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Abu Dhabi - last race of the season. Last chance of saving the team. And with Sonny no longer on said team, Ruben wondered why they even bothered to start.
He looked around the empty garage and sighed. They could just as well pack up and leave early. Even with the FIA confirming that their combat upgrade wasn’t breaking any rules, there was no way they would manage to win the race.
The car might be there. They just didn’t have the drivers.
The only thing saving the team now would be a damn miracle.
Ruben watched the team, led by Joshua, jogging through the pitlane, and couldn’t help but smile sadly. Sonny’s influence on that team was everywhere, and even though he was no longer part of the team, he continued to be ever present. Ruben sat down heavily near the back wall, closed his eyes and shook his head. He suddenly recalled a short dialogue from what felt like ages ago.
”Hey, Ruben? Ever seen a miracle?”
“Not yet.”
Not yet, and very likely not ever.
A few seconds later, the miracle materialized in the garage like a knight in shining armor.
Or, more precisely, like an old cowboy, all denim and swagger.
And, as always, all stupid one-liners and brazen attitude.
Premium economy. Bullshit loophole from a real Tijuana lawyer.
Ruben shook his head adamantly. He was having none of it, even though he knew, deep down, that having Sonny behind the wheel was the only way to maybe, just maybe, keep the team.
But he also knew that Sonny was risking his life each time he got behind the wheel. Literally. Bullshit loophole or not, Ruben was not going to risk his best friend’s life.
He tried to make that abundantly clear. “Listen,” he told Sonny, not unkindly, making sure to lock eyes with him. “I can’t let you do that. I can’t. Ok?”
And Sonny? Suddenly, all of his swagger and boastfulness was gone. He began to stammer, as if searching for the right words to explain, to convey, to make Ruben understand.
“If the last thing I do is drive that car, I will take that life, man. A thousand times.” There was an urgency behind the softly spoken words, a desperation in the blue eyes.
Sonny was a junkie. Ruben had realized that back in Vegas, in that hospital room, when Sonny had urgently, almost pathetically, told him that he needed this. This, of course, being racing. Sonny needed his next fix. Sonny would go and find his next fix - somewhere, anywhere. Ruben wouldn’t be able to stop him.
He might as well take advantage of it.
With a bit of luck, they might see that elusive miracle, after all. There were hundreds of jobs on the line, Ruben told himself. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one, right? If he could save the team by endangering Sonny’s life - would that be ethically justifiable?
God, he was such a fucking hypocrite.
Ruben made one last desperate attempt. “We can’t win,” he told Sonny reasonably.
Of course, Sonny argued, just as reasonably, “We can’t if we don’t try.” And then he flashed that boyish grin at him, blue eyes sparkling with mischief, eyebrows raised like a dare.
Ruben knew that look. He had been the victim of that look countless times already thirty years ago. This was Sonny, as if he was about to pull the world’s biggest prank, thumbing his nose at fate, and he was going to take Ruben along for the ride, whether he wanted to participate or not.
Would he really endanger Sonny’s life if he let him drive? Ruben still firmly believed it would be wrong to cave in, but really, Sonny was the one making the decision, Sonny was the one endangering his own life. Sonny would continue to drive, would find some obscure race somewhere, there was no doubt about it. Ruben figured it would be better to let Sonny drive in the safest race car possible. Formula One was still better than literally any other racing series, with the most advanced safety features. There was, of course, still the danger of another blunt force impact trauma. Even a Formula One car wouldn’t protect Sonny from those, and they might - quite literally - kill him. Ruben knew that. What he had learned in Vegas about Sonny’s health issues haunted him. He would never be able to live with himself, knowing he was the cause and reason for Sonny’s death or serious, life altering injury after another crash.
Then again, the look on Sonny’s face told Ruben clearly that, if he didn’t allow him to drive, Sonny would find Luca, lock him into the nearest closet, steal Luca’s race suit and helmet, and drive the damn race under Luca’s name.
Ruben hung his head, knowing that he would cave. He always did when it came to Sonny. He shook his head but couldn’t stop the helpless grin from spreading across his face.
Sonny saw that look, knew that he had won, and laughed boisterously. He gave Ruben an affectionate shove and swaggered past him - towards the motorhome where he would get changed, most likely.
Ruben still felt like the world’s biggest hypocrite. But hell, Sonny was a grown man, he knew the risks, had taken the damn risks for the last twenty years in racing. He looked perfectly fine physically, he basically told Ruben in so many words that he was doing fine.
And so Ruben would just choose to believe him - and pray to the racing gods that everything would turn out well.
THE END.