CHAPTER 32: We're Not Who We Used To Be

"What if I won't? How am I supposed to put that gently? And down the road, you will love me until you resent me" I KNOW IT WON'T WORK - Gracie Abrams

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lando's POV

As I accepted my trophy on stage, I can't wait to tell Sam about it. I've been dying to go to Switzerland since I was away from her for 3 weeks. I hope she wakes up so I can tell her everything about this achievement of mine. 

The lights were blinding, but I could only picture Sam's face when I told her. She'd be so proud. Three weeks felt like forever. I gave my acceptance speech, thanking my team, family, and Sam. I kept it short and sweet, already feeling the urge to rush home. 

"Lando! Congratulations on winning your first championship!"  A reporter said as I went to the McLaren Hospitality. 

"Thank you!" I responded and saw my father signalling me to talk with him. I was a bit nervous about it, but I thought he just wanted to congratulate me. 

"Congrats, son. I have to tell you something," He said as we entered the hospitality. The guests and McLaren staff were cheering, and I just smiled and responded to every congratulatory greeting. 

"What's going on, Dad?" I said as I prepared to have my speech in the paddock. 

"Sam woke up from her coma." He said, and I felt tears escape my eyes. My heart leapt into my throat. 

"She... she did?" I stammered, hardly believing what I was hearing.  Weeks of agonizing silence, of sitting by her bedside, of praying for any sign of life... and now she was awake?

"Yes, son. She woke up this morning. She's asking for you." My dad's voice was thick with emotion, and I could see the relief etched on his face.

The trophy suddenly felt heavy in my hands, and the crowd's cheers faded into a dull background hum. Nothing else mattered. My achievement and the celebration all paled compared to this.

"I... I have to go to her," I said, my voice barely whispering.

My dad nodded, understanding etched on his face. "Go. We'll handle everything here. She needs you."

I didn't need to be told twice. I practically sprinted out of the hospitality suite, ignoring the calls of my name and the outstretched hands wanting to congratulate me. My only focus was getting to her, seeing her, holding her hand.

I practically flew through the paddock, dodging mechanics and team personnel. Zak caught my eye and gave me a knowing nod, a slight smile on his face. He knew. Everyone probably knew.

I jumped into the waiting car, barking instructions at the driver to take me to the airport. The flight to Switzerland felt like an eternity. Every second ticked by like an hour. I replayed every memory of Sam in my head – her laugh, her smile, the way she always knew how to make me feel better, even after a bad race.

The moment the plane landed, I was off. I practically ran through the airport, grabbing a taxi to the hospital. The sterile smell hit me when I stepped inside, and my heart hammered against my ribs.

I found her room number and stood outside the door momentarily, taking a deep breath. What would I say? Would she even remember me?

I pushed the door open and stepped inside. And there she was.

She was pale, thinner than I remembered, but her eyes were open, bright, and fixed on me. A small, hesitant smile touched her lips.

"Lando?" she whispered, her voice raspy and weak.

My name. She remembered my name. Tears welled up in my eyes again, blurring my vision. I rushed to her bedside, gently taking her hand in mine. Her skin felt cool, fragile.

"Sam," I choked out, my voice thick with emotion. 

"Oh, Sam..." I couldn't say anything else. I just gripped her hand tighter, afraid she'd disappear again if I let go.

She squeezed my hand back, a faint but reassuring pressure. 

"You... you won," she said, her eyes searching mine.

The trophy. The championship. It all came flooding back, but it felt insignificant compared to this moment.

"It doesn't matter," I said, shaking my head. 

"None of it matters. You're awake. You're here."

"But... you worked so hard," she said, her voice a little stronger now. 

"I wanted to be there..."

I leaned closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. 

"You were there," I said softly.

 "You were with me every lap, every corner. I did it for you. We did it."

A tear escaped her eye, and I gently wiped it away with my thumb.

We sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, holding hands, our eyes locked. It was enough. We were together again after weeks of uncertainty, fear, and unbearable silence.

"Tell me about the race," she finally said her voice barely a whisper. "Tell me everything."

And so I did. I told her about the start, the battles, the pit stops, the final lap. I described the roar of the crowd, the spray of champagne, the weight of the trophy in my hands. But mostly, I told her about her. About how she was my inspiration, my motivation, my everything. I told her about how much I loved her, how much I missed her, and how grateful I was to have her back.

As I spoke, I watched her face and saw the colour returning to her cheeks, the spark rekindling in her eyes. She was listening intently, absorbing every word, every detail.

I knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy. There would be challenges, setbacks, and difficult days. But as long as we had each other, we could face anything.

Because at that moment, holding her hand in that sterile hospital room, I realized that winning a championship wasn't the most significant victory of my life. The greatest victory was having Sam back.

The sun began to set, casting a warm glow through the hospital window, painting stripes across the sterile white walls. I kept talking, my voice hoarse but filled with a renewed energy. I described the feeling of crossing the finish line, the overwhelming joy, but I ensured she understood it all felt hollow without her sharing it with me.

I told her about Dad and Mom, about how worried they'd been. I told her about Zak and the team, their unwavering support and how they had kept me focused even when all I wanted to do was be by her side. I even told her about the media frenzy, the endless questions, and how I'd politely deflected every single one, my thoughts consumed only by her.

As I spoke, I noticed her eyelids fluttering. The medication was probably kicking in. I gently squeezed her hand.

 "Get some rest, love," I murmured.

 "I'll be right here when you wake up."

She gave my hand another weak squeeze, and her eyes finally closed. I watched her chest rise and fall, a steady rhythm that filled me with a profound sense of peace. I carefully adjusted the blanket around her, making sure she was comfortable. Then, I leaned back in the uncomfortable plastic chair beside her bed and watched her sleep.

The hospital room was quiet, except for the machines' soft beeping, which monitored her vital signs. I closed my eyes briefly, exhaustion finally catching up with me. I dreamt of Switzerland, of the snow-capped mountains and the picturesque villages. I dreamt of Sam and me, hiking through flower-filled meadows, laughing, and holding hands. I dreamt of a future, a future that suddenly felt possible again.

I woke up a few hours later, stiff and groggy. The room was darker now, lit only by the faint glow of the monitors. Sam was still asleep, her breathing steady. I stood up, stretching my aching muscles, and quietly went to the window.

Outside, the city lights twinkled like a million tiny stars. It was a beautiful sight, but my gaze was drawn upwards to the real stars shining brightly in the clear night sky. I thought about all the times Sam and I had stargazed together, lying on a blanket in a field, pointing out constellations and making wishes.

I made a simple wish now: for her full recovery, our future together, and a lifetime of shared moments and unwavering love.

Turning back to Sam, I noticed her stirring. Her eyes fluttered open, and she momentarily looked around the room, confused, before her gaze landed on me.

"Lando?" she whispered, her voice still weak but a little stronger than before.

"Hey," I said, rushing back to her side. 

"How are you feeling?"

"Tired," she said, with a small, tired smile. 

"Just rest, and I'll be here,"  I said, gently stroking her hair.

Sam's POV 

Lando went straight from Abu Dhabi to Switzerland just to come and see me. I am still not positively confident in my recovery progress. I am still hopeless about my physical therapy. It drains me not only physically but also mentally. He says I look good, glowing even. Bless him; he's always been able to find the silver lining. I think he's just trying to cheer me up. I feel like a deflated balloon, all saggy and worn out.

We talked for hours, mostly about F1, of course. He told me all the paddock gossip, who's dating who, who's complaining about the new regulations, all the stuff I used to eat up. Now, it just feels...distant. Like a life I used to have, a life that's slipped through my fingers.

He tried to get me to talk about the therapy, but I clammed up. What's there to say? It's gruelling. Every session is a reminder of what I've lost. And the progress...it's so slow, almost imperceptible. The therapist keeps saying, "Small steps, small victories," but all I see is how far I still have to go. How far I might never go.

Lando stayed for dinner, and Caroline ordered from the local Swiss place I used to go to once we moved here. I barely touched it. He noticed, of course, but didn't push. He just sat there, being Lando, being a good boyfriend. After dinner, he held my hand for a long time before leaving to get supplies in Caroline and my apartment. 

He squeezed it tight and whispered, "You've got this. I know you do."

I wish I had his confidence. Right now, all I have is a throbbing leg and a gnawing sense of despair. Switzerland is beautiful; the air is crisp and clean, but all I can smell is the antiseptic from the clinic. Maybe tomorrow will be better. But right now, I doubt it.

The next day comes like a forced moment in my life. I don't understand how I feel. All I know is that I might have regretted moments before my coma. I mean, not everything, but I think about how much I've wasted not talking to Rachel about Lando and her. My memories hurt me much more than my physical therapy. I cannot stand up straight nor lift my arms properly. I heard the nurses call me "in pflanzlicher Form or Gemüse " I might not know how to speak German, but it sounds so bad. 

I hate that I remember so vividly the stupid arguments, the slammed doors, the petty jealousies—wasted time. Now look at me. A freaking plant. I try to wiggle my toes to prove them wrong, to prove myself wrong. Nothing. My brain sends the signal, but the message gets lost in the wires.

The therapist comes in, all sunshine and forced optimism. "Good morning! Let's see how we're doing today."

 I want to scream. I want to tell her to shove her good morning when the sun doesn't shine. But I can't. All I can do is blink. Hopefully, she gets the message. I doubt it. She starts manipulating my limbs, forcing them to move in ways they don't want to. Pain shoots through me, and I want to cry, but even that feels like too much effort. This isn't living. It's just... existing. In pflanzlicher Form. Gemüse.