Drive me Wild, Rival(BL)

Alaric

It had been ten long days since I last saw Nico.

Ever since that chaotic night in his apartment, a heavy, suffocating cloud had settled over my chest.

I knew I had reacted like a complete madman.

My outburst was wild, irrational, and fueled purely by my own bruised ego, and every single second since then had been filled with a burning, bitter regret.

I hated what I had done. I wanted to fix it—I desperately wanted to undo the damage—but every time I opened my phone to reach out, my thumb paralyzed over his contact.

​Instead of fixing things, I cowered out and went completely silent. I had been ignoring him relentlessly.

Whenever his name flashed on my screen, or a text preview popped up, I forced myself to pretend I didn’t see it.

I left his messages sitting unread, convincing myself that saying nothing was better than saying the wrong thing. I hated my own behavior. I despised how cold and childish I was being, but I couldn’t bring myself to tear down the walls I had hastily rebuilt. To make matters worse, the pressure was mounting exponentially.

Our next race was the Miami Grand Prix, and with the championship points on the line, we both needed to stay focused.

We both had to win.

​The truth was, my anger that night had come from a place of deep, ugly insecurity.

The moment Nico dropped the bomb that he was planning to retire from Formula 1 because of me, my pride flared up like a raw nerve.

I had instantly twisted his words, convincing myself that his decision was rooted in pity. I thought he looked at me—at my struggles, my return to the grid, my fight to regain my footing—and decided to step down just to hand me the championship on a silver platter.

The idea that the man I loved, the driver who was my rival viewed me as someone who needed to be babied or coddled broke something inside me.

I didn’t want a charity title. I wanted to earn it against him at his absolute best.

​"You have been staring at your phone for so long ever since we returned from qualifying."

​Dami’s voice suddenly sounded right behind me, breaking through the heavy silence of the room and making me jump nearly out of my skin.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I quickly turned my head, forcing a tight, polite smile onto my face.

​"Hey," I greeted, keeping my tone as light as I could manage.

​Dami leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching me with a sharp, calculating glint in his eyes. "Did something happen between you and Nico?"

​I gave him a questioning look, genuinely surprised by how directly he had targeted the root of my misery.

But then again, I shouldn’t have been surprised at all. Dami had always possessed an uncanny ability to read people. He was intensely inquisitive, highly observant, and had a knack for sniffing out unspoken drama long before anyone else even realized something was wrong.

​"What gave it away?" I asked, abandoning any attempt to lie.

I ran a tired hand through my hair, letting out a frustrated breath.

​"Because you wouldn’t stop staring at your phone like you were waiting for a death sentence," Dami replied smoothly, raising an eyebrow. "And ever since qualifying ended, you haven’t stopped throwing covert looks toward the Red Bull garage. It wasn’t hard to piece together."

​I heaved a deep, heavy sigh, my shoulders slumping as I rested my elbows on the counter.

​Taking P1 in qualifying today hadn’t given me the rush of excitement it usually did. In fact, it left a sour, bitter taste in my mouth. Deep down, I was haunted by the paranoid thought that I hadn’t actually earned it.

It felt like Nico was deliberately holding back, using his pace to send me a silent statement.

Even though he had secured P2 on the grid, his telemetry during those final flying laps was visibly off his usual standard. He was just a fraction too slow, and I hated it.

It felt like he was quietly throwing the bone to me, setting the stage for tomorrow’s main race. I couldn’t shake the terrifying suspicion that he was planning to settle for second place again tomorrow just to prove that his love for me was bigger than his ambition for the sport.

​"Are you not going to say anything?" Dami demanded, tilting his head as he studied my miserable expression. "You are oddly quiet, Alaric, and that is completely unlike you. So tell me what happened this time. Did Nico say something stupid, or wait..."

​Dami suddenly gasped, slapping a dramatic hand over his mouth as his eyes widened to the size of saucers.

​"Did you guys break up?!" Dami whispered loudly, stepping closer. "I thought you were boyfriends now and just keeping it on the low! Are you angry because Nico did those press interviews about the relationship dynamic between you two? Is that why you are so pissed off? Come on, man, tell me what’s actually happening!"

​I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes for a long moment before I finally broke.

The weight of keeping it all inside was suffocating me.

​I sat him down and poured my heart out, telling him everything. I explained the whole story—from the debate on the couch, to the intense shift in the bedroom, to Nico dropping the bombshell that he was an Enigma, and finally, his confession that he was retiring from racing just so we could have a normal life together without hiding.

I admitted how out of control I had felt, how I accused him of pitying me, and how I had walked out on him despite his pleas to stay.

​When I finally finished speaking, the room fell into a heavy, thoughtful quiet.

Dami didn’t judge me. Instead, he walked over, placed a warm, reassuring hand around my shoulder, and guided me toward the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of our penthouse suite at The Ritz-Carlton Dallas, South Beach.

​We stood side by side, looking out over the dazzling Miami skyline.

The vibrant neon lights of the city reflected off the calm waters of the ocean, casting a soft, blue-and-pink glow across the room.

​"Look, Alaric," Dami began softly, his eyes scanning the sparkling city below us. "Maybe Nico didn’t mean it the way you took it. He’s the driver you’ve looked up to for years, right? He’s been a mentor, a rival, and now he’s your guy. When someone cares about you that deeply, their instinct isn’t always about racing strategy or pride—it’s just about wanting to protect what they love."

​I let out a bitter, shaky breath, shaking my head as I stared out at the streetlights. "I completely fucked up, Dami. You don’t get it. He didn’t even spare me a single glance today. When our eyes met briefly in the hotel lobby earlier, he looked right through me like I was a ghost. I’ve never seen him look at me like that."

​Overwhelmed by a sudden wave of guilt, I inhaled deeply and ran both hands over my face, letting out a muffled groan. "I shouldn’t have done that to him. I was so caught up in my own pride that I didn’t even listen to what he was really trying to say."

​Dami turned his head toward me, a sudden, mischievous smirk breaking across his face as he tried to lighten the heavy mood. "Well, if you want my expert romantic advice on how to fix a broken heart... you could always start by sending him an unsolicited dick pic. Works every time."

​I snapped my head toward him, my jaw dropping in utter disbelief. I angrily shook my head, shoving his shoulder away. "Are you out of your mind?! I am trying to fix a serious relationship, not get blocked forever!"

​Dami burst into a loud, infectious laugh, raising his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, fine! Bad idea. But seriously, Alaric, you need to talk to him properly. You can’t keep running away forever."

​"He won’t even look at me, Dami," I muttered softly, looking down at my shoes. "How am I supposed to talk to him when he’s actively avoiding me now too?"

​"Leave that to me," Dami said smoothly, puffing out his chest with absolute confidence. "I’ll set up a meeting for you two right after the race tomorrow."

​I looked at him suspiciously. "How? The paddock is going to be a circus after the checkered flag. How are you going to manage that?"

​Dami gave me a playful wink, tapping the side of his nose. "I have my ways, my friend. Let me handle it. You just focus on driving."

​He patted my shoulder firmly, his expression turning serious again. "We have a massive race tomorrow, Alaric. You’re starting from P1. Put all of this noise out of your head for ninety minutes, handle your business on the track, and then go fix things with your man. Got it?"

​I looked at him for a long moment, the tightness in my chest easing just a fraction under his steady support.

I took one last deep, grounding breath, steeling my resolve before slowly nodding my head.

​"Yeah," I whispered, turning my gaze back to the glowing Miami skyline. "Got it."