post?
He’s so far into a rabbit hole of questions that a simple knock at the door scares the life out of him, causing the Williams driver to practically jump out of his seat. His heart beats fast within his chest and he freezes as if an animal being haunted by his prey.
‘Logan, can I come in?’ The voice behind the door asks. His heart slows when he realises it’s only Alex but Logan does jump out of his seat and instantly starts scrambling around his driver's room, trying to look busy and distracted. He doesn’t want Alex to know he’s been crying because it’ll bring up awkward questions he doesn’t want to answer. In his concern, Alex would then speak to George, who’ll speak to Lando, who’ll talk to the other drivers like Carlos and Oscar and before Logan can even enter the paddock tomorrow, everyone will be talking about him.
‘You ok?’ Alex asks loitering in the doorway, his head resting against the doorframe and arms crossed. It’s a rather casual pose and a familiar one. Logan can’t sense any underlying motive just by the quick glance over.
‘No.’ He declares that despite his efforts, it is obvious something is wrong. He can’t hide the red eyes and the puffy red cheeks. What he can do though is lie his way through it, ‘I can’t find my hay fever tablets. I don’t know where my trainers put them and my eyes are going crazy.
He’s surprised he’s managed to come up with it so quickly. Then again, when everyone asks how you are every day and you respond with a big grin, lying comes easy.
‘I didn’t realise you suffered from it.’ Alex frowns.
‘I don’t.’ Logan says exasperated and he realises how harsh he sounds. He takes a deep breath and fruitlessly moves the charge from outside his bag, ‘Normally… I have tablets.’
Maybe if he keeps looking through more bags, Alex will leave and Logan can wallow in peace again.
‘Listen, sorry about Lando earlier.’ Alex says and Logan starts internally screaming because he’s not sure how he’s going to have this conversation without falling back into tears, ‘Sometimes his brain and mouth don’t connect.’
Perhaps it wasn’t an overreaction. Or maybe Alex is trying to be nice.
Probably the latter.
There’s a second of silence and Logan has two choices; one frame ignorance over it all and really invest in finding some non-existent tablets or two, admit to Alex that yeah it really hurt and really sucked and that Logan feels completely isolated from everything and everyone, which will no doubt lead to him opening up about everything.
Option two would cause a lot of damage in the long run, it’ll make Alex feel guilty, put Lando in an awkward position and make him feel more awkward on the grid than before. Option one will hurt him but only him.
‘Huh?’ Logan says, hand still in his backpack and he moves…something…he’s not entirely sure what it is. It doesn’t matter. Instead, he wonders how close he is to winning an Oscar for his performance.
‘The camera thing.’ Alex clarifies, taking a step into Logan’s driver's room. The American watches him cautiously, as he if were a Lion about to jump on some prey. Or maybe a cat.
‘Ohh that.’ Logan says nonchalantly and realises the rectangular thing is his probable charger, ‘Yeah don’t worry about it. Just a silly thing McLaren do to look more popular right?’
He ends it with a smile and a look over at Alex. His teammate does not look convinced for one moment, which confirms Logan shouldn’t start acting anytime soon.
‘Ok.’ Alex says with a falter, ‘If you want to talk about anything. I am here.’
Logan gives a small but genuine smile this time, ‘I know. Thanks, Alex. I appreciate it.’
Alex smiles back and leaves Logan’s driver's room for his own. The Williams driver glances at the empty doorway for a few more seconds before deciding to put all his stuff back where it was.
He’s halfway putting all his essentials back in his bag when his trainer walks in. Logan looks up with a quick smile before turning his attention back to his bag.
‘Hey.’ He greets and zips up the bag. He turns to see his trainer, ‘How’s dinner looking?’
His trainer stares at him, analysing his appearance with a small frown. Logan tries not to react to his heart rate increasing for what seems to be the one-hundredth time that day.
‘No bad.’ Is the response before they plonk themselves down on the sofa, after analysing Logan’s face, and then moving some of Logan’s things out of the way, ‘What’s up with you? Your eyes are all red.’
‘Hay fever.’ Logan responds quickly because at least he can do is keep up the lie.
‘Since when did you suffer from hay fever?’
Logan just shrugs.
He reaches a turning point the week up to the Monaco Grand Prix.
He’s not sure how much longer he can cope with the anxiety and the loneliness. He feels judged but everyone and his relationship with Williams is still not where it used to be. The thought of death becomes his only realise of the pain, of the anxiety and soon becomes the only thing he can rely on.
When he looked at statistics in the past, they were always racing-related; who had the most wins, the best time, and the most pole positions. Logan always dreamed that his name would feature in some of those statistics, that his name would be on a Wikipedia page flying high in the Top Ten somewhere. He never thought he fall under the young male suicide statistic but even he has his breaking point.
He picks the date, June 10th, the Monday after the Canadian Grand Prix. It’s just over two weeks away and it gives him enough time to get his affairs in order. He makes appointments with his solicitors during the week for his will, ensuring that most of his assets go to his family and some to his friends. He already knows what he’s going to leave Oscar and has the letter written for him. He ends it with a quick, ‘I have always loved you’.
He'll never get to see Oscar’s reaction. It’s probably for the better. If he wasn’t already dead, he would probably die of a broken heart anyway.
He spends Monaco with a smile plastered on his face and he arrives in Canada, two weeks later, with the same smile plastered on his face but the world falling on his shoulders.
He tries not to act as if this is his last FP1. He drives as if he has nothing to lose. He doesn’t really, not anymore. He wonders who will get his seat and debates whether it will be Ollie, Mick or Liam. Chances are with the Mercedes shareholders, it’ll be Mick.
Logan spends the morning looking over data because he wants his last FP1 to be the best it can be despite it all. He wants to show the car’s full potential so his successor would have an easier time than he did.
Once he’s finished, he is summoned to join the other drivers all huddled together in one of the empty garages waiting for the morning debrief. He feels calmer than before, less afraid. He can see the end in sight and it gives him hope that everything will be ok soon.
He walks to Oscar and bumps his hip gently. The Australian glances away from his phone and throws a grin towards the American.
‘Hey.’ He greets, ‘What are you doing?’
Logan nods his head towards the phone and Oscar tilts his phone towards him, revealing the podium photo of the Japanese Grand Prix last year. It’s the one where he, Lando and Max are all smiling at the camera, drenched in champagne and trophies held high. Logan loves that photo of Oscar. He’s never seen the Australian shine as bright as that before but it’s also a stark reminder of how high Oscar has flown and how low Logan has sunk.
‘Just looking through some photos.’ Oscar explains and then locks his phone screen, ‘You ok?’
Logan nods and rests his head against the concrete wall, ‘I’m good. Excited for the weekend?’
‘Yeah, it’ll be a good crowd.’ Oscar says as he looks at the grandstand already filled with fans. There’ll be even more on Sunday. Logan nods, scanning the fans himself before he gently looks back over at Oscar and takes a deep, brave breath.
‘You free tomorrow night?’ He asks, his heart thumping through his chest. He’s surprised no one can see the outline of his through his shirt.
‘Yeah, nothing planned. Why?’ He replies unlocking his phone again, checking his calendar before looking up at Logan.
‘Fancy going out for a meal? Be nice to catch up.’
One last time.
‘Sure! Sounds good.’ Oscar responds grinning and Logan feels warm inside. He always has done around Oscar, ‘You got anywhere planned?’
Logan shrugs, ‘I’ll have a look around.’
‘Awesome. Can’t wait to catch up then.’
Oscar leaves with a smile his way and Logan goes his own, with a lighter step in his walk.
He drives the FP1 and FP2 like he has nothing to lose. He plays with the racing line, gets as close to the wall as he can and slams his foot on the accelerator like a madman. He only got one warning for tack limits and gave Alonso a nasty shock as he zoomed round the corner in the afternoon, the Aston Martin Driver being told too late that he was on a fast lap.
He finished FP2 in P9.
James casually comments on how well Logan has taken to the car this weekend and Alex gives him a friendly pat on the back and asks for his advice on handling Turns 5 and 6 this weekend. Logan smiles with joy as recounts his technique and Alex goes away thoughtful.
He can’t help but notice that Max looks at him… weirdly throughout the whole day. Logan could feel his eyes on him throughout FP2. He tries to shake the feeling, even starts to believe he’s imagining it because why would the current world champion pay any attention to him, a Williams driver with no points?
He leaves his garage after FP2 heading towards hospitality as he’s rather peckish and the cafeteria has some good snacks on this weekend when he can hear someone calling his name.
‘Logan!’
The Williams driver turns and furrows his eyebrows confused as he sees the current world champion run over to him. Logan stops walking and waits as Max catches up in the paddock. They stop just outside RB garage and Logan eyes the Red Bull driver suspiciously. Max doesn’t seem to notice and instead greets Logan with a smile.
How are you?’
Logan opens his mouth to respond but instead freezes and looks on confused. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a conversation with Max… well ever.
‘I’m ok thanks.’
He thinks it comes out ok, normal, with an average response in an average tone. He doesn’t sound confused or concerned. Max nods and shifts his hat so it’s straight in his head as opposed to slightly left as it was before.
‘Bit of a tough year right?’
Logan opens his mouth to respond but quickly shuts it. The question confuses him, sits awkwardly on his chest because Max is winning every race (aside from Australia) he’s winning by at least 10 seconds teammate and about two laps up on Logan. He’s not entirely sure what Max is finding tough about this year.
But what does he know? He can’t even drive an F1 car properly.
‘I guess?’
Max nods with a smile and Logan is still freaking out internally.
‘How’s the steering wheel? Have Williams finally sorted it out?’
He nods. They sorted it out races ago and Max’s question just adds testament to how bad Logan’s been driving the car.
‘Anyway, Logan.’ Max starts and the conversation suddenly changes from friendly to a little more serious. Logan straightens his posture. He becomes defensive, almost scared at what the Red Bull driver is about to say to him. He has no memory of impeding him during any of the practices.
‘I just wanted to check-‘ He starts but never finishes as someone starts shouting for the current world championship driver.
‘Max!’
Logan looks over the Dutchman’s shoulder to see a neon orange person running towards them. The hair is too curly for it to be Oscar, which leaves only one person.
Lando runs up to the pair and Logan feels some relief because Max looks monumentally distracted by Lando for a few seconds to the point he may have forgotten what he was going to say to Logan in the first place.
‘You coming to play paddle with us tomorrow?’ He asks and Logan takes a step back in an attempt to remove himself from the conversation and run next door into Williams. Max flicks his eyes between him and Lando and Logan stays where he is.
‘Yeah probably.’ Max responds distractedly, ‘I’ll confirm later. I’m just having a chat with Logan now.’
It falls on deaf ears as Lando continues speaking, his body turned away from Logan.
‘OK cool. Carlos has agreed of course and Oscar said he was down to play.’
Max just nods his head but Logan freezes and blinks confused. A familiar tightness spreads across his chest as the realisation that his and Oscar’s dinner plans have fallen through but it’s more than that. Oscar agreed to dinner with him this evening. He said he was looking forward to it. The Williams driver can’t remember the last time he and the Aussie spent time together, the last time they had a proper catch-up and now they never will. The thought brings tears to his eyes and he quickly remembers where he is.
‘I’m going to head off.’ Logan states stepping back step by step and finally Lando looks at him as if he didn’t realise he was standing there. Max opens his mouth to speak but Logan is stepping further and further away, ‘See you guys around.’
As he walks, he hears some commotion going on behind, with Lando exclaiming a quick ‘Hey! That hurt.’
He lightly jogs (because running away from Max and Lando would be far too obvious) into his driver's room and collapses in front of the door. He stays there for a few minutes, feeling tired and depleted before finding a small burst of energy to drag himself over to the sofa and rest there instead.
Distractions have always been a good friend to Logan, so it feels ever so familiar for him to open his phone and start watching as many funny videos as he can find on YouTube. It works for a few minutes or so and Logan finds himself watching a ten-minute reel of funny cat videos that he should show Alex tomorrow.
His screen freezes three minutes in and Logan sighs as Oscar’s name fills the screen and worry creeps into Logan’s stomach. He knows he’s done nothing wrong but he loiters over the accept button nonetheless and can’t seem to find the want to press down on it. The call ends and Logan’s video remains paused.
A few texts appear on his screen a minute after, covering up the top of the video.
Oscar: I’m sorry!!!
Oscar: I completely forgot about our plans.
He reads the messages through his notifications and they stab his heart harder than he thought they would.
Oscar: Not forgot! I didn’t mean forget.
Oscar: Shit.
Oscar: Logan. I’m sorry.
The Williams driver stares at his phone and tries not to let the words hurt him. He can already feel the tears building up in his eyes but he blinks continuously for a few seconds and they disappear just as quickly as they arrived.
He debates writing something out before hastily deciding against it. He wonders if Oscar is still active and part of him wonders if he’s watching, waiting for him to respond but Oscar isn’t sad like that. He doesn’t sit on the edge of his seat wondering what Logan’s next text is going to be. He barely remembers Logan exists these days.
He waits a few hours or so before he thinks about responding. He doesn’t know what Australian’s schedule is like but it’s been a few hours since FP2 and most teams would have debriefed by now. Oscar should be distracted enough to not see Logan’s response until later, hopefully when he’s asleep and can deal with any responses tomorrow.
Logan: Don’t worry about it. These things happen.
The response is instant, and it catches Logan off guard. The message thread is open and registers him as having already read Oscar’s response. He starts cursing as his plan goes out of the window and now he has to have the conversation he had planned to avoid.
Oscar: Thanks for understanding. Make it up to you.
Oscar: Why don’t you come watch?
Logan scoffs and locks his phone on instinct with some disgust. He doesn’t want a pity invite and he remembers how Lando hadn’t even acknowledged his presence. The last thing he wants is for any photos of the paddle match to be seen with him standing awkwardly and alone on the sidelines. It’ll only raise more comments. He does think about avoiding the conversation till tomorrow but he feels guilty leaving Oscar on read for a longer period.
Logan: Dw. I have other things I can do.
The message is read instantly again and the three dots appear. They play across the screen longer than Logan anticipated and he’s wondering what on earth Oscar can be writing that’s taking him this long.
Oscar: Ok. Sorry again!
It’s too short for the amount of time taken to type the three words and Logan tries to figure out what Oscar really wanted to say.
He never finds out as the Aussie becomes inactive a few seconds after the message and Logan locks his phone. His chest feels tighter than before and realisation that he has truly been left behind. No one wants anything to do with him. The only way he can describe it is he’s the bad luck charm everyone else is so desperately trying to get rid of.
He suddenly feels even more alone.
He mopes for another twenty minutes or so. The Williams driver needs a distraction. He needs to do something. He clicks on the email from his lawyers regarding his will. He scans the email and shuts his eyes. Everything’s sorted. He has his will written and signed. All his belongings will go to the correct people.
Suddenly, everything feels final.
Logan locks his phone and looks at the duvet. Everything’s signed and everything is planned. All he needs now is to get the vodka and pills. He looks up and the ceiling and ponders. Nothing is stopping him from buying it tonight. He was going to get it after the race on Sunday but with the free evening, he might as well make use of it.
He opens Google Maps on his phone and zooms out to see the local area. He spots several restaurants around, some of the names familiar having been mentioned by the other drivers before. He slowly traces his finger across the screen until he comes across a shop plastered in the middle of a restaurant (ironically the one he was meant to be going to with Oscar) and an independent café. He clicks on the hyperlink, where Google informs him the shop is open till midnight. He clicks off the information tab and back to his map until he notices there’s a pharmacy not too far from the shop. He writes down the street name and locks his phone.
The next thing he does is quickly discard any Williams or F1 clothing he’s currently wearing and put in something non-brand and simple. He can’t have anyone recognising him tonight. He can’t have anyone catching wind of what he’s going to do. It would be too embarrassing and cause a lot of unnecessary drama for everyone else.
He arrives in town by taxi. He doesn’t ask him to drop him off outside the convenience store or the pharmacy. Instead, the taxi drops him off on the street corner and Logan decides to take the rest by foot. It’s only a two-minute journey anyway.
The first stop is the convenience store. It’s quick and painless and Logan reaches for the first one-litre bottle of vodka he can find and pays the cashier quickly and with no questions asked. He then makes his way around the corner to the pharmacy, the classic bright green cross sign illuminating the building for all to see. The door opens with a tuneful beep and Logan looks around at the numerous aisles of medicines available.
This should work.
He picks an aisle, the second one in and glances at the packets available on the shelves. He has no real idea what he’s looking for, the internet didn’t tell him, but he has enough knowledge about sports, fitness and wellbeing to know what medicine would work best here. He picks one packet up at random and turns it over, his eyes scanning the ingredients.
‘Logan, hey!’
The American driver jumps, his body jilting in shock. He drops the packet from his hands and just about catches it before it falls to the floor. He tries to place it back quickly but it ends up causing a loud commotion, with other packets of the medicine being knocked over. He places them all up right before scanning the room to see who called his name. He spots both Ferrari drivers, who walk over to him.
‘Hey.’ Logan greets with a smile and hastily finishes fixing the packets back onto the shelf, ‘How are you guys?’
Carlos smiles back while Charles looks a little worried, flustered even.
‘I’m great thank you.’ The Spaniard says. He then tilts his head over to his teammate, ’Charles has gotten a bite from something and is now freaking out.’
Logan’s eyes drift to Charles, whose attention is still on his phone and right hand covering a part of his forearm.
‘It says it could become infected and I could lose my arm, Carlos.’ The Monégasque exclaims holding his phone out towards his teammates' face. The Spaniard bashes it lightly away from his face and rolls his eyes at Logan.
‘Yes, yes and Pierre would be annoyed his boyfriend lost an arm.’
‘I’ll chop off Lando’s arm and see how happy you are then.’
They start bickering and Logan spots that there is the potential for him to creep away from them and continue looking for some pills.
He uses their bickering as a chance to look around the pharmacy for pills. He moves to the other side of the aisle and picks up another packet of pills. This time the package suggests it’s likely for muscle pain, with the legs and arms covered in red.
‘What are you doing here?’
The question almost causes him to drop the second box of pills he’d just picked up. Logan looks back at the Ferrari drivers and finds them both looking at him. He hopes he doesn’t look as worried as he feels.
‘Paracetamol.’ He blurts out rather hastily and a little too loudly. He internally winces, ’Totally underestimated the weather and now I have a massive headache man.’
He even rubs his forehead a little and both Ferrari drivers frown and Logan knows none of what he’s saying isn’t making sense. The paracetamol is quite clearly near the entry, on the shelves opposite the door to be exact. He passed it on the way in and no doubt the Ferrari drivers did too. He glances over to the first medicines he picked up and steps closer to them.
‘And I got distracted by this.’ Logan says picking up the box, the one with the purple heart with three lines around it, a smile plastered to his mouth, ‘Looked…intriguing so I kinda wanted to know what it.’
They both look at the box in sync and then back to Logan, who’s looking at them with a tight smile and the box still in hand. The trio stand there for another second or so and Logan tries to think of a way to bring the conversation to a quick and painless end.
‘You should drink more water.’ Charles states first, as he draws his eyes back to Logan, ‘I think they have some at the front of the shop.’
Logan’s heart rate slows and the panic at being found out leaves his body quickly. Internally, he thanks Charles for his interjection.
‘Thanks, mate.’ He says the smile is still plastered on his face, some of it is genuine. He feels like he deserves an Oscar for his performance, ‘I won’t keep you.’
He steps closer to the paracetamol and watches as Carlos picks up some antiseptic cream, throws it at Charles and orders him to pay quickly as the Spanish Driver is hungry and would like some food this evening. Charles simply rolls his eyes and throws some Euros at the cashier, who smiles brightly his way and wishes him luck on Sunday.
Both Ferrari drivers wave to him as they leave Logan gives a gentle wave back before abandoning the paracetamol and picking a random tub of pills nearest to him. He quickly scans the bottle and is satisfied they should be enough. He wonders up to the cashier, who doesn’t smile as brightly this time and simply takes Logan’s money before wishing him on his way.
He tries not to take it to heart.
It doesn’t stop him from putting the bag under his desk when he gets back to his room.
He crashes in qualifying, causing a red flag. It’s not as bad as the one caused by Alex in Australia but it’s pretty close. His chassis is still intact, and he can get out easily. The worst thing about it is that he’s managed to catch George as collateral damage.
‘Mate, you could have killed us both.’ George states and Logan notices the patronising tone. He’s been on the receiving end of so many in the past. His normal response is apologising, claiming fault as the inexperienced driver out of whoever he crashes into.
That’s the idea
That’s what Logan wants to say. That’s what sentence he spoke spews out. He wants to say to George how, to him, it wouldn’t matter if he crashed into the barrier and never woke up. It’s on the tip of his tongue wanting to be free. He swallows back the words instead because when all is said and done, he is still a coward.
George has his hand on his hips and left foot tapping impatiently against the ground. It discourages any form of friendliness between the pair and almost makes Logan turn his back, run to the nearest hiding spot and cry his eyes out.
He doesn’t.
He looks up and George with a shaky smile.
‘I’m sorry mate.’ Logan apologises and he does try to sound apologetic. George’s car isn’t ruined but he probably won’t be in Q3 or Q2 now, ‘I just didn’t see you.’
George continues to tap his foot for exactly two beats before twisting his mouth to the side and humming.
‘Yeah well, actually look in your mirrors next time.’
George leaves and Logan looks down to the ground in shame.
His car’s ruined. He already knew that and the engineers are already commenting how it’ll be an overnight job to get it fixed for the race. A large part of Logan wants to go over to them and tell them not to worry, that he has no intention of driving tomorrow and that they should go home early.
He doesn’t.
Instead, all the engineers move around him and he steps aside as always and watches everyone else clear up his mess. He lets the guilt run freely through his veins and ignores the pressure building in his throat again, the pressure from all of his unspoken words and feelings wanting to get out.
He swallows the want down, causing it to sit in his stomach instead and heads towards his steward meeting. He’s still a coward.
He leaves the paddock with a three-place grid penalty in twenty minutes, which considering he was already starting P20, is the most pointless thing someone’s ever given Logan.
Aside from the F1 seat.
He didn’t fight it, he didn’t try to use every excuse under the bus to stop the Stewards from awarding it to him. George fought his corner telling them, showing them how dangerous Logan was driving and Logan just nodded and apologised. His manager looked pissed and George looked confused.
He heads straight to the hotel, missing all the fans and staff, after the meeting and slams his room door shut before sighing. He turns the lock. It’s a redundant action. Anyone who wants to enter needs a hotel key and the only other person who has one is his trainer. He takes in two deep breaths before he glances up from the lock and at the metal chain hanging next to the frame. Slowly, the Williams driver lifts the chain and pulls it across the door, locking it in place in case anyone does try to enter.
The carpet feels rough under his feet, even though his shoes as he walks across it towards the desk, hidden away in the corner of his room. He wonders if Alex’s hotel room has a soft carpet. Probably not. Williams doesn’t have the money for luxury hotels.
Making his way over the corner of the room and he kneels. He looks at the carrier bag located under the hotel desk and drags it out, the bag resisting slightly against the carpet. The glass bottle clinks against the plastic bottle creating a clinking sound that echoes throughout the room.
He pulls the glass bottle out and places it on the desk.
Logan looks up at himself in the mirror, directly facing him and high above the desk, and almost laughs at how dishevelled he looks. His hair is sticking up at all angles, his t-shirt doesn’t look like it’s been ironed in days and his eyes have the constant ring of red around them, complimented by the dark blue bags underneath them. He looks ill. In one way he is.
Not one part of his mind is telling him to fight this. Not one part is begging him to stop. He knows why. He has the vodka, he has the pills, he’s starting dead last tomorrow with a broken car. He has nothing to fight for.
He might as well.
He finished Monaco P12. The highest position he’s been in all year. Best to leave the race results on a high, to have Wikipedia pages, and statistic pages stating that his last ever race result was P12.
He unscrews the vodka lid and watches as it spins in a circle for two seconds before rattling heavily against the wood and stopping.
The open bottle remains untouched in his hand and Logan debates whether he should be sophisticated and pour the vodka into a glass or just swing it from the bottle. The situation reminds him of when Alex called him a frat boy and how he decided that yeah, if he didn’t drive, Logan would probably be one. Frat boys don’t sip vodka from a cup.
Maybe.
Possibly.
He wasn’t entirely sure still but somehow swinging vodka from the bottle even more solidified that Logan didn’t give a fuck about anything.
He takes the first swig and instantly starts coughing as the liquid runs down his throat, burning it. He’s probably taken far too much at once but Logan’s beyond caring. He won’t have to deal with the consequences of it tomorrow.
It feels unnatural driving during a race weekend, especially as he would have been racing tomorrow. He thought it would be freeing, that he would finally be able to breathe again. Instead, the water seems to be pounding on him harder and he’s falling deeper.
Logan shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. He doesn’t want his final thoughts to be about drinking and driving. Instead, he clicks on Instagram and scrolls through more comments about his qualifying and nods in agreement how half of them say he shouldn’t be in the car. They’ve started to become more frequent since Japan since Alex represented the whole Williams team in one weekend.
A message from Oscar distracts him for two seconds.
Oscar: Dinner tomorrow after the race? Promise I don’t have any Padel commitments.
He takes a swing of the vodka and clicks on the message. He would normally smirk at the message and type out a jokey response. Back. Instead, he swallows the vodka and types out an emotionless message, face blank with emotion.
Logan: Sure.
Logan: Let me know the details.
It does feel cruel making plans he won’t end up going to, a similar feeling to knowing that his engineers are still in the garage right now.
It’s better this way.
His mind states on repeat, the thought circling his brain. It crushes any guilt he feels about Oscar or his engineers and Logan watches as three dots appear on the chat.
Oscar: Awesome!
Oscar: Catch up on the parade tomorrow.
Oscar: I’ll have the camera and I’m desperate for an interview with you.
He laughs but it feels hollow. His body shakes but he feels no enjoyment from it. He looks at Oscar’s message again. Evidently, he feels guilty. Logan laughs because what does Oscar have to feel guilty about? He gets to hang out with Lando, George, Max and even Lewis. Real superstars- much better racers, better teammates, better people than Logan will ever be.
He looks at the messages again, the one last he will ever write and the last one he will ever receive. He smiles and he’s happy it’s with Oscar, that the last person he would have ever spoken to would be him. Some part of Logan will always love him, probably even in death.
He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he opens them, he looks to the left of the small white pot. He lifts the pills from his bedside table and examines the bottle once again. He’s fairly certain this would work, then again, he was fairly certain he would be qualifying closer to his teammate this year.
He chuckles to himself at the thought and shakes his head. Maybe in his dreams.
The pill lid twists.
Thirty minutes later, Logan is met with darkness.