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honeybadgercomeback · 2 years

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Come Back, Be Here (Part Two) | DR3

His heart was glass and you dropped it, but you dropped yours too. Four months after ending things your new job lands you back in the one place you never wanted to be. The paddock of the Yas Marina Circuit for the final Formula One Grand Prix of the season. Part One

Warnings: angst, like…heavy angst, Christian Horner (being a decent guy), arguments, mentions of McLaren being dicks, a happy ending (I promised didn’t I).

Words: 5.9k

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Living in Nice was strange for you, but it helped. You’d spent plenty of time there when you’d needed out of the Monaco bubble and living there full time made a difference. It was a lot of fun as you wandered around your hometown, visiting museums and galleries. Most evenings you walked home from your new job along the seafront. Sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of a yacht in the Mediterranean and your heart would ache a little bit.

Time hadn’t healed anything. If it had done anything at all, you just felt guiltier. Two weeks after you left him Dan put up an instagram story saying that you’d ended your relationship and you both wanted privacy. When you’d first seen it all you could think was of Lando’s one and how he’d probably helped Dan phrase it, which set off more tears. You reposted it and then logged out of the account altogether. It had been left untouched as you set up a finsta to keep an eye on the people you’d loved. The decision to set it up was probably the worst thing you could have done but you couldn’t help it.

You watched every race, getting up early for Suzuka and your heart in your chest as you saw Carlos crash and the tractor on the track. Hearing Pierre’s radio made you wish you were thousands of miles away so you could wrap him in a hug. Every time you heard someone on radio you felt so guilty but you were the one who left. You weren’t allowed feel guilty about it.

The only person it hurt nearly as much to see as Dan was Kelly. You’d hold your finger on the screen and stare at the pictures of the family, missing P’s hugs and the way she’d started calling you her aunt.

But aside from the heartache it was the right thing. You’d gotten a new job as one of the marketing leads in a VR company, a mix of in the office and at home. You’d made friends with the couple who lived across the hall and every week you’d swap between who hosted for dinner. Your colleagues were fun and you got drinks with them on a Thursday to celebrate the week nearly over. It was easy to fall into a routine and forget how lonely your bed was.

Except every night you’d wake up feeling cold because your human radiator wasn’t there. You kept seeing people in the media call Dan washed up and useless and you wanted to scream that he wasn’t. He was one of the best men you knew and he deserved respect and support rather than the bullshit they were talking about. That if you’d been in any of the meetings with Zak you’d have been hard pressed to not rip him a new one for the lies he’d told about how they’d work with Daniel. You’d have slipped some sly words to members of the press who you knew and trusted.

But you were on the outside of all of it and you didn’t get to say anything about it anymore. You were the ex fiancée. It wasn’t your place.

Your manager had told you that there was a sponsorship organised with a UK based sports team, that you’d be having a meeting with their top executive. So you were sitting in the office on the zoom meeting, talking about plans for their final match of the year. The familiar ding that someone had arrived beeped, and you looked up to see Christian H in the new slot, camera still not on.

“We’re happy to make this public in Abu Dhabi. We’re doing a big announcement about our drivers for next year then too, so we can have this year and next years involved. This stays in the room, obviously, but we’re signing one of our former drivers to come back for next year. Daniel will be more than happy to get involved in any marketing we need.” Your breath caught and you almost missed your cue to speak until Emilie, your manager, nudged you in the arm.

“Perfect. We’ll need to do a briefing to make sure they’re all aware of the branding.” Please let it all be wrong. Please let it be a completely different Christian with the same voice involved in sports in Abu Dhabi. Please.

“Oh they’re aware, Max is a big fan. He bought the bundle as soon as it was released, when we mentioned the sponsorship was happening he offered to send photos of him and his girlfriend playing on it.” The camera finally went on and your prayers weren’t answered. Christian Horner was on the screen in the meeting room, and you could tell immediately that he recognised you. You just kept yourself together and acted like you were jotting down notes.

“If he wasn’t I’d nearly be surprised, Max and video games are like him and winning races this season. I’ll be in touch with a slide deck next week, is the email we sent this meeting invite to the best one to get you on?” You were proud of how professional your voice sounded.

“Of course. It’s good to see you again, will you be in Abu Dhabi?”

“N—“

“Yes, the two of us are going.” Emilie cut into your denial and you just kept your face steady, the photographer smile you’d perfected plastered on it. “The two of us are flying out, we’ll discuss it together and settle on dates. We’ll have a meeting to confirm next week with you, Christian.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll see you both then.”

It ended and you glared at your manager as the room emptied until it was just the two of you sitting there. Emilie looked at you.

“I can’t be there. If I turn up the media will be all over me. And I can’t work with Daniel. If it was Max and Checo only I could do it, but not Dan. I can’t do it.”

“And if the media are all over you then we get even more visibility for this sponsorship. Plus you know how Formula One works better than anyone else here. You know exactly what we’ll get away with. You need to be there.

“Fuck.” This week couldn’t get worse, and all you wanted to do was go home and drown your sorrows in a bottle of wine. Instead you couldn’t, because you were taking the lead with Red Bull.

It meant meetings every couple of days with Red Bull’s marketing team, Horner sitting in when he could. You’d met all of them in other contexts and the look of surprise was clear on everyone’s face. The last time you’d spoken to any of them apart from a casual wave was at Dan’s leaving party, when Horner had asked if there was any way you could convince your then boyfriend to stay at Red Bull. He wasn’t too impressed when you told him that it was all Dan’s decision. But here you were talking distribution deals, how Daniel and Max would have their own box designs and the development team was working on a new game where you could drive the car in VR. In return your brand was pride of place on their cars and you were giving millions of dollars. Win win situation.

The meeting was wrapping up and you were organising the final logistics about Abu Dhabi when a door opened on Christian’s side and you heard an oh too familiar voice.

“You wanted to see me?” It was Max and you couldn’t stay in the meeting much longer. You didn’t want to see him until you were ready so you could be ready for his anger at your lies.

“I’ll let you go. Email me if you need any more details?” You asked, hoping he’d just end the call and Max wouldn’t have time to recognise your voice.

“I think that should be everything until you get out to us. You’re arriving on the Thursday and we’re doing the big event on Saturday with the car unveiling, correct?”

“That’s right. I’m flying back here on Saturday, and we’ll have a representative there on Sunday to see the race. I think Emilie is staying.”

“You should be there. Have you missed the races?”

“I haven’t missed the media chaos. I’ll see you then.”

“Wait is that—“ You hit the end meeting button before Max could say anything else, sitting back in your chair with your hands over your face. Eight days until you arrived at Yas Marina and had to face your past again, and each time you thought about it you felt nauseous.

The one silver lining was that you didn’t have any meetings with Horner until the Thursday morning at the paddock when you were in Abu Dhabi. You thought you could have a week without talking to anyone from Red Bull, but Tuesday when you were part working from home and part packing you received an email. You should have guessed Max would have done anything to get your contact information.

SUB: DO NOT DELETE

FROM: [email protected]

Hey,

First, don’t blame Christian for this. He left his iPad open when he left the room and I got your email address from his calendar. He refused to give me your details when I asked.

We miss you. I get why you had a clean break but you’re really missed. Kel thought she did something wrong until I told her about the elevator. P still asks if you’re coming to visit. She’s stopped asking Dan about where you are but that took a while. I tried to do what you asked and look after him but he’s still struggling. Checo’s retiring to stay home with the kids now they’re old enough to realise how often he’s gone, so Dan’s taking the seat. Horner made the joke that maybe he’d find the love of his life in Milton Keynes and none of us could mention he already had.

I haven’t warned him you’ll be there. Christian was going to tell us both on Thursday before you arrive in the paddock. If you want me to give him more notice I can.

Look after yourself for us? Everyone asks if we’ve talked to you. They all just wish you’d give your new number to call. If you still have our numbers nobody will get mad. And if you need them again just ask and I’ll send it all over. I miss my second sister.

Max

You started crying in your office as you reread the last paragraph. You missed everyone so much. Ending things had blown up your relationship and your friendships and none of it had been worth it. Yeah, your career was great but you were so, so lonely. Everyone who tried flirting with you to got compared to Dan and they never came out on top. It had been four months and the ache in your chest had barely lessened. Your hand still felt like there was something missing. You missed everything you’d given up. You even missed the jet lag.

It was the biggest mistake of your life, and in a few days you had to see him and pretend you were ok even though the exact opposite was true. Instead of replying to the email you opened WhatsApp on your phone and thumbed open the archived chats. There were so many messages there that you hadn’t read, but you opened the one with Max that had mostly been him sending you cat photos.

I miss you too

It took less than a minute for a response to come through.

It’s so good to hear from you. Kelly’s here, can we call?

He didn’t give you a chance to make the decision, a video call coming through with his name and WhatsApp photo. You wiped your face roughly and answered to see the couple in the tiny frame, heads pinned together

“Oh my god you’re there. You’re actually there. I thought Max had made a mistake when he said he’d heard you in a meeting but you’re here.” You couldn’t stop the tears as Kelly kept speaking, grins between you both.

“I missed you. I’m so sorry for everything, I just…I’m sorry. I’ll be there on Wednesday.”

“We’re seeing you. P is going to be so excited, she’s missed you so much.”

It was the briefest catch up before they had to go for their flight but you got to see them and they weren’t angry. Once you hung up you texted Kelly, the immediate flurry of emojis in response making you grin and miss her all over again. The final thing was a voice note from Penelope telling you she couldn’t wait for a hug. You re-listened to it on your flight to Abu Dhabi, lifting your spirits and making you feel like you could do it.

Max warned you with a text that he’d told Dan you were involved in the sponsorship event and that he was staying with McLaren until after the race. Once it was done he was moving over to the Red Bull hotel. They’d agreed to loan him out for the event only and you wondered what Christian had threatened to be able to get that much from them. You’d be gone by Saturday afternoon so it would be fine. You’d just see them for a few hours, leave, and get back on a plane.

You’d forgotten how easy it was to check into a hotel when a team had organised it, just giving your names and the keycards were released. As you turned to get your suitcase a three year old ran into your legs, wrapping her arms around your hips.

“I missed you!” Your manager looked confusedly as you hoisted P up onto your hip, Kelly running across the lobby to you.

“Missed you too, Princess P. What’s happening?”

“She’s supposed to be going to bed but saw you and ran.” Kelly gave you a one armed hug, the look in her eyes clear that you’d be having an in-depth discussion before the weekend was out.

“Uncle Danny gave me ice cream. He looked sad but when I asked he said it was ‘cause he didn’t have any so he got us all some!” You could tell from Kelly’s face exactly what had made your ex sad, but you shook your head and made yourself smile.

“Ice cream always makes me happy too. Go with your Mama and I’ll see you soon, ok? I have to work this weekend.”

“Will you be in the laranja building?” You shook your head at the Portuguese she dropped in when she was sleepy.

“I won’t be at the race. I’m going home before it happens, I have to work.”

“Oh.” She was gearing up for a tantrum but Kelly got in quickly and pulled her for a cuddle.

“I’ll get her to bed. Breakfast tomorrow?”

“Definitely.”

Emilie knew that you knew Christian. She knew you were familiar with how Formula One worked. But she had no idea of your complete backstory and why you were so against coming this weekend. So over a room service burger that tasted too much like the first time you’d stayed in this hotel with Daniel you did the brief highlights of the last five years of your life.

“So you dated a driver, were engaged, ended things, and he’s one of the guys we’re spending hours with on Saturday before practice?” Emilie asked as you lay back on your bed and groaned.

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“It explains why Horner’s assistant didn’t ask for your photo.” You propped yourself up on your elbows to look at her. “She said we needed paddock passes for the weekend and we needed photos for security to confirm. I offered to send her yours but she said your pass was still active.”

“Merde.” The French expletive slipped out as you lay back, taking a pillow and screaming into it. Emilie stared until you could get your shit together and sat up.

“I was at every race until the summer break, I only missed a race if I was sick. Daniel and I split up a week before Spa. He’d just come home after signing his contract ending deal and I couldn’t keep things going on my own anymore. I broke his heart but he didn’t cancel my pass…he wanted me to come to a race.”

“That’s why every week you always seemed sad on Fridays.”

“Yeah. Ugh. And he’s still upset and I’m still heartbroken. It’s going to be a mess.”

“We’ll get you through it.”

And you made yourself do it. Arriving on Thursday was harder than you’d expected, keeping your head down to avoid people who you’d known as friends and who you’d spent so much time with. So many of the Alpine team had been there when it was Renault, and Esteban jogged over to give you a hug before realising you were there for work. But the Frenchman couldn’t keep a secret, before long the paddock regulars were abuzz that you were back there without Dan by your side.

An advance team had installed the machines and set up the games, you were there to make sure that the branding was visible and nobody messed up on the social media side of things. Drivers came over to interact with the VR headsets as you stood near the back to get Emilie to deal with them. Sebastian refused, instead coming over to give you a giant hug.

“I should be congratulating you on your final race,” you murmured into his shoulder.

“I didn’t think I’d see you at another one.”

“Work calls.” You separated slightly at that, giving a shrug before indicating to the photographer to leave Hanna and the kids alone and waving to them.

“He misses you.” The words were tender but you shook your head, giving him a final hug before letting go and remembering just how restorative they were.

“It was the right decision. He deserved more than me.”

Before Sebastian could refute what you’d said one of his daughters pulled him away, leaving you to breathe a sigh of relief. The photo of him hugging you went up on the brand account, your still unused public profile tagged on it. But it being public meant more people came up to you. There were conversations you never wanted to have but you were forced into them.

“You’ve some nerve.” The paddock was nearly empty as you turned to see Lewis speak while you were tidying the final things away before leaving for the night. He stood there in a bright outfit, lights from Williams hospitality illuminating him.

“I don’t want to be here. But when my job calls, I answer. The last thing I want to do is hurt him.”

“Should have thought of that before—“

“You’re saying this like it was on a whim. Like I enjoyed it. I broke my own heart in the process and it’s not healing. But he deserves so much more than I can give him, and I deserve someone who can put me higher than tenth on their list. He couldn’t do that anymore. I don’t expect anyone to understand what happened and I don’t expect anyone to be friendly and forgive me. I just want to get through this weekend and leave on Saturday and pretend I was only here four times instead of five. So just…just ignore me or whatever you need to do, ok? I’ll do the same.”

You didn’t know where the words came from, months of hurt and anger coming out at Lewis who you’d barely spoken to before. The packing was finished and you locked the shutter in place, Lewis stepping back to watch you do it. Your arms were full and he tried to take the top box but you turned away.

“I’m a grown adult.”

“And I picked a fight I shouldn’t have touched. Can I help?” You got him to scan your paddock pass to get you out, walking in silence to the hire car Red Bull had organised. Everything was packed away when you finally had the courage to ask the question nobody was really answering. The two of you had barely been acquaintances, definitely not friends, so it was easier to ask him than anyone else.

“I know I have no right to an answer…but how is he?”

Lewis turned to look at you with the softest expression you’d seen on his face in a long time. “He’s fucking miserable. He turned up in Spa alone and we were worried about him, then the press realised you weren’t there and asked Michael if you’d dumped him because he was getting fired. None of us knew anything until Carmen told George you’d left the WhatsApp group and changed your number. Then we realised what had happened. That triple header was tough on him, I’ve never seen him so sad after that Monza DNF.”

You sighed and pulled your hair from your face in the desert night, making yourself listen to everything Lewis had to say.

“He’s doing better now but he’s still not great. I think he asked every one of us if we noticed anything, if he’d done something obvious. He doesn’t believe it’s not his fault even though he said it. Seb nearly punched him when he realised that he’d missed your anniversary. We were out in Singapore after the race there, that’s when it hit him. But the last couple of weeks he’s doing ok. He’s had some almost smiles.”

“Thanks for looking after him for me.”

“I always will, you know that. I’ll see you tomorrow and you can get some photos of me looking stupid.”

That night you were supposed to have dinner with Max and Kelly in the hotel restaurant but you texted an apology, instead going straight to your room and sobbing your heart out into the spare pillow as you mourned for the pain you’d caused.

Friday morning came too early. The last thing you wanted to do was get up and face the world but you still had a job to do. A cold shower helped the puffiness on your face, your makeup was impeccable even with the heat. The tricks you’d learned from being constantly photographed meant that you could get ready quickly and as soon as you closed your hotel room door you were on and ready for the day that you knew would have hugs and probably involve looking at people who hated you. But you and Emilie arrived together to open up.

Charlotte and Isa were the first two there, arriving as you powered on the devices calling your name. You were wrapped in a hug as Emilie looked on, the Ferrari men standing a few meters away and nodding to you when you separated from their girlfriends. You set them up playing tennis between them, laughing at the scenes in front of you. It didn’t take long for you to put your press face on, getting into a rhythm of greeting the people you knew by name and smiling at everyone else. But then he arrived and the fragile bandages on your heart split open.

“Can I play?” He was skinnier than when you’d last seen him, corded muscles too visible on his arms, face almost gaunt. His smile was there but it wasn’t a real one. You ached knowing this was your fault.

“Of course. Put this headset on and you’ll be in the game. The controllers act as your hands. Have fun.” You passed over each device one at a time as he was ready to go, keeping your skin away from his. You didn’t get to touch him. The VR had a number of games but at the last minute you changed it to a pattern bashing one that had always reminded you of his reaction games. It didn’t take long for Dan to get into a rhythm, barely missing a beat.

You couldn’t help but smile at how he moved, remembering the way he used to dance around the living room before pulling you up to dance with him. But then it was over and you schooled your face back to neutrality to see him and put the equipment back.

“And your score is…” It took a moment for the numbers to appear, but you couldn’t help but laugh. “33,333. Turns out it’s a lucky number after all. Congratulations, Daniel.” His full name felt wrong on your tongue but you;d lost the right to use a nickname for him.

“Thanks, B—“ He cut himself off and you nodded.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Sure.” As he walked away you saw Michael and Blake stand outside the unit waiting for him. You wanted to apologise for hurting their best friend, but it was clear from their faces they’d never want to talk to you again. You didn’t blame them.

The rest of the day went in a crawl for you and all you wanted to do was scream. He’d been right there in front of you but you couldn’t touch him. The tears were piling up at the back of your head waiting for a moment for you to let your guard down but you couldn’t. You weren’t allowed to cry until you were back in the hotel. The only saving grace was that Emilie was on closing up duties so you got to leave once FP2 was over. The screen in your unit had the stream up and you watched the practice go, staring at the people you’d been so close to before driving in circles. You slipped back to the hotel in the crowds that were leaving to hide away, deciding to get room service when you finished this bout of crying.

When would it stop? When would you finally be over him? If not over him at least when would it stop hurting like that August night? You were going to see him a couple of times a year at a minimum from now on, and if each moment hurt like this you wouldn’t survive it. You didn’t want it to be this painful. If you could go back in time to the woman who was so sure it was the right call you’d scream at her to change her mind. But you couldn’t. And he deserved the chance to be happy.

Knocks on your hotel room door disturbed the pity party, so you wiped your eyes to make yourself a little more presentable. Once the mascara streaks could be confused with artfully smudged eyeliner you stood straight and opened the door as the knocking continued.

“Emilie, I’m fine. I just need to get through tom…Daniel.” He was standing right in front of you. He looked as through the wringer as you felt, staring right at you and not looking away. There was less than a meter between the two of you and it was too much space and not enough at the same time. “How did you get my room number?”

“Penelope. She asked why I was sad earlier and I said I missed you, so she asked Max what your room number was. She’s crafty for barely more than a toddler.” You let out a wet laugh, trying to cover that you’d just been sobbing over him.

“I was supposed to go for dinner with them last night. Decided on a night alone in my room instead.”

“I was also supposed to be at dinner with them, but tonight. Which is my excuse for being here but I needed to come up here instead. I need to ask you one question, ok?”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell him to leave and go back to crying. You wanted to close the door and to forget that he’d appeared there, try to forget the five years you’d spent together. But you owed him this at the very least. After everything that had happened between you, you owed Daniel the truth. No matter how it hurt you.

“You deserve answers.”

He stopped at your confirmation, licked his lower lip and looked you straight in the eyes with his molten brown ones. It was like he was searching your soul for something you weren’t quite sure of, but whatever he saw gave him the strength to continue.

“Do you still love me?”

It wasn’t what you’d expected him to ask. Wasn’t what you’d imagined him asking in your wildest dreams. But he was there at your hotel door and you could never lie to Daniel Ricciardo as long as you lived.

“I don’t know how to stop loving you. And that’s what hurts so much about all of this.”

The words were barely out of your mouth when he closed the gap between you, broad hands on your waist as he pulled you close and kissed you soundly. It took a moment for you to realise what was even happening but you kissed him back, hands running through the hair you’d missed so much. He was there and you were in his arms and if this was the last kiss the two of you ever shared you were memorising all of it.

A ding from the elevator bell reminded you that you were semi in public, separating and breathing heavily. His hands were still on you, yours around his neck as a small smile - a real one - appeared on his lips.

“Can I?” You nodded back to him before bringing him into the room and settling on the small sofa with him. His arm went around your shoulders to pull you close, holding onto him for dear life. It didn’t feel like reality to you.

“I’m sorry. For not realising how much I was taking from you. For missing our anniversary. All of it. You…you deserved so much more than I gave you for our entire relationship. I’m just so sorry I didn’t realise what I was doing in time to save us.”

“Do you still love me?”

It was clear he hadn’t expected you to ask the question he’d asked as his body froze before looking at you. But you held his gaze the exact same way he’d held yours as you waited for your answer.

“You’re the love of my fucking life.”

It was a practiced move the way you leaned over and threw one thigh over his, pulling him into a bruising kiss as you were spread over his lap. Your forehead leaned against his, hands cupping his jaw as he held you tight against him.

“I was wrong to end things. And we have so much to talk about and work through, and please understand couples therapy is about to be compulsory. But I love you and you love me and if we still feel this way after four months then we’re worth saving.”

You watched the widest grin you’d seen on him in years spread across his face, a hand reaching up to run his thumb over your cheekbones before Dan brought you into a lingering kiss.

He cancelled dinner, citing that he was nervous about tomorrow in the text to Max. Instead he helped you pack a bag with a work outfit before the two of you snuck away from the hotel to get back to his. Michael and Blake were sitting in the lobby, the two men looking stern as you arrived with Dan beside you.

“What’s she doing here?” Michael asked. You wanted to shrink away but held your head up, Dan’s hand on yours.

“We’re trying again.” Three words that made you want to sing.

“But you…” he trailed off and you took the opening it provided.

“We were both a mess, and I know ending things was my decision. But we love each other and we’re trying to make it work.” You took a deep breath before saying the next words. “I owe both of you the biggest thanks for looking after him while I wasn’t there. I made the biggest mistake of my life walking away, and I can’t thank you enough for keeping him going.”

The words softened them and you got nods, knowing that when Dan was in a car you’d get a lecture. But it’d be worth it.

“See you tomorrow. The two of you going to the paddock together?” Blake asked as Dan nodded.

“Yeah, we’ll be going early so she can open up. See you both there.”

It was quick to Dan’s room, the elevator door opening to Lando on his phone. You could have laughed at the way his jaw dropped seeing the two of you there, but Dan did it first.

“Hey, Mate.”

“But you’re…what? I was avoiding the VR all day cause I thought you wouldn’t want us hanging out? When did this?”

“Today. And come over tomorrow, I’ll give you a longer go. But you’ll have some tough competition to beat, I’m just saying.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll keep this quiet till tomorrow for you too.”

You spent that night talking, having the hard conversations neither of you really wanted to have. How you both needed to compromise, the races you would and wouldn’t attend. How he’d support you and do what he could to make life easier for you with the media and stop ignoring the crap that was said about you. And you promised to tell him when you were worried about something. But it was worth it to have Dan pull that familiar box out of his suitcase and open it.

“I couldn’t leave this behind. Don’t ask me why, but it’s come everywhere with me. Will you please, please marry me?”

“Of course I will.”

Getting ready the next morning was terrifying. It wasn’t just the publicity, but his family were about to arrive and you hadn’t seen them since the break up and now you were back together. As you began to overthink Dan realised, handing you one of his new merch shirts to wear to the paddock. You put your work one underneath, but this was your way to prove exactly what was happening. It was the two of you and nothing else would matter.

Michael was outside the hotel room door when you were walking out, and the man was surprised when you hugged him. He hugged you back after a moment and you looked up to him.

“Thank you. I’m sorry for all of it, and Dan and I have talked about it. But thank you for being there for him when I couldn’t be.”

“Please don’t do it again?”

“Never.” He caught sight of your ring and smiled, hugging Dan and clapping his back. The three of you got into the car and made it to the circuit, your phone beeping with texts from Emilie asking where you were. You promised you’d be there in a minute and got an eye rolling emoji in return.

“Are you ready, Babe?” Dan asked as he put it into park and you nodded while gathering up your bag.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The photographers were taking shots of both of you entering, hands firmly clasped together until you had to separate to swipe in. A hair tie was keeping the oversized shirt from turning into a dress, and it was very obvious you were together. He didn’t stop until he was just outside your unit, leaning in for a final kiss before letting you go.

“See you in an hour for the unveiling?” He asked and you grinned.

“I’ll see you then. Good luck.”

“I don’t need it, I’ve got you back.”

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coimbrabertone · 1 month

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Bottlegate and Cola Wars, I Can't Take it Anymore!

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blogpost about the Viceroy rule in NASCAR, and one thing I cut from it was a brief discussion of the Cola Wars in NASCAR. This week, I'm tackling that issue, along with its sports drink offshoot: the bottle wars between Gatorade and Powerade.

So, to review from the Viceroy blog, while NASCAR banned sponsors that clashed with series sponsors, it did not ban competing sponsorships among different teams - in fact, it encouraged it. Thus, Pepsico got involved with Hendrick Motorsports quite famously, initially with a number of Jeff Gordon Pepsi cars, and more recently with Mountain Dew cars from the likes of Dale Earnhardt Jr. and Chase Elliott.

That came to an end after 2020, and come 2023, Chase Elliott would be scooped up by the competition: the Coca-Cola Family of Drivers.

Peaking in the late 90s/early 2000s, the Coke family once consisted of (circa 2003/2004) Steve Park, Dale Earnhardt Jr., Michael Waltrip, Bobby Labonte, Tony Stewart, Bill Elliott, Ricky Rudd, John Andretti, Kyle Petty, Kevin Harvick, Dale Jarrett, Elliott Sadler, Greg Biffle, Kurt Busch, and Jeff Burton.

That's the entire three-car lineup of Dale Earnhardt Inc., both JGR cars, both Petty Enterprises cars, both Yates cars, the Wood Brothers car, Kevin Harvick who succeeded the late Dale Earnhardt at RCR, and 60% of the Roush Racing lineup.

Coke wasn't fucking around.

Unfortunately, Pepsi had Jeff Gordon.

Well, they also sponsored Jeremy Mayfield with Mountain Dew at this time, plus Pepsi/Gatorade had deals with Jeff's Hendrick Motorsports teammates (most prominently Jimmie Johnsons) as well as the other two Roush drivers in the form of Matt Kenseth and Mark Martin, plus Ryan Newman of Penske, but Jeff Gordon is the most relevant one for the first part of this story.

That's because the Cola Wars in NASCAR came to a head at Daytona International Speedway on July 3rd, 2004 for the Pepsi 400.

Coca-Cola was promoting their new Coca-Cola C2 (essentially a soda halfway between Coke and Diet Coke by the sounds of it) brand, and they sponsored an armada of cars in this race:

John Andretti in the DEI #1 Chevy,

Greg Biffle (who won the 2003 Pepsi 400) in the Roush National Guard #16 Ford.

Tony Stewart in the Joe Gibbs Racing Home Depot #20 Chevy.

Ricky Rudd in the Wood Brothers #21 Ford.

Kevin Harvick in the RCR GM Goodwrench #29 Chevy.

Kurt Busch in the Roush Sharpie #97 Ford.

Bill Elliott in his self-owned #98 Dodge.

and Jeff Burton in the Roush #99 Ford.

Coke had eight bullets in the gun to steal the thunder right out from Pepsi's flagship race - in what Pepsico pointed out was a blatant marketing stunt - however, like I said...Pepsi had Jeff Gordon.

John Andretti would crash out, Greg Biffle would end up a lap down, Jeff Burton in twenty-sixth, Bill Elliott eighteenth, Ricky Rudd seventeenth, Kevin Harvick fourteenth, while Tony Stewart in fifth and Kurt Busch in fourth were closest to pulling off Coke's marketing upset.

Unfortunately, none of them could stop Jeff Gordon from winning from pole in his DuPont/Pepsi #24 for Hendrick Motorsports.

It was the biggest moment of the Cola Wars, but 2004 had another Pepsi vs. Coke battle going on at the same time: Bottlegate.

You see, despite the Viceroy rule normally stopping this kind of stuff, in 2004, NASCAR decided to have Gatorade (Pepsi) sponsor victory lane, while Powerade (Coke) bottles would be placed on the roof of the winning cars. How the hell was this allowed to happen? Well, despite the France family running both NASCAR and the International Speedway Corporation, at this time, NASCAR had a deal with Coke and ISC had a deal with Pepsi - the same people in the guise of two different companies signed deals with two rival brands. Of course this was going to cause issues.

Pepsi did not want their drivers in their victory lane photographed with bottles of a Coca-cola owned sports drink.

Thus, Bottlegate began.

Matt Kenseth, Mark Martin, Ryan Newman, Jeff Gordon, and Jimmie Johnson were all sponsored by Pepsi, thus, as soon as they got out of the car in victory lane, they would punch and/or sweep the bottles off the roof, instantly getting Coke products out of the pictures...which pissed off Coca-cola a lot.

They were paying good money just to see drivers knock over their product!

So, after the Pepsi 400, with the aforementioned embarrassment of Coca-cola, NASCAR made a rule banning drivers from punching the bottles off the cars.

Coke drivers won the next two races with Tony Stewart winning at Chicagoland and Kurt Busch winning at New Hampshire.

But then Pepsi's Jimmie Johnson won at Pocono on August 1st.

Well, instead of punching the bottles, Jimmie calmly got out of the car, received a giant cardboard Lowe's sign from someone on his crew, and placed it in front of the Powerade bottles.

I love this stuff, this is generational pettiness over here, the Coke guys and the Pepsi guys each trying to make the other brand look bad, it's great!

Unfortunately, Coke and NASCAR didn't seem to think so, because Jimmie Johnson was fined $10,000 over the sign incident.

So yeah, this was NASCAR in the 2000s, where corporate money was everywhere and there were enough sponsorships going around that the drivers, the tracks, and the series all had separate deals to have to worry about. Hell, three Roush drivers were with Coke and the other two were with Pepsi - compare that to nowadays where the vending machines at RFK Racing are from Fastenal.

How the hell am I supposed to drink a wrench?

#motorsports #racing #nascar cup #nascar #coca cola #pepsi #coke #powerade #gatorade

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leveloneandup · 1 year

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Christen Press is uplifting women's soccer in the business world as well.

Through RE-INC and Angel City’s community impact events, Press is making a difference in the Los Angeles community. And through panels and other events, she is growing women’s soccer at the club and national levels.

Press has done it all this year without stepping foot on the field due to injury. But she could do it because much of her influence lies beyond her on-the-field play; her impact transcends soccer as she boosts her local community and represents women’s soccer in business.

[Full Text]

Christen Press is uplifting women's soccer in the business world as well.

Growing up, Christen Press believed her value was attached to her play on the soccer field. And that put tremendous pressure on her. Standards for women’s soccer were far from where they are today, and there was no professional league. She did not know that value for a women’s soccer player could involve their off-the-field success.

“Growing up, I felt this pressure to be successful,” said Press during a panel on Thursday. “I was raised in an environment where I believed that my worth was tied to the performance, and that was an incredibly difficult environment.”

However, as women’s soccer evolved, so did Press’ understanding of the game. Fast forward to 2015, Press was playing in the NWSL for the Chicago Red Stars and represented the United States Women’s National Team (USWNT) on the biggest stage, the World Cup.

Then, Press and the United States won the 2015 World Cup, and the NWSL clubs chose to continue to their fourth year, the first time a women’s soccer league in the United States made it past the third year. The popularity surrounding the sport was rising, sparking a push for increased standards.

“We left for the tournament living one type of lifestyle. We came back, and everything was changed,” Press said.

Starting in 2016, the fight for equal pay between women’s and men’s soccer began. And finally, in 2022, payments between men’s and women’s soccer from the U.S. Soccer were required to be shared equally, as agreed on in the collective bargaining agreement (CBA).

This year, the 2023 World Cup is expected to break attendance and viewership records, signaling growth in women’s soccer. And now, Press is turning some of her attention to the club game as the next step in the sport’s evolution.

On Thursday, Press participated in a panel that the Bank of Montreal (BMO) hosted to promote gender equity. The panel included former USWNT head coach and president of the San Diego Wave, Jill Ellis, and the head of loyalty and sponsorship marketing at BMO, Sonya Kunkel; former USWNT player Danielle Slayton moderated it.

Press spoke about the push for equality and the importance of club soccer for young women, among other topics. The event took place at BMO stadium, the home stadium of her club team, Angel City.

“[Club soccer] gives visibility to the little me’s,” Press said. “Growing up in Los Angeles on Saturday, if I was able to come [to BMO Stadium] and watch a game day experience like [Angel City’s], it would have really really impacted myself and all my peers and how we understood the potential of women’s sports.”

Aside from motivating young girls to play soccer and advancing the sport, Press has committed to community impact. Angel City hosts events multiple times a month, helping the Southern California community in various ways. And the club’s commitment to such an impact is one of the main reasons Press signed with them.

“It means everything. It’s the reason that I’m home,” Press said. “I wanted to join a club that had shared values, and being in my home vocal community and being able to give back and being able to give joy to Angelenos means the world to me.”

Press also works to support her local community through her company, RE–INC. Soccer players Meghan Klingenberg, Megan Rapinoe, Tobin Heath, and she founded the company in 2019, starting with a single t-shirt. They now have a full line of products and recently celebrated their fourth anniversary in mid-June.

Press and her team rarely find themselves pitching the idea of women’s soccer anymore to investors as investors are “seeing the value” in the sport. RE-INCs growth means they are impacting the community more extensively through their membership. They are also working on expanding the company.

“We have a community, a monthly membership, where you can join to be a changemaker and find like-minded people to create change in your community. And we’re launching a new division of the business now called re-media. That’s going to reimagine the way that women are seen and experienced.”

RE-INC has partnered with multiple organizations serving the Los Angeles community and beyond.

“I think that everything that we do at RE-INC is about the connection that we have to our community,” Press said. “And every decision that I make is for the community… And this is a group of people that has phased out of so many other spaces, and we’re creating a space where people can be seen and heard and welcome.”

“[Press] is such an ambassador for our sport, for women,” Ellis said. “I love what she is saying about this next generation [of women]. Can they just focus on being athletes and stop having to fight. But what I love is those athletes on the pitch, and when she gets back, she will be there as well, but they have her as an ally, representing in the business world.”

#christen press #re inc #angel city fc #uswnt #gender equity panel #article

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bright-and-burning · 6 months

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yuki got the seat at AT because of his honda ties. alex flopped hard at red bull but - surprise! - he got another chance, which no drivers ever get, because he had red bull thailand plastered on his helmet in 2022. call me racist if you want but zhou is the same way. the difference is they’re all there BECAUSE of sponsorship money, whereas other drivers get sponsors because of their talent. it’s not racist to point out the influence money has on f1 and how eastern companies are trying to grow in the western market. it’s not a moral failing it’s just a fact.

“he got another chance, which no drivers ever get” my brother in christ i am quite certain it is impossible for you to have missed daniel riccardio in the last six months

i think it is incredibly odd (and yeah! racist actually) to call yuki and alex and zhou pay drivers while not mentioning (and this is said with love bc i don’t actually think anyone on the current grid is a pay driver) lance, or lando, or anyone else with wealthy family (hint: it’s very nearly all of them)

how could you even prove that only the asian drivers are in f1 because of sponsor money, and everyone else has sponsors because they’re good? like what kind of chicken and egg ass bullshit?

every single driver in f1 is there because they had the money to get there, whether through wealthy family or sponsorships or what have you. it’s probably the most wealth-skewed sport i’ve ever seen (and i say this as someone w experience in sports in the united states, which tend to be quite. pay to play)

i mean, jeez dude. look up logan’s family! i’m doing this on my phone so i can’t link to rissa’s excellent primer unfortunately but it’s out there. (EDIT: thank u @alpinelogy for tracking down the link here you go) lance’s dad owns the fucking team. lando’s dad is quite rich. oscar’s dad’s company sponsors him. etc etc. this is the nepo rich kid sport bruv nobody is safe out here

also alex very publicly did not have funds lol. i can’t speak terribly confidently on yuki or zhou but i KNOW there’s a post out there about how red bull had to pick a honda athlete and picked yuki because he was crushing it

#again im white but it is incredibly sus to be like mm asian drivers are the Only pay drivers #ask

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darkmaga-retard · 1 month

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Dwayne Johnson seems like a nice enough guy, and he acts, so that might be all it is, but is he nice enough to give six million dollars back to the US Army? They “hired” him and the United Football League (The Rock is part owner) for 11 million dollars to help the Army increase recruitment. The deal involved Johnson writing a series of social media posts and UFL players sporting Army patches on their uniforms. As with most of what the government does, time and money spent resulted in less than stellar results.

The Army is seemingly having buyer’s remorse after an $11 million marketing deal with the United Football League and Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. The high-dollar, high-profile deal likely didn’t lead to a single new Army recruit and may possibly have had a negative impact on finding new enlistments, internal documents and emails reviewed by Military.com show. The service may even seek to get some of its money back.

Millitary.com reports that the effort may have resulted in lowering recruitment, though I’m not sure how they worked that out. Perhaps from learned experience?

One senior Army marketing official, in an interview with Military.com, said the deal echoed the National Guard‘s $88 million NASCAR sponsorship that reportedly didn’t lead to a single new soldier joining the ranks. But the UFL partnership was ultimately pushed through directly by Gen. Randy George, the Army chief of staff, according to an email between him and senior staff reviewed by Military.com.

According to the reports, senior staff opposed the deal with Johnson and the UFL, but the General wanted it, and he got it despite the target audience watching less television and less sports television. It was a total bust from beginning to end, and now the Army is looking to get six million back, though no one seems quite sure how to go about it. Might I suggest an early morning raid with your friends in the FBI? I’m sure the CIA can connect you with someone.

George was appointed last year by the Biden Administration and confirmed by the US Senate.

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puckpocketed · 9 months

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2/1/2024 Winter Classic - Seattle Kraken vs Vegas Golden Knights

The Summer I Fell For Hockey - The Perfect Day: On Yanni Gourde and the Narrative

A bank of fog rolls over the new year, over Seattle’s skyline, over the morning of the Winter Classic. T-Mobile park, after weeks of preparation, is transformed; sprouting up from the baseball diamond is a construct of ochre-red wood and glass, freshly frozen paint and ice, and boards that flash with sponsorships. A sea of people all in red, cream, navy and pale blue flood in to fill up the stands, 47,000 strong. There’s the retractable roof for insurance, in case Seattle weather decides to get in character, but for once the air stays dry and sunlight cuts through the fog in time for the match, winking warm and yellow and sweet from behind sparse cloud cover. In the future, today will be remembered as a near-perfect day for outdoor ice hockey. Continents and continents (and a hemisphere) away, the chime of a phone alarm rings out into a damp summer morning. It’s 6:30 am. It’s Kraken game day. I jolt awake.

The Vegas Golden Knights enter the arena dressed collectively as Elvis, shirts split open to the belly button, reflective of their city’s desert-dwelling glitterati. My Kraken come as fishermen, in work boots and hot red overalls, outfits made complete with fluro orange caps and stuffed fish. When it comes time to get onto the rink in their gear, the Kraken are introduced by Sir-Mix-a-Lot in a truly terrible mashup of his hits and ad libbed lines. As they make their way down the faux boardwalk, jets of fire spew forth intermittently, and real fishmongers from Pike Place Market toss fish between the players in an ode to their post-game tradition (the stuffed fish yeet) and the city of Seattle. The anthem is shredded by a 14-year-old local on electric guitar, to the stoic, patriotic acceptance of everyone watching. (Gods but hockey is such an unserious sport, and for this it will have my heart in perpetuity)

The rink is mic'd today, and I’m grateful. I love the sound of hockey; I love the sound of skate blades carving sibilant lines, the way sticks will clack against each other, against the gritty ice; and when the puck hits someone’s tape just right, there’s a now-familiar little zing deep in my reptilian brain that heralds satisfaction. One day, when my city hosts the AIHL (Australian Ice Hockey League), I’ll be right next to the rink and able to hear it all for myself, but for now this will have to suffice.

The Kraken start dominant, winning the first faceoff and instantly initiating a dump-and-chase. Their cheeks are blacked in an effort to stave off ice blindness, but I like to think they’ve donned war paint. In line with this, Tanev starts the festivities by slamming the Golden Knights’ Whitecloud in a brutal check. Today, with the mics hot, every thump and bump gets caught as bodies hit the boards. Neither team is holding back, some mutually agreed upon level of violence dialled up three notches. Unlike the check-heavy games I’ve watched in the past, there is no pall of malicious intent, no thin veneer of civility to cover up simmering anger from the get go. No; today the hits start clean. No penalties are called for first period.

Had it been two weeks ago, I’d have jumped on the opportunity to extol the virtues and skillset of our starting goalie, Joey. Later, the entire arena will shake with cheers of his name. Because I can’t resist, I’ll say this: he’s still unerringly good at trapping the puck to stop play and cause a reset, shuttering any build up of momentum and opportunities for rebounds; still going on his heart-stopping adventures out of the net and catching compliments from the broadcast on his exceptional stick handling; and the puck at times seems magnetised to his glove. Spoilers for the rest of the game: it’s a shutout, and after all those incredible stops I’m sure Jack Eichel will be kicking himself about being read like a book for days. 35 saves (his exact jersey number) and the first shutout in Winter Classic history. The story writes itself. But enough of that — Joey’s low-hanging fruit. And besides, I’ve already put pen to paper on the Dacs propaganda; it all still stands.

The hard checks keep coming. I get the feeling that something’s different today, that there’s something in the air apart from the perfect weather. Despite Vegas’ stellar record against the Kraken to date (8-1-0), the Kraken have a vice grip on the game. I’m so used to watching them chase games to stumbling, clumsy victories that this dominance feels surreal. They kill off the Knights’ attempts at transitioning, relentless in their pursuit and determined to play along the boards, keeping the puck largely out of their offensive zone. When the Knights do manage to drag it in, the Kraken d-men spare no effort viciously batting incoming pucks away from the slot, and should that fail — Joey’s right there to remind them just how good he is. It’s still a simple game, a steady and unembellished grind the way the Kraken like to play — but something about today makes me think that perhaps the elusive, gossamer thing called ‘luck’ is on their side. Perfect days don’t exist, until they do.

My Kraken score their first goal off a stylish deflection. Dunner skips the puck at Tolvy from the blue line, over Amadio’s stick and into traffic. The puck sails past a scrambling Knights defence, where Tolvy finds it midair and smacks it down, right into the back of the Knights’ net. The second goal materialises two minutes into second period, and so does the inciting incident for this essay (blog post/diary entry/unhinged hockey breakdown). After winning the puck off a scuffle along the boards Yanni Gourde legs it, sending it into Vegas’ side of the rink. There’s some back and forth, but ultimately Borgy picks up a goal with a slapshot off the rebound.

Gourdo (or Pumpkin, if the pun appeals) is the quintessential Kraken player. From his career, to his playstyle, to how he’s never come close to stardom — he is, to quote Nick Faris, someone that, “[...]embodies who the Kraken want to be.” He catches my attention today because of his tenacity, and because the liveblog tag goes hard for him as future captain. I’ve come to learn that where esports fans call it the Script, hockey fans use a different phrase. It’s all the same underneath: when everything fits so well, when it all begins to rhyme like poetry, when it’s so compelling that surely someone must’ve made it up — that’s the Narrative.

Gourdo is short for a hockey player, standing at a modest 5ft 9in (175cm). That’s the first thing you’ll hear about him; that he’s at or below league average. The second thing you’ll hear is that he was never drafted. In a league filled with stories of stars — whose fans and media orbit the monsters of the game, a dozen or so point-scoring darlings — here’s Yanni Gourde, the man who was once a season away from giving up the ghost and getting a civil engineering degree, a rookie for the Tampa Bay Lightning at 26. This, too, is Narrative — a different kind I’d say, because when you hear about underdogs you imagine a scrappy, uncut gem finally breaking through to reach the top. Gourdo isn’t some secret prodigy, and the stats he’s put up since he got his chance in the NHL are solid, a career high of 25 goals and 64 points in 82 games during his time with the Lightning, but nothing like your McDavids or MacKinnons. But that’s all just paper. Out on the ice, though? That’s where the real story is happening.

If Sidney Crosby’s story is the Narrative, Gourdo’s story is like if the Narrative was stolen by a side character — which, fittingly, is exactly what some of the best narratives are all about. A quick Youtube search turns up the usual fluff pieces done by team media. A deeper scan reveals an unusual amount of short highlights, largely scrums and fights that he’s been involved with. In one of them he can be seen sporting his big, crooked grin. This is how I find out that Yanni Gourde is a pest. An instigator, a rat. Whatever you call it, Gourde shares hockey lineage with the likes of Brad Marchand.

In ice hockey, games are won and lost off the back of power plays and penalty kills. But with hitting and fighting at an all-time low, how does one draw penalties? Gourdo has it all figured out. He plays his own game, sticking just short of too close and pushing the envelope on interference. He’s gone on record talking about his extracurriculars, how he verbally and physically taunts opposing players after the whistle: “I know most of the time it works them up and they want to punch me in the face a little bit more. If they take a penalty on me, then, I am winning.” Gourdo treads the line of illegality and sportsmanship, and tips people over the edge in his wake, and when they retaliate they’re caught out and sent to the box.

Rats have a bad reputation in the NHL. Honour codes dictate that you back up any insults, physical or otherwise, should another player challenge you to drop gloves — the assumption being that any on-ice beef is genuine — an agitator’s actions are premeditated, calculated to wreak as much havoc as possible. This insincerity leaves a bad taste in the mouths of many. And yet, Yanni Gourde is beloved.

When he was selected by the Kraken in the expansion draft, Lightning fans made tribute videos. When he first returned to Tampa Bay as a visiting player, the arena shook with his fans' welcome. He is universally regarded by teammates, both past and present, as a leader and an overwhelmingly positive force in the locker room; someone who knows how to get silly (krakenblr-core!), who contributes to constructing good attitudes on the ice, someone who has stepped up to fulfil leadership duties when his teammates have been injured.

Beyond his instigation (and his remarkably sparkling reputation in spite of this), most interesting to me is a distinct pattern to the rest of his shot highlights. There’s nothing too complicated about it, even I noticed as a fan who’s still learning: Yanni Gourde has that intangible, ineffable clutch factor. For every clip where he’s in a scuffle, there’s another instance where he’s scored a game winning goal.

My working theory for why? He’s the guy who didn’t give up on his hockey dream even after being snubbed by the NHL and relegated to the AHL, who debuted as a starter 6 years later than most rookies, made himself a nuisance to play against at every turn with his relentless puck chasing and instigating. He’s Gourdo. So of course he’s got the clutch factor; he snatched his entire career from the jaws of retirement in the eleventh hour.

On a day like today, where the weather is perfect and the sticky late game ice has puck bounces going the Kraken’s way, it feels like the right time for something magical. And in a match filled with physicality Gourdo defies expectations, plays his own game and manages a miracle. Early in the third period, the Knights go for an offensive reset on a loose puck in the Kraken slot that goes shooting past the blue line. It looks completely standard. I’ve seen it a hundred times by now.

And then, racing down the ice there’s Gourdo. I expect a check, because that’s the type of game they’ve primed us for. It doesn’t come. Instead, Gourdo slips right up into Cotter’s space, right under his stick. Their skates cross once but there’s no hit, and with the barest brush… the puck is lifted out from under Cotter’s feet.

This blog is named for a silly pun on ‘pickpocketed’, because it was one of the very first hockey concepts that really captured my imagination. I became quietly obsessed with the idea of pickpocketing in ice hockey, fascinated by hulking athletes who know they don’t even need to hit anyone to win. There’s something so delightful about it; the idea that in ice hockey, a game that is notorious for semi-legal fist fights and whose actual rules allow the players to throw their hundreds of pounds at each other in service of victory, you could simply lose the puck to a thief. Whatever you call it — pickpocketing, puck stripping — it’s the result of refs who’ve become increasingly trigger-happy on calls, and a league-wide shift toward protecting its superstars from concussions.

For Gourdo, it’s a matter of necessity. Being smaller than most players, he has few other options. He can’t just rely on checking; he’s part of the new wave of players who’ve bought in on the puck possession game, scrapping and digging to steal the puck away with stick lifts and finesse rather than outright force. (Funnily enough, fellow pest Marchand is named in an article as another player whose game is shifting to focus on puck possession).

In the wider arc of the Narrative, it’s a perfectly Yanni kind of play. He steals the puck away from the Knights right in their slot, and is left almost one on one with their goalie as everyone else on the ice rushes to catch up. It’s not beautiful hockey — there is no well-timed deke, no lethal toe drag release — it’s just Gourdo wrestling control of the puck from the carved up ice, awkward and off-balance. The first shot doesn’t even go in, bouncing off of Thompson’s pad. But Gourdo is right there to catch it off the rebound, never giving up, always holding on, and he scoops it right over and into the net.

I know the game is finished for the Vegas Golden Knights after this. Call me biassed about my Sharks but I’ve seen when a team is still hungry for a win, and the Knights aren’t coming to the table. More than just the number on the scoreboard, in hindsight this goal feels woven into the fabric of the Narrative. It’s gorgeously messy, unexpected. It comes as a surprise to everyone watching, the broadcast barely able to keep up before the puck makes its way to the net. It’s Seattle waking up from a decades-long slumber to remind the world that it’s always been a hockey town, and the Kraken victory a ringing statement. It's another game winning goal for Gourdo, exactly like he’s always done.

It’s not quite perfect hockey, of course, not what people think of as clean or even technically proficient. But if you’ve watched any Kraken broadcasts you know what I’m about to say.

That’s Kraken hockey, baby!

#kraken lb #seattle kraken #winter classic 2024 #hockeyblr #nhl #ice hockey #yanni gourde #krakenblr #my writing #post-game stuff #player stuff #hello kraken lb come get your yanni propaganda #this man is incredible and interesting and we are so so so blessed to have him with us #i hope he's with us for a long time. but he's the kind of player I'd follow to a new team any day #this write up is a lot more polished than I thought it was gonna be (citations and everything!!!) and I'm quite happy with it!!#i'd like to thank the wayback machine for letting me read paywalled articles <3 bless bless bless #I think it's gonna be my fate to become an amateur scholar on these players' histories whenever i do propaganda #does this count as a primer even though it's like... also a post-game thing?#oh well. here it is and please enjoy!!!!

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coco-loco-nut · 6 months

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Miami

Pairing: Logan x reader

Summary: Logan finally asks the girl he has seen around Williams out

A/n: I kinda hate this, but here it is😬

requests open masterlist

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“Y/n!” You boss calls your name from a few cubicles down. You were new to Willams, having just moved from America and the Baseball industry into Motorsport.

“What’s up?” You ask, leaning against the frame of her cubicle.

“Erica is out sick, can you do her sponsorship activation in an hour?” She asks, looking a little frazzled, holding out a folder with some papers to you. You nod and take them, reading the summary sheets on your way to the car.

Your first assignment working with the drivers, thankfully you are used to ad shoots. They were relatively easy, taking pictures for the portfolio, schmoozing the sponsor, and helping marketing keep things in order.

“Coffee?” One of the sponsorship interns offers you, and you furrow your brow.

“Mark, that’s not in your job description, you don’t have to bring me coffee,” you take it anyway.

“BOGO deal. Figured you would like it since you weren’t planning on being here,”

“Favorite intern, right here. I’ll hook you up wherever you want to go after this,” you laugh, navigating through the site. Mark reads the briefs you brought along as you introduce yourself to the media team and the sponsors.

“Hi, I’m Logan,” One of the drivers introduces himself to you, his American accent making your ears perk up.

“Y/n, nice to meet you,” you extend your hand, your mother taught you manners.

“Georgia?” He shakes your hand, curious on placing the accent.

“North Carolina born and raised,” you smile, ignoring the pleasant warmth of his hand.

“Not many Americans around here. What do you do?” He asks. It’s a relief to you, everyone assumes that you are a sports journalist or work in marketing, but he had the decency to ask.

“Corporate partnerships. Getting the team money so you can race,” you explain briefly.

“That’s so cool, I wish I could ask more, but Albono is calling me over,” he waves goodbye.

“You’re in looooove,” Mark teases, standing beside you.

“Shut up. Offer rescinded,” you blush slightly as the blond driver glances back at you.

A few months later you are in America for the Miami GP. Williams did a competition with one of your accounts, so you flew in a week ahead to make sure everything was set, and the working remote was a plus. One day you took advantage of an old connection and got a free ticket to the Marlins game, and got to tag along with them as they worked. The real bonus was the better food and suites, but you didn’t expect to see a certain blond driver throwing the first pitch.

He wasn’t expecting to see you either. Ignoring the marketing intern, he jogs over to where you and your friend are talking.

“Logan! Hi,” You smile, quickly turning to introduce him to your friend, but Logan is one step ahead of you.

“You are here early,” he smiles back at you.

“My account is sponsoring a VIP trip to Miami contest for Williams, so I’m making sure everything is ready to go,” you explain and he nods.

“Have you seen your family?”

“Yeah, they flew down the other day, I got them grandstand tickets,”

“What are their names? I can get them a paddock pass for FP1 and FP2,” Logan says and the marketing intern looks antsy beside him.

“Here’s my number, text me,” you hand him your business card and apologetically smile at the intern.

For some reason, it didn’t take a second thought to accept Logan’s invite. You had the day off tomorrow, your parents were busy, and there was really no reason not to. Your bag was packed and you were in Logan’s pickup truck before you knew it. The radio is on the top 100 station, and the windows rolled down slightly on the highway, the ocean air washing over you both.

“What do you miss most about America while in England?” Logan asks and you pause for a second.

“Peanut butter and jelly’s, they don’t taste the same. What about you?”

“That’s not what I miss most, but it’s a valid answer. I think I miss the Florida beaches, especially at dawn,” he says, letting a calm silence settle in.

“I would agree with that, but make it North Carolina,”

“Thanks for agreeing to come with me, the house feels so empty,” Logan looks at you. You nod, pushing some stray hairs out of your face.

“I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be shown around by a local,” you grin, locking eyes briefly with him.

“I know this great place for dinner,” he says as he turns off the highway. You learned about him on the drive, including that he owns a beach house and doesn’t live with his parents.

You both walk into the small restaurant, his hand instinctually going to yours before he quickly stops before you notice. You don’t see the way his heart races when you smile at him. You don’t realize that he’s noticed you around the track and sponsorship events, and how he finally built up the courage to introduce himself. He is so excited to take you to a restaurant that specializes in southern comfort food.

“Logan, you didn’t,” you gasp as you look over the menu, your heart swelling.

“I thought you probably missed a taste of home,” he smiles sheepishly.

“You are the best,” you quickly decide on your childhood favorite. The both of you get to know each other more over the meal and flirt a bit while you’re at it.

“I forgot how good that restaurant is,” Logan says as you both walk out of the restaurant, his arm gently going around your shoulder. You blush, but make no attempt to move it. The ride to his house is short.

“Get changed, Logan, we are going for a beach walk,” you tell him after he shows you the guest room. No more than five minutes later, you are both barefoot on the beach, you in a Williams hoodie and shorts, Logan in an unbuttoned shirt and shorts.

You don’t really know when your hands first brushed and connected, but you didn’t attempt to stop it. Logan admired you against the moonlight and soft crashing waves.

“Lo?” you ask as he seems elsewhere.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks softly, turning towards you. All you do is nod, his soft lips brushing against yours as you pull him closer, properly kissing him.

“Wow,” you breathe, a blush covering both of your cheeks.

“I guess I’m not immune to your southern charm,” he teases, causing you to giggle.

“I guess not,” you agree. The walk back to the house is comfortable, and he kisses you goodnight outside your bedroom door. You wake up early for a run, quietly heading downstairs only to find a shirtless Logan doing the same thing.

“Morning run?” He asks with a smile.

“Yeah, you too?” You ask back and he nods. You both finish tying your sneakers and put on headphones. He leads your morning run, knowing the streets better than you. You both stop into a coffee shop a few blocks away for breakfast before heading home.

“I’m gonna shower then head out to the beach if you want to join me later,” Logan tells you before heading to his room. Once you finish your coffee, you do the same. There are two towels out on the beach in front of Logan’s house, Logan occupying one. After grabbing your book and applying sunscreen, you join him.

“Blue is a good color on you,” he compliments your light blue bikini.

“What are you reading?” You ask him as you lay down.

“The Great Gatsby,” he observes your book cover.

“Good choice,” you hum as you get immersed in the book. Fifteen minutes later, you see Logan set his book down out of the corner of your eye. He rolls over and you quickly bookmark your book.

“Do you know how hard it is to read while next the a beautiful woman?” Logan asks and your lips quirk up into a smile.

“How hard?” you ask, smiling as he pulls you closer to him, happily kissing you.

“Logan, look at this,” you show him your phone, as you lean over the kitchen island. He sets down his water bottle and takes a closer look.

“I’m surprised they even care about me,” he says, brushing it off. There is a public beach a few houses down, so it isn’t uncommon for someone to stray off it.

“I didn’t think about what would happen within Williams,” you sit on one of the stools. Logan moves to sit beside you, grabbing your hand.

“It’s fine, we can fill out the necessary paperwork. There isn’t a conflict of interest, we are in the same department, it will be okay,” he reassures you. You peck his lips and sigh.

“I’m sorry someone saw us, that makes it harder for you,” you frown. His hand moves up to your cheek, rubbing soft circles with his thumb.

“I’m not. I’m happy to be seen with you,” he smiles before going to start lunch.

“I’m glad I met you,” you tell him, happy to be with someone who isn’t afraid to be in public.

“Me too. Would it be too early to call you my girlfriend?” Logan asks, finishing the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches you both have been craving.

“Normally yes, but with you, I would be more than happy to be your girlfriend,” you squeeze his hand. Logan kisses you briefly before starting to eat.

A few hours you make your way back to Miami, Logan having a team meeting that evening. The two of you didn’t see each other much the rest of the week until free practice.

You lead your parents into the Paddock area, taking them to Williams hospitality. You had told them about Logan and they were very excited to potentially meet the driver.

“Hi Babe,” Logan hugs you when he enters hospitality, stopping to say hi before grabbing coffee.

“Hi Lo, ready to meet the parents?” You ask nervously, he kisses your forehead. The rest of the weekend flies by, he charms your parents, you meet his parents, and before you know it you are in England again.

By the time Austin rolls around, you both are inseparable. The team finds it cute how Logan will follow you around like a puppy dog when you are at the GPs and he is free.

“I’m so glad I saw you at the Marlins game,” Logan whispers, his arms wrapped around you.

“I love you,” you whisper back, tilting your head to kiss you.

“I love you too,”

#logan sargeant #logan sargent x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 imagines

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