jury's out

The rain poured down in London like it was mourning alongside me. The sky was gray, heavy, endless—just like the weight pressing against my chest. It had been a while since I'd come to the cemetery, but today, I couldn't stay away. I needed to talk to him. My dad. The most important man in my life. The person I missed every single day.

It had been over a decade, but the ache hadn't lessened. If anything, it settled deeper, growing roots inside me. The cold seeped through my coat, my boots completely soaked from the puddles I kept stepping into, but I barely noticed. At some point, my tears mixed with the rain, blurring the lines between grief and the London downpour.

I stood before his grave, umbrella tilted slightly to the side.

"Hey, Dad. It's me, Millie." My voice came out softer than I intended. "Sorry I haven't been here in a while. I was going to say I've been busy, but we both know you'd call me a liar." I exhaled, a shaky little laugh escaping. "The truth is... I couldn't bring myself to come. It still hurts. No matter how much time passes, I miss you more and more. I know you're watching, but I wish you were really here. Traveling the world with me, seeing everything firsthand. You would have loved it, Dad."

I told him everything—about Mom, about Freddie and Micah, how his friends still go to Theo's bar and raise a glass in his honor. How much had changed since the day he left us. If he hadn't gotten in that car that day, he'd still be here. With me. With Mom.

For a long time, I hated him for it.

And then, as if my subconscious had taken control, I found myself talking about him.

"Lando," I murmured. "Dad, you should see him. He's one of the most talented drivers on the grid now, but his own mind works against him. If he could just block out the noise, he'd be unstoppable. He's got everything—car, pace, racecraft, skill. But then there's... everything else. He can be insufferable, too cocky, immature sometimes. His comments over the radio or media pen are reckless sometimes. And the media? He hates it. The press, the attention, the obligations that come with the sport. Everyone can tell he hates being there."

I talked about him for longer than I should have. But I didn't let myself say the one thing circling inside my head. Not because I was afraid of admitting it—but because I still wasn't sure what my real feelings toward Lando Norris even were. My mind and my heart kept playing games.

After leaving the cemetery, I ducked into a coffee shop nearby. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but my mind was still spinning. I hadn't even started writing my pre-Imola article, and the deadline was creeping up. The race was in two weeks, and I had no idea what to expect. A Ferrari 1-2 seemed likely, but the second row? That was where things got interesting. It would depend on how strong Red Bull and McLaren performed.

I hoped for a surprise. Maybe a midfield team pulling something crazy with strategy. Maybe a little rain—just enough to shake things up. Something unpredictable. What I didn't want was another internal battle. The championship standings were too tight. If anyone at McLaren was considering repeating 2024's disaster, they'd be idiots. Zak Brown must have sat Piastri down already. What happened two years couldn't happen again. He was reckless, miscalculated the strategy, and ruined a easy 1-2 for the team.

I scribbled notes in my notebook—yes, a physical one. Something about writing by hand made it feel more real. I'd type it up later, but for now, my thoughts flowed better on paper.

Then, my phone buzzed. Eva.

I sighed, already regretting opening this conversation.

I rolled my eyes and put my phone away, sighing as I wrapped my hands around my now-cold coffee. Eva always had a way of getting under my skin—partly because she was annoyingly good at reading between the lines.

Lando Norris.

I shook my head, annoyed at myself for even letting my thoughts wander there. It was just Eva being Eva. Stirring up nonsense for the fun of it. Nothing more.

Finishing the last sip of coffee, I tucked my notebook into my bag, stood up, and pushed the café door open. The air outside was damp, cold against my face. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and glistening under the glow of streetlights.

I pulled my coat tighter around me and started walking home. London always had a way of making me feel small, like I was just another face in the crowd, but tonight... I didn't mind it. The silence, the stillness—it gave me room to breathe.

I tried to clear my mind, focus on anything but the conversation I'd just had.

But as I walked through the empty streets, the words still echoed in my head.

"Because you guys can't wait to rip each other's clothes off."

I groaned, tipping my head back to stare at the night sky.

I needed a drink. Or maybe just some sleep.

Either way, I was done thinking about Lando Norris.

At least for tonight.