Endless Holes

by Imalando

Summary:

"Lando," she said, "I forgive you. For everything. Just... don't carry more than you have to. You already lost enough."

Lando shook his head, eyes burning. "I can't forgive myself."

"You have to," she whispered. "At some point, you have to give yourself peace."

He looked at her like she was a memory wearing skin. "How do I do that if you're not here?"

Chapter 1: ⛳No hole⛳

 

 

Lando Norris x Nina McLaren

The Holes series reaches its final act with "Endless Holes", continuing the story started in "Empty Holes" and" Missed Holes"

 

 

Lando Norris - The Dickhead

"Don't go."

Former McLaren F1 driver – CEO of Quadrant

13/11/1999

His heart knows what it wants, but the hurt he left behind keeps turning desire into distance inside a love he held so fiercely it almost felt real, even when it wasn't.

 

 

 

Nina McLaren - The Hole

"Let me go."

Professional Golfer - Heir of the McLaren Foundation

28/12/2000

She never knew how much she mattered until she became the hole.

 

Nina McLaren is a creation of my imagination. Her story, her world, and her essence are entirely fictional. All other names, roles, and details belong to the real world of motorsport and golf, blending reality with fiction.

 

 

Chapter 2: ⛳1st hole⛳

The snap of a door closing jolted him awake.
Lando surfaced from sleep sluggishly, his head heavy, the remnants of a long, restless night clinging to him as he tried to understand the faint strangeness in his thoughts.

A headache throbbed behind his temples. He pressed a hand to his forehead, hoping it would ease the pressure. It didn't.

He exhaled and cracked his eyes open, only to shut them again when the sunlight hit too hard. A sharp stripe slipped through the curtains and cut straight across his face. He squinted, waited for the burn to soften, then blinked until the room finally took shape.

He pushed himself upright, rubbing his forehead again, trying to shake off the fog sticking to him.

Morning.
Another one.

His gaze drifted to the nightstand. The bracelet lay beside an unfinished bottle of vodka, both catching the thin, accusing line of daylight.

He didn't touch either.

His body moved on autopilot as he swung his legs out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He turned on the tap, letting the water run for a few seconds before lifting his head to the mirror.

The man staring back at him looked like an impostor wearing his face.

Eyes dulled.
Jawline softened under a beard he hadn't bothered trimming.
Face puffed, creases lingering like shadows.
Hair a mess, oily at the roots and sticking up in angles that showed weeks of neglect.

He exhaled through his nose in a sigh of disgust.

A splash of water, a rough rub of his skin, a slow, mechanical attempt at brushing his teeth. When he dried his face, he didn't bother looking at the mirror again. Instead he stepped into the shower and turned it ice cold. The shock punched through his skin, wrenching him out of whatever was left of sleep as the chill sank all the way into his bones.

Then the buzzer rang, a sudden sound that made his heart drop.

He shut off the water, grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his waist and headed for the entrance. He opened the door without checking, already moving down the hall as someone stepped inside.

"Where are your keys?" he said over his shoulder.

"Morning to you too," came the voice behind him. "I left them here. Went to pick up breakfast. Hold on... you're not ready?"

Lando kept walking toward the bedroom. "Ready for what."

"You know exactly what."

He didn't respond. He opened his closet, stared inside for a second, then shut the doors like the sight had burned him. His hand went to the chair instead, reaching for the same clothes he'd worn all week.

Max appeared in the doorway and grimaced. "Mate... no. Not those stinky things again."
He crossed the room, opened the closet himself and pulled out a clean outfit. "Wear this."
Then he nodded toward the closed doors. "And why is her stuff still in there?"

Lando lifted a hand to stop him. "Not now. My head is killing me."

Max turned toward the nightstand, hoping he wouldn't find exactly what he was expecting. His eyes widened the moment he saw the bottle. "Lando... vodka? Seriously?"

Lando looked away. "Just leave it."

"Mate, we went over this a hundred times. Nothing changes because you don't change anything. You still—"

"Max." Lando's voice cracked a little. "Please."

Max softened immediately, lifting his hands in surrender. "Alright. Okay."
He handed him the clothes gently. "Just... get dressed."

Lando grabbed the trousers and tried to pull them on. They stopped halfway up his thighs. He tugged again, harder, but nothing moved.

Max watched in silence.

Lando sank onto the edge of the bed, trousers stuck mid-leg, shoulders collapsing.
"Great," he muttered. "Just fucking great."

"We'll find another pair," Max said.

"The only thing that fits is joggers," Lando replied without looking up.

"It's alright, wear joggers," Max answered. "I'll go buy you new trousers for tonight."

Lando stared at the floor, jaw clenched, shame crawling up his throat.

"Lando..." Max stepped closer and set a hand on his shoulder. "You can't stay like this forever, mate. You need your life back."

Lando didn't respond.

He just sat there, half-dressed, cold from the shower and crushed by everything that still lived inside him.

Max moved toward the door. "I'll be back."

"Max," Lando finally said, his voice drained. "...I don't think I can do this."

Max paused. "You can. You don't have to say a word. You just have to be there."

Lando lifted his eyes at last, tired and worn out.
"Do I."

"Yeah," Max said. "You do." He gave him one last look before stepping out of the room.

An hour later, Lando was finally ready. Or as ready as he could be.

Before leaving the bedroom, he reached for the nightstand.
His fingers brushed the bracelet.
He hesitated, the metal cold against his skin, then picked it up and closed his hand around it.

Max waited by the door, jacket on, studying him like he might fall apart at any moment. No words came from Lando. He simply grabbed his keys and threw them over. His friend caught them with a quick hand.

"You drive," Lando said, before stepping past him and out of the apartment.

"At this point, you don't even have to say it," Max murmured.

Once in the car, he sank into the passenger seat, closing the door without a word.
Max started the engine, the Urus rumbling with a deep growl that sounded like it was complaining about moving.

They drove out into the bright late-June light.
Lando leaned his head against the window, the glass already warm from the sun. He watched the washed-out streets go by without really seeing them, the sky a flat summer blue above it all.

After a while, he reached for the bracelet, slipped it around his wrist, and clicked it closed almost out of habit.

Max glanced at him, but didn't say a word. He just drove, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping against his thigh in a rhythm that betrayed his nerves.

Lando's eyes stayed fixed on nothing in particular. The drive went on quietly, the weather news murmuring in the background, and his eyelids drooped with each blink.

He fought it for a moment.
Then stopped trying.

 

Chapter 3: ⛳2nd hole⛳

"Lando, wake up. We're here."

Lando blinked awake, disoriented. For a second, he couldn't tell if he was waking up for the first time... or again.
"Where are we?"

Max exhaled through his nose, already tired. "Royal Mougins Golf Club. Remember? The charity event.

Lando rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. "Yeah... right. Golf."

"Come on," Max said, opening his door. "We're meeting the team before everything starts."

"The team?" Lando frowned. "What team?"

Max stared at him. "Oh my god. Mate, please. I need you to focus. Quadrant. Social content. Golf. The whole thing."

Lando let out a slow breath. "Quadrant. Of course. So we're doing motorsport and golf now? Brilliant."

Max narrowed his eyes, worried. "Lando... are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I'm just not ready to... you know..." He gestured vaguely, eyes drifting toward the course outside.

"To see her again," Max finished for him. "I know. But like I said, you don't need to talk to her. Just play. Let me deal with my part, you deal with yours, we get through the day, and then we go home."

"Easier said than done."

"Probably," Max admitted. "But there's no going back now."

Max stepped out of the car, and Lando followed. He pulled his golf bag from the trunk and headed toward the clubhouse, trailing a little behind as the distant thump of swings and low chatter reached them.

"Ria and Tom are waiting inside," Max said. "I'll go find them. You go register, alright?"

Lando nodded, even if nothing about this felt alright.
Ria and Tom... in Monaco?

He headed to the registration desk. Someone handed him a lanyard, a scorecard, and a bucket of balls for warm-up. He thanked them and walked toward the practice area, the tightness in his chest building with every step.

He reached the range.

And stopped.

A single swing caught his attention. Smooth, controlled, familiar in a way that hit him straight in the ribs. His grip around the bucket tensed instantly, fingers squeezing the plastic until he thought it might crack.

He wasn't sure if it was panic or fear, only that it hit hard and fast.

He pressed his free hand to his chest, fingers squeezing into the fabric in a useless attempt to stop his pulse from racing. He kept watching her, the stance, the shoulders, the confidence she carried without trying.

She wore a fitted white golf polo tucked into a navy skirt that followed the motion of her swing. A cap shaded her eyes, her ponytail pulled through the back and swaying lightly each time she turned. She looked effortlessly in her element, completely focused on the ball in front of her.

He took a long, filling breath, trying to gather whatever courage he could, then forced himself to walk forward.

As he reached her, while she positioned a ball with her club, the words slipped out of him before he could think.

"You always warm up like you're about to win a major?"

She looked up.

And for a second, he almost dropped the bucket.

Those eyes.

She hadn't changed. Not a bit.
She looked radiant, almost unreal, beautiful in a way that made his stomach twist. There was a light in her he had forgotten, or maybe one he had convinced himself wasn't as bright as this. Seeing her up close was overwhelming, like his mind couldn't keep up with the reality of her standing right there.

Seeing her like this hurt.
More than he expected. More than he was ready for.

"Lando?" Her eyes widened, not only in recognition but in shock at how different he looked.

He straightened a little, clutching the bucket as if it could anchor him. "Yeah. It's... me."

She blinked, then pushed past her surprise. "You've... changed."

"You haven't," he said.

"It's been a long time."

"Yeah." His voice came out rougher than he intended. "It has."

She looked him over again, like she was trying to reconcile the man in front of her with the one in her memory. He could almost see the questions forming behind her eyes, the ones she wouldn't dare ask.

Her fingers stiffened around her club.
She looked away first.

"You here for the charity event?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Quadrant dragged me in."

"Couldn't be McLaren, right?"

He laughed, uncomfortable. "No. Two years since I left."

"I know."

He swallowed, pulse climbing. "How's Florida."

"Amazing."

She didn't add anything, so he pushed to keep the conversation alive.
"So you're back in Monaco?"

A long pause.
She didn't answer.

When her eyes met his again, they held nothing he could interpret. No warmth, no anger, just a distance he couldn't cross.

"You should start warming up," she said.

She turned her attention back to the ball, slipping into her routine again, though her posture wasn't as relaxed as before.

He stood beside her, bucket still in hand, feeling foolish without knowing why.

He took the practice spot just behind her, setting his bucket down and grabbing a club. He tried to focus on his own warm-up, feet adjusting, shoulders settling, but his eyes kept betraying him, drawn back to her. He watched discreetly, pretending to analyse his posture while really tracking the easy line of her backswing, the clean contact, the soft exhale through her follow-through.

She was perfect.

"Mate, stop trying to murder the golf ball. It did nothing to you."

Max's voice broke his concentration, whether it was on his own swing or hers he wasn't sure.

He walked up with Ria and Tom right behind him, the camera already pointed their way.

"Pre-game warm-up," she said, raising the lens toward Lando. "Say hi."

Lando lifted a middle finger.

"Oh my god." Ria laughed. "Lando. Behave."

Nina turned at the sound of their voices. "Hey Max," she said. "Long time."

Max stopped short, cleared his throat, and forced a polite nod. "Oh, Nina. Yeah. Been a while. Hope you're... good."

She smiled like they were both pretending nothing had ever happened. "Good to see you."

Ria let the camera roll a little longer, catching Max grumbling about being Lando's caddie and Lando giving him a hard time. When she'd filmed enough, she lowered the camera.

Before anyone could say anything else, an official from the organisation called out across the range,
"Teams are posted. If you're playing, head to the starter's table."

Max hoisted Lando's bag onto his shoulder. "Alright. Let's see who we're stuck with."

They headed toward the first tee, following the small path that wound around the practice green. Cameras hovered nearby, collecting shots of the participants while staff moved between groups. A light breeze swept across the course, brushing through the trees, and the grass shimmered with leftover dew.
Near the approach to the tee, a board displayed neat rows of names.
Lando scanned the list, his pulse climbing when he found theirs.

Groupe 4

Lando Norris
Nina McLaren
Julien Rochat
Lily Albon

He swallowed just as Max leaned in to murmur,
"My name's not on there, but I'm with you, mate. Remember that."

Lando nodded, unable to decide if this was luck, fate, or some kind of twisted punishment.

 

Chapter 4: ⛳3rd hole⛳

Lando slid his glove on, buying himself a few extra seconds of composure. His heartbeat hadn't settled since he'd seen the team sheet.

Max walked beside him with his friend's bag slung over his shoulder.

"You good?" he asked under his breath.

"Yeah."

"You're lying."

Lando didn't answer, just nodded, because right now it was all he seemed capable of. Max squeezed his shoulder twice, saying enough without a word.

They reached the first tee and noticed a man already there, straightening up from his bag. He looked up when they approached and gave a polite nod.

"You must be Lando Norris," he said.

Lando paused. "Yeah. And you are?"

The man stepped forward and offered his hand.
"Julien Rochat. Nice to meet you."

His last name rang a bell for Lando. They shook hands.

Julien took in the crowd around them, the cameras moving from group to group.
"It's my first time playing in an event like this." he said. "Pretty intimidating."

"You'll get used to it," Lando said, hoping it sounded reassuring. "It's only hectic for the first five minutes."

Julien huffed a laugh.

"And... Rochat," Lando continued. "Any relation to the chef at The Rochat Restaurant?"

Julien couldn't hide the smile.
"Family business. My father ran it for years, and my sister is taking over now."

The pride in his voice was easy to hear.
"She didn't want it at first. She always talked about building something from scratch, doing her own thing, but Dad eventually convinced her to take it on..."

Lando nodded along, not really listening as Julien kept talking about his father and his sister and the restaurant, the whole story spilling out in one long, proud stream.

When there was finally a pause, Lando cut in gently.
"So you're a chef too?"

He realised how dumb the question sounded as soon as it left his mouth. It was obvious he wasn't, not after spending the last minute bragging about his sister.

Julien shook his head.
"No. I run a performance agency in Jupiter. We build training programs and handle daily prep for athletes. Mostly golfers, sometimes tennis or motorsport."

Max lifted his eyebrows. "Even retired athletes?"

Lando shot him a look, that clearly meant seriously?, but Max pretended not to see it.

Julien smiled. "Depends on the athlete. Why? Are you two interested?"

Max jumped in. "Well, yes actually—"

Lando cut him off, answering too fast. "No, no. Don't listen to him. Anyway, you said Jupiter? You're based there?"

Julien adjusted his glove, more at ease now that he was talking shop.
"Yes, I'm based in Jupiter. Florida's full of pros, it makes the job easier. Might change soon, though."

"Long trip for eighteen holes," Lando said.

Julien laughed. "Right? Don't worry, I didn't cross the ocean just for a charity round."
He paused, a small, amused smile settling at the corner of his mouth.
"Actually, it's funny running into you here. I signed McLaren as a new client last week."

Lando's hand went straight to his collar, an old nervous habit he never managed to shake. The name McLaren felt like it belonged to someone he used to be. A different lifetime.

"They brought us in to work on their drivers' performance," Julien went on. "And they asked me to join them for the charity event."

A spike of panic climbed straight up Lando's spine.
"Wait—Harry's here?"

Julien shook his head. "No."

"Zak?"

"Also no," Julien said. "I flew in from London this morning without Mr. Brown. Just with my fiancée."

Lando nodded, though the word fiancée slid under his ribs and stayed there.

"You look... almost relieved they're not here," Julien said.

Lando didn't answer.

Julien tilted his head. "So, what did you move on to after leaving McLaren?"

"Um... I'm working on some projects," Lando said, the words clumsy, not at all convincing.

Max shot him a side glance. Projects? was written all over his face with a giant question mark.

Julien didn't press. "Oh? Motorsport-related, or something new?"

"It's still... projects," Lando muttered. "Nothing I can talk about yet."

"I see," Julien said, his smile showing he understood the boundary. "Well, I hope it works out for you."

Before Lando could reply, a burst of laughter rose behind them, and every muscle in him locked at once.
He knew that laugh. Hers.

He turned slowly.

Nina and Lily were walking toward them, clubs in hand, sunlight catching the edge of Nina's hair. She looked calm and composed, completely unaware of how the atmosphere changed.

Especially around him.

Julien's face brightened instantly.

"There she is," he said, stepping forward.

Nina smiled. "Sorry, I went looking for Lily. Are we late?"

"Not at all, baby," Julien said.

Lando jolted.

Baby?

He didn't even have time to process it before Julien leaned in and kissed her.
His stomach dropped straight to the floor. He wasn't fast enough to look away, and the image burned behind his eyes.

This had to be a joke. A punishment. Karma. Call it whatever the universe wanted.

Julien's fiancée
was Nina?

What on fucking earth...

Lando whispered under his breath, "I want to go home."

Max stiffened beside him. "Mate, relax."

Lando snapped his head toward him so fast it almost hurt. His voice stayed low but full of anger. "Don't fucking tell me to relax, Max. I told you I didn't want to do this."

Max's jaw tightened. He stepped closer, set a hand on Lando's chest, and pushed just enough to make him move back half a step, Just enough to make him feel it. "This's for Quadrant. It's work. If you walk away from this too, I don't know what's left for you."

Lando's words died before they could form. Julien was already back, Nina beside him.
"Lando, let me introduce you to Nina McLaren, my fiancée."

Lando's fist curled against his leg so tight he felt his nails dig into his palm.

"I know him already, love," Nina said, looking at Julien with a calm smile.

Julien blinked. "Right. Of course. McLaren. You must have crossed paths."

Nina nodded. "We've worked in the same places before."

Lando swallowed hard, forcing his voice to behave. "Y... yeah."
He hesitated, then added, "We actually met here for the first time. Same course. Another charity event. That was four years ago."

Nina's eyes flicked away for a second, the smallest shift in her posture.

"Oh, really?" Julien said, glancing between them.

"Honestly, I don't remember much from that time." Nina said lightly. "Papa and Zak had me doing so many events I barely kept track." She cleared her throat gently. "So... who wants to start?"

Julien lifted his hand. "I can go first. I don't want to look stupid after you hit a perfect shot."

Nina laughed. "Oh, please. I know exactly how good you are."

He kissed her cheek and stepped to the tee.

A bitter taste rose in Lando's throat.
He didn't know what hurt more:
The kiss,
The engagement,
Or realizing she hadn't told Julien a single thing about him. The man was clearly clueless about who he had been to Nina.

Why?
Why bury that part of their story?

He forced his thoughts down.
He raised his eyes.

Nina was looking at him.
Not just looking... waiting.

He held her gaze until she finally turned back to Julien.
So he looked at Julien too.

And as Julien picked up his driver, a warmth gathered in Lando's chest, rising slowly until it filled every inch of him.

Jealousy?
Heartbreak?
No.

This was competition.

Julien placed his ball, took a breath, and sent a clean, solid drive straight down the fairway. The ball climbed high and settled perfectly in the centre. A wave of applause followed.

"Wow." Nina joined in, clapping. "Nice shot."

Julien smiled, pleased. "Thank you, babe."

Nina stepped up next. Her swing was as smooth as ever. Controlled. Elegant. Perfect. The ball flew and rolled a few yards past Julien's.

"Beautiful," Lando and Julien said at the same time.

They both paused, exchanging a quick glance, before Julien nodded toward him. "Alright, Lando. Go ahead."

Lando's breath caught for a second.

He hadn't touched a club in months.
His mind was a mess.
His pulse was pounding.
People were watching.
She was watching.

But suddenly, none of it mattered.

He wanted one thing: to beat Julien.

He didn't even know why. There was nothing left to prove. Nina was getting married. He was just a ghost from her past. But something inside him pushed anyway.

Max leaned in. "You've got this."

Lando stepped up to the tee.

Everything around him quieted.
Just him.
The ball.
The club.
And a heartbeat that suddenly felt steady for the first time in years.

He set his stance.
Lowered his shoulders.
Locked his jaw.

And swung.

Pure. Precise. Violent in the best way.

The ball exploded off the face of his driver with a sound that snapped the air. It rose fast, higher than Julien's, cutting through the sky with a force he hadn't felt since his F1 days.

Nina's eyes widened.
Julien blinked, completely thrown off.
The crowd erupted.

Max let out a scream-whisper, pumping his fist in the air. "Fuck yeah."
Then to Ria and Tom, without taking his eyes off the sky, he barked, "Please tell me you got that."

Tom kept filming. "It's in the box."

The ball landed deep in the fairway.
Farther than both Julien and Nina.
Farther than he expected.

A point made.
A line drawn.
A warning delivered.

Not to impress them... well, maybe a little.
But mostly to remind himself he was still in there somewhere.

He wasn't a washed-up, miserable shadow of who he used to be.
Or at least, not today.

Lando walked off the tee without smiling, the crowd still shouting his name.

"Your turn, Lily," he said, calm and neutral.

Inside, though?
Inside he was screaming.

Did you fucking see that?
Did you all fucking see what I can still do?

 

Chapter 5: ⛳4th hole⛳

Lando was on fire.

Ball after ball, he kept landing shots he had no business hitting after months away from the game.

"Come on, maaate!" Max shouted as Lando rolled in another birdie.

Julien chuckled. "Dude, seriously... have you considered going pro?"

Lando gave a small shrug, pretending it was nothing, but his heart told a different story, all pounding adrenaline.

They kept moving from hole to hole, and Lando didn't slow down.

Nina kept quiet.
She offered polite nods, soft smiles, the occasional "nice shot."
But Lando felt her eyes on him more than once, lingering for a fraction too long before she looked away again.

She didn't have to say she was impressed.
He knew.

They wrapped up the last hole and gathered their clubs, the group still riding the energy of the round.

High-fives followed, laughter mixing with quick congratulations.
When Nina's hand met his, the contact stayed for a brief, unexpected beat.
A warm spark shot through him, spreading fast and unsettling his balance.

He didn't want to let go.
If anything, his fingers almost twitched toward hers, ready to intertwine.
But she pulled back first and stepped toward Julien, slipping easily to his side.

A cold rush followed the warmth.

Max clapped a hand on Lando's shoulder. "Bob, what you did today was phenomenal. I haven't seen you play like this in years. Told you you've still got it."

Lando just breathed out a quiet, "Thanks," unable to pull his mind away from the moment that slipped through his fingers.

They made their way to the clubhouse, joining the flow of players gathering inside. Staff collected scorecards. Glasses clinked at the bar. Groups formed around small tables, chatting about their rounds while the results were being tallied.

The whole room relaxed.
Everyone seemed to enjoy the aftermath.
Everyone except Lando... and the one person he kept tracking from the corner of his eye.

He had found himself speaking with Julien, while Nina chatted with Lily at the bar and Max stepped away to take a call from his girlfriend.

At first, the topic stayed harmless.
Golf. The course. The weather.
Small talk that helped fill the space.

But little by little, Julien's curiosity started to show.

"So," he said, resting his forearms on the table, "tell me—what happened? With McLaren. With F1. What made you step back two years ago?"

Lando stiffened for a moment. He wasn't used to people asking straight questions anymore. Most tiptoed around him, afraid of touching the wrong nerve.

"Long story," he muttered.

Julien nodded as if that was fine, but didn't move on. He simply waited.

And strangely... the walls he usually kept up didn't feel as unbreakable.
Maybe it was the game.
Maybe the adrenaline.
Maybe talking to someone who didn't know the whole history.

"My girlfriend left me," Lando said finally. "Two years ago. Just before Silverstone."

Julien listened, eyes on him.

"It was... uhm," Lando tried again, searching for the right words. "Really bad. We argued, she left, and when I went after her... I... I hit her with my car."

Julien blinked. "You hit her with your car?"

Lando's lips trembled as he nodded. His eyes prickled, the pain feeling out of place in a memory that never fully belonged to this world.

He opened his mouth to say more when someone called out from the front:
"Alright everyone, results are up!"

For a moment everything paused. The room pulled itself back into reality. Chairs scraped. People moved. Conversations broke and restarted around them. Lando's heart stayed stuck in the place he had just opened, unsettled by being so exposed all of a sudden.

Julien lowered his voice as the noise rose around them. "You know, I work with people in exactly your situation. High-level athletes who fell off their track after a shock or a burnout." He hesitated, then added, "I can help you too. If you want it."

Lando stared at him, unsure of what he was feeling. Fear of opening up? Relief at being seen? Or maybe just embarrassed at how much he'd revealed without meaning to.

Julien continued, "Not to do you a favour. To actually work with you. As your coach. As part of your team. Think about it."

Lando looked away for a second.

Across the room, Nina laughed at something Lily said.
A familiar pressure pulled at his chest.

Maybe for the first time in a long time... help didn't feel impossible.
It felt like a way forward.

Somewhere near the stage, a voice announced,
"The winner... is Lando Norris. Congratulations."

Julien gave him a genuine smile and a quick tap on the shoulder. "Congrats, bro."

Max came up behind him, grinning. "Look at you. First trophy in ages."

Applause swelled around them. Cameras turned toward him. Ria and Tom waved him over, and together they followed Max and Lando to the stage. He accepted the small trophy and the certificate confirming a donation in Quadrant's name to a mental health foundation.

As he stepped back down, he found Nina watching him from across the crowd. She was smiling at him. He returned it, and for a moment he almost believed there was pride in her eyes. Maybe he imagined it.

Julien rejoined him, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a small card. He held it between two fingers. "Almost forgot. This is my direct line."

Lando laughed under his breath. "People still use these?"

"It's less intrusive," Julien said, amused. "No pressure. You reach out if or when you decide to."

Lando slid the card into his pocket.

"Stay for a drink with us," Julien said, glancing back at Nina. "We're staying a bit longer."

Lando shook his head. "We have to go."

Max added, "Yeah. Flight to London."

Julien nodded and waved them off before turning back to Nina. She found his hand naturally, leaned in, and kissed his cheek.

Lando watched the scene like someone standing backstage, knowing he couldn't step in. For a second, he pictured himself in Julien's place. Only for a second, before Max's hand landed on his shoulder and made the fantasy vanish.
"It's time. We have to leave."

Outside, by the car, he lifted his clubs into the trunk. Max moved in and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him into a quick hug.

"I'm proud of you, mate," Max murmured.

Lando's shoulders loosened a little. "Cheers," he said.

Max stepped back, checking the car. "Alright. Let's go home."

Lando gave the course one last glance before he opened the passenger door.
He could still hear her laugh somewhere in his mind.
He breathed in, let it sit for a moment, and slid into the car.

 

Chapter 6: ⛳5th hole⛳

"Ladies and gentlemen, we've arrived at London Heathrow. Local time is four forty-four. Please remain seated with your seatbelts fastened until the aircraft comes to a complete stop."

The pilot's voice coming through the speakers dragged Lando out of sleep. For a clock blink he didn't move. His mind needed time to catch up, to remember he was on a plane, to remember why he was this tired in the first place.

The cabin around him slowly came alive. In the front section of the plane, passengers unbuckled their seatbelts despite the pilot's instructions. Bags thumped open, zippers rattled, a few tired sighs slipped between the wider seats. The usual end-of-flight chaos.

Lando breathed out a low, rough sound, irritated at being pulled out of a doze so quickly. His eyes stayed half-closed as he rubbed a hand across his face, the bracelet on his wrist clicking lightly against his skin while he tried to clear the lingering fog.

"God," he muttered, still gravelly with sleep. "How long was I out?"

Another sleepy groan slipped out as he stretched his legs. He could fall asleep anywhere lately. More than he used to. Planes, cars, couches, meetings — give him five minutes and his body just shut down.

The aircraft rolled the last few meters and came to a stop with a little jolt that nudged everyone forward, signalling they had reached the gate. Around him, the first-class passengers stood and gathered their things.

Lando got to his feet, stretching his back before reaching for his bag in the overhead compartment. Max rose from the pod beside his and stepped into the aisle a moment later, swinging his backpack over one shoulder.

"I heard you snore the whole flight, mate," Max said.

"Good," Lando mumbled. "Means I actually slept."

"You didn't sleep. You died."

Lando rubbed his eyes. "Needed it."

"And near the end you did one of those little choking snores."

"Sexy."

"Hottest thing about you."

Lando snorted, too tired to care. "Shut up."

They made their way off the plane and through the terminal, moving without really thinking through security checks and passport control. Bags collected, they followed the signs outside and found their driver waiting.

The ride into London was quiet. The driver kept sneaking glances at them through the rear-view mirror, probably trying to work out whether the guy slumped in the back was really Lando Norris. Lando was used to that kind of stare these days. He hardly resembled the Lando from posters and interviews anymore, so people tended to second-guess it.

Outside, cyclists threaded between buses and black cabs, early-evening traffic inching along. Lando watched it all with heavy eyes, fighting off another wave of sleep.

Max nudged his shoulder. "Don't drift off."

Lando didn't open his eyes. "Mm."

"Lando, come on," Max said. "The Hilton reception's in an hour."

That made Lando exhale. "Yeah. I know."

"Then don't show up like a zombie," Max muttered. "One night of consciousness. That's all I'm asking. Just be there. I'll handle the talking."

Lando hummed something that hardly counted as agreement.

Max pushed on. "If we play it right, we leave with two or maybe three new sponsors from Hilton's network."

"I'll be there," Lando muttered.

"You need to be there and awake."

Lando let his head fall back against the seat. "I'll do my best."

"Because if you snore in front of investors, I'm quitting Quadrant. I swear."

Lando cracked an eye open. "You done?"

"No. And I'm telling you—no alcohol tonight."

"Not even champagne?"

"Not a single drop."

Lando sighed dramatically. "Max, you're not my mum."

"Good thing," Max shot back. "Because your mum would've smacked you by now."

Lando barked a laugh. "You can try."

"Oh, believe me, I'm tempted."

Lando managed a small smile, the first hint of life he'd shown in hours.

The car turned into his street, the summer evening still bright as they approached the apartment.

Inside, they moved quickly. Max tossed Lando the trousers he'd bought for him in Monaco, insisting he wear them. Not that Lando had much of a choice; half his wardrobe didn't fit anymore. A quick fix of hair, a shirt that didn't look slept in, and they were back out the door.

By the time they reached the Hilton London Bankside, the reception was already underway. Music, chatter, and the clink of glasses met them the moment they stepped inside.

Lando's heart lurched.
Too many people. Too much noise. Too many eyes turning their way the second they walked in. He tugged at his shirt, wishing he could disappear into the carpet.

Max leaned in when he felt Lando tense beside him. "Breathe. We're not staying all night."

Lando gave a stiff nod, but the room already felt too warm, the lights too bright, the air too thick. Every instinct told him to turn around and run straight out of the place.

But Max was already steering him forward.

"Think they're here?" Lando asked quietly.

"Most likely," Max said.

And of course, that was the moment Harry and Claire McLaren stepped into view.

Lando froze. "No. Max, no. I can't do this. I can't. I thought I could, but I can't."

"Hey," Max murmured, keeping his voice low, "we're not going over there. It's fine."

"I can't," Lando repeated, shorter this time, breath catching.

"You can. And you will. Your therapist told you this. You've got to start facing things."

Lando shook his head. "I can't."

The panic hit too fast. He turned and headed for the toilets, almost running. Max followed him in.

"Mate," Max said behind him, keeping his voice steady, "you've got to be brave at some point."

Lando didn't answer. He gripped the sink with both hands and bent forward, splashing cold water on his face. His breaths came in short, uneven bursts. His chest tightened painfully, as if the air in the room wasn't enough. His fingertips tingled, his legs felt hollow, and his heart battered against his ribs like a trapped bird fighting its cage.

"Lando," Max said, moving beside him, "you're hyperventilating."

He placed a firm hand between Lando's shoulder blades, rubbing slow, grounding circles.

"Slow down. Come on. Breathe with me. In... and out. Nice and steady."

Lando kept his eyes squeezed shut. He tried to inhale, but it stuttered out of him in a shaky rush.

"Look at me," Max said gently. "Just look at me."

Lando lifted his eyes to the mirror, skipping over the reflection he couldn't stand to look at and finding Max behind him.

"That's it. Now match me. In..." Max inhaled deliberately, lifting his hand to guide the pace. "And out."

Lando tried. Failed. Tried again. Failed again.

"In... and out. Slower. You're safe. I'm right here."

Lando's breaths gradually evened out, each one a fraction deeper than the last. The tightness in his chest loosened. The pins and needles in his hands faded. His shoulders dropped from around his ears.

His hands stopped shaking first. His chest followed.

"There you go," Max murmured. "Good lad. You're okay. Keep breathing."

Lando closed his eyes again, this time from exhaustion rather than fear. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Don't apologise," Max said.

Lando's mouth filled with saliva, eyes stinging. "It just... it feels impossible, Max. It's been two years and I'm still stuck in that moment. Like I'm trying to climb something I'll never reach the top of. Like no matter what I do, I always end up back here."

Max kept rubbing on his back. "Healing takes time, Lando. There's no shortcut. You have to stick with your therapist. You have to get back to taking care of yourself. You can't keep pretending you're fine and hoping it all disappears on its own. I know you've been skipping sessions. That's not helping."

Lando let out a thin, shaky breath. "But it feels like none of it works. I'm not getting anywhere. I still have these stupid panic attacks whenever... whenever something reminds me of her. And it's like—" He broke off, voice cracking. "It's like I don't know how to live without the pain. Like it's part of me now."

Max took hold of his shoulders and gave him a small shake. "Lando. Look at me."

Lando lifted his eyes, barely.

"You are going to heal," Max said, tone leaving absolutely no space to disagree. "Maybe not today, maybe not next month, but you will. You can. And I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here through all of it."

Lando blinked hard, breathing hardly again.

"And one day," Max continued, in that grounded tone he only ever used with his best friend, "you'll look back at this and realise how far you came. You won't be stuck in that moment forever. I swear."

Lando swallowed hard, taking in every word Max said. It settled slowly, sinking into him instead of going in one ear and out the other the way things tended to these days. He nodded, pulling himself together bit by bit.

"You good to move?" Max asked quietly.

"Yes," Lando said, then added, "I think."

"You've got this."

Max squeezed the back of his neck, grounding him one last time before guiding him toward the door.

When they stepped out of the bathroom, the noise of the reception hit again. Max stayed close, steering them around the edges of the room, keeping a careful distance between Lando and the McLarens.

"We'll keep them far," Max murmured. "If they come this way, we pivot."

Lando managed a small nod.

They moved toward the first group of people, Max easing into conversation with the natural confidence he'd always had. Lando used to match him, but that part of him felt far away now. He kept a step behind, offering polite smiles and the occasional handshake.

A young man from Monster Energy noticed them almost immediately and approached with a bright grin.

"Max! Lando—great to finally meet you both."

Max shook his hand firmly. "Evening, Peter. Been meaning to talk with you for a while. Quadrant's gearing up for a big expansion."

"That's exactly why I wanted to catch you," Peter said. "We've been following your content. The growth is insane."

"Thank you," Max replied. "We're exploring a few new partnerships for the year, so the timing's perfect."

Peter turned to Lando with genuine enthusiasm. "Big fan, by the way. Been watching your races and streams for years."

Lando offered a small smile. "Thanks. Appreciate it."

"You still planning to do more sim content?" Peter asked.

Lando nodded lightly. "Yeah... yeah, that's the plan."

Max picked it up smoothly. "And you probably know this already, but Lando worked with Monster a few times during his early McLaren years. The special helmet, the sim weekend, the digital pieces, even the branded cans. Everything performed way above expectations."

Peter smiled. "I know. I wasn't part of the team back then, but people still talk about it. Great numbers, great energy, strong reactions. Honestly, the history between you and Monster is a big reason I wanted to talk with you tonight."

"Good to hear," Max said. "And with Quadrant growing, it feels like the perfect moment to build something together again."

"Absolutely," Peter said. He lifted his phone, a QR code glowing on the screen. "Here, scan my details. Let's schedule a meeting next week."

Max scanned it. "Perfect. We'll get it in the calendar."

Peter slipped his phone back into his pocket and moved on.

Max edged a little closer. "See? Easy."

Lando exhaled, a small, shaky smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah."

They moved to another small group—a tech startup looking for creator partnerships. Max did most of the talking again, explaining Quadrant's vision, cracking a few jokes, keeping the atmosphere light. Lando nodded at the right moments, smiled politely, shook hands.

Someone offered him a drink. Lando raised his water instead. Max gave him a proud look but said nothing.

By the third conversation, Lando realised he wasn't shaking anymore. His breathing had settled. His chest didn't feel like a vice. He even forgot, just for a second, that he'd nearly collapsed in a bathroom an hour ago. Almost like his body had been messing with him the whole time.

He drifted toward the bar to sit for a moment, letting the noise blur around him.

He pulled Julien Rochat's business card from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers, the same question looping in his head. Should I make the call?

He exhaled, placed the card on the counter, and tried to piece together Julien's words in his head... when someone dropped onto the stool beside him.

"Well, well... look who finally crawled out of his hole."

Lando's spine snapped tight. He turned, and his eyes widened as soon as he saw who it was. He looked away instantly, instinct taking over. His body moved without asking for permission. His hand shot back to the counter for the card, and he pushed to his feet, ready to walk off.

A hand closed around his arm.

"Wait. We need to talk."

Lando stopped. He turned his head just enough to look over his shoulder.

"I have nothing to say to you, Arthur."

Arthur's grip didn't let go. "But I do."

Lando pried his arm free and was about to leave when Arthur said quietly, "You're not the only one who had it hard."

Lando froze again.

"It's been tough for us too," Arthur said.

Lando faced him slowly, disbelief tightening every line of his face. "You're fucking joking. Tough? How? You got promoted from Alpine to McLaren. You're getting married next year. Where is the tough part in that? Looks to me like everything only got better."

"You have no idea what Mila and I went through," Arthur replied.

Lando let out a dry laugh. "And you know what? I don't care. You guys moved on, and good for you. Just don't stand here and tell me it was tough."

Arthur shook his head. "She didn't just leave you, Lando. She left all of us."

"Stop." Lando turned his face away, because that she had always meant her.

"I was really worried about you," Arthur said quietly. "I still am."

"That's why you reached out?" Lando asked.

"I tried. They didn't let me. Your parents. Max. They said it would only make things worse." He swallowed. "I'm sorry."

Lando hesitated, a familiar tiredness pulling at his features.

"Me too," he said at last, then turned and walked away.

Max was still talking to someone near the door when Lando approached. The moment he noticed him, Max excused himself from the conversation.

"I want to go home," Lando said quietly.

"Now?"

"Yes. I'm done."

Max didn't press. The night had already been a success — they'd made enough good contacts for him to call it a win — and Lando's face said the rest. He simply nodded, led him out, and drove him home.

Once inside the apartment, Lando didn't bother with the lights or his clothes. He went straight to his room, let his things fall somewhere on the floor, and collapsed into bed.
Morning would come again.
And with it, the same weight.

 

Chapter 7: ⛳6th hole

Lando sat slumped on the sofa with a bag of things he didn't even remember grabbing. Chips, Kinder bars, biscuits — whatever ended up in his hand. The TV was on just to fill the room, a low noise he wasn't actually listening to. He ate without thinking, scrolling through Instagram with his thumb, chasing a little dopamine in every post.

But nothing caught his eye.
Nothing held him long enough to matter.

His head felt heavy, a slow, dragging weight left by too many bad nights and too many mornings pretending he wasn't tired. He scrolled, scrolled, scrolled, barely reading anything, barely seeing anything.

At some point, without even thinking about it, he tapped into Nina's profile.
Still public.
Still untouched.
Her last post was two years old.

He backed out almost as fast as he'd opened it.

A notification appeared. He ignored it.
Another.
Ignored.

He sighed and readjusted on the sofa, absentmindedly repositioning his testicles, crumbs falling off him in the process. The clock in the corner of the screen caught his attention. He blinked and lifted his phone to check the time again.

3:30 p.m

Shit.

He had to be in Woking in an hour.

He let his head drop onto the cushion behind him and released another long, exhausted sigh. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to get up. He didn't even want to think.

With another breath, he reached for his phone again and called Max.

The line rang twice before it connected.

"Yeah, mate?" Max answered.

"You coming to get me?" Lando asked. "I need to be in Woking."

"Why do you always call me for this?" Max said. "Do I look like your personal Uber?"

"Yes," Lando replied immediately.

"Well, not today. I can't. I have something with P. We're out all day."

Lando rubbed his forehead. "So I have to take a taxi."

"Or you take one of your cars," Max said. "You have so many it's becoming stupid."

Lando opened his mouth to argue when something on the TV caught his ear. He glanced up, unfocused at first. A Sky Sports Golf segment.
The little LIVE under the logo was missing — not a broadcast happening now.
He almost looked away until the camera zoomed in on a face he knew better than his own reflection.

Nina.

His grip loosened. He nearly dropped his phone.

The remote lay somewhere beside him. He fumbled for it blindly, found it, and turned up the volume without taking his eyes off the screen.

She was standing in front of a practice green, smiling a little at the reporter's question. Sunlight on her hair. Cap low. Calm. Professional. Every tiny detail so familiar it twisted something inside him.

"We're here with Nina McLaren," the reporter said. "Three wins this season on the Epson Tour and now making waves on the Ladies European circuit. Nina, it's been an impressive year. How does it feel to be competing at this level again?"

Nina laughed, nodding. "Feels good. It's been a long road. My team and I have worked really hard to get here, so every win means something."

Lando wet his lips and nudged the volume higher.

Max's voice kept talking in his ear. "Mate, did you hear me, or are you eating microwave pizza again?"

He couldn't look away. Couldn't say anything.

The reporter continued, "You've been on a roll for months. What's next? More time in Florida, or are you travelling again?"

Nina shifted her weight slightly, giving a quick glance toward the course before answering. "Actually, no. I'm flying to Monaco tonight. There's a charity event with a few other players — something my dad helped organise a while back. And after that, London. I'm playing the Surrey Invitational next week."

She turned back to the reporter with a small smile. "It's one of my favourite courses. Feels like a second home. Playing those greens always reminds me why I started."

Surrey. Thirty minutes from his flat.

"Lando." Max exhaled in his ear. "Lando. Are you still there?"

Lando wasn't aware he'd spoken until he heard his own voice. "She's on TV."

A silence hung for half a second.

Then Max sighed loudly. "For fuck's sake. Turn it off before you lose your mind again."

Lando leaned closer to the screen. "She has a tournament in Surrey," he said quietly. "I'm going."

"No, you're not," Max said immediately. "Lando, listen to me. Leave her alone. Let her go. This is not healthy."

Lando didn't answer.

"Mate? Hello? Do not show up there. I swear, if you go, I'll drag you out myself."

Still nothing.

"Lando. Are you hearing me?"

He pressed his lips together and hung up without replying.

Silence settled over the flat again, broken only by the commercial playing after the interview. Lando set the remote beside him and rubbed his face. Then he reached for his phone and searched for the Surrey Invitational.

The page came up immediately.
Walton Heath Golf Club.
Tomorrow.

Player arrival from 7:30.
Practice session at 8:00.
First tee time at 10:00.

Every pass marked unavailable.
Spectator tickets sold out.
Hospitality fully booked.
VIP access closed.

He stared at the date for a moment that felt much longer than it was, then started calling the people he knew would answer. Contacts who owed him favours. Managers who knew someone on the board. Names with enough reach to open doors even when nothing was left. Someone who could slip him past the gates. Close to the range. Close to her.

One by one, the answers came back the same.

Sorry, mate.
Nothing left.
It's completely full.
Even we can't get in.

Lando leaned back into the sofa again, phone still to his ear as the last person apologised and hung up.
No one could help.

But the decision didn't change.

He was still going.

Even if he had to stand outside the damn gates.

He pushed himself up from where he'd been slouched and went to get dressed. A simple T-shirt. Clean oversized jeans. He didn't think about it too much. He just moved.

At the door, he reached for his keys and hesitated.

He hadn't driven in what felt like forever.
Not really.
Not alone.
Not since her.

He hated driving now. Avoided it whenever he could. Even the idea of sitting behind a wheel made his stomach turn.

But today... for some reason he felt like he could.
Or maybe like he had to.

He took the keys anyway.

The garage was silent when he stepped inside, lights flickering awake overhead. He walked, heading toward the far side where his Ferrari was parked.

But halfway there, he stopped.

The empty space beside it caught his eye.
The spot where his McLaren used to be.

He stopped without meaning to, staring at the bare concrete.

The McLaren.
The one from that night.
The one he couldn't bear to keep.
The one he sold because breathing near it felt impossible.

He swallowed, jaw tightening, then forced himself to look away and walked toward his Ferrari.

He paused in front of it, hand hovering over the door handle, fingers trembling just enough to betray him.

He shouldn't drive.
He knew he shouldn't.

But he reached for the handle anyway.

For a moment, he just sat there, hands on the wheel then it took him a whole 5 minutes to turn the engine on.

The sound startled him. He had forgotten what it felt like — that power, that raw, unmistakable roar of hundreds of horses kicking to life beneath him.
He pressed the accelerator again, eyes falling shut for a second, just to hear it climb, fuller and louder. The vibration sent goosebumps racing up his arms.

God, I missed this.

He pulled out of the garage and headed toward Woking, toward the apartment he'd put on the market months ago. He hadn't set foot there since signing the listing. Too many ghosts. Too many reminders of the life he lost.

His agent was waiting in front of the building, hands resting in his trousers' pockets, offering a polite smile when Lando stepped out of the car.

"Morning, Mr Norris. Just heard from the buyer's side. They're running a few minutes late."

"That's fine," Lando said.

A second man arrived shortly after, wearing a dark, well-fitted suit, holding a tablet and a leather folder. The buyer's representative. He shook hands with Lando's agent and gave Lando a courteous nod.

"My client is on her way," the representative said. "She prefers to view properties personally before finalising anything."

"Of course," Lando's agent replied.

They all stepped closer to the entrance, preparing to head inside once the client arrived. The two agents drifted into a low conversation about the market and recent sales, speaking numbers and strategy that washed over Lando without meaning. He stayed a little apart, hands in his pockets, eyes rising to the windows of his old apartment.

The home he loved.
The home she loved.
The home he lost.

The street was quiet and residential, so when he heard a car approaching, his attention went back to the driveway.

A car turned off the street and into the building's front parking bay.
Lando watched it approach —
and for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

His car.

His McLaren.
The one he'd sold months ago.
Same model.
Same colour.
Same plate —
444 LN

Impossible.
Completely impossible.

But there it was, pulling in like it belonged to this street, this building.
Like she was coming home.

The representative straightened. "She's here."

His heart hammered in his ears, anticipation tightening his chest as the car door opened and revealed its new driver — a scene he'd imagined more times than he could count.

Everything inside him stopped functioning. His brain couldn't keep up.
Couldn't process.

Nina.

Her agent appeared at her side almost immediately, greeting the representative with a warm handshake. "Ms McLaren will take a look inside now," he said.

Lando's agent stepped forward, introducing himself with a professional smile, speaking in Lando's place because Lando couldn't move. Couldn't talk. Couldn't tear his eyes away from her.

She finally looked at him.

Then she smiled politely—like he was just another seller—and extended her hand.

"Mr Norris," she said gently. "It's nice to meet you."

Lando just stared, frozen, the world tipping sideways around him.

Because this wasn't real.
Couldn't be real.

And yet she stood there in front of him, smiling, offering her hand —
as if she'd never been part of his life at all.
Or worse, as if she'd never left it.

 

Chapter 8: ⛳7th hole

They stepped inside the apartment, Lando trailing behind the group like he wasn’t entirely sure the floor under his feet was real.

His agent went straight into professional mode, gesturing with open hands as he spoke.

“So this is the main living space,” the agent said. “It’s open-plan, which works well with the south-facing windows. You get natural light most of the day.”

He nodded toward the bar. “That was custom-built by Mr. Norris. Marble countertop, integrated shelving, plenty of storage. It’s one of those features you don’t really appreciate until you’ve lived with it.”

Nina drifted toward the kitchen bar first, brushing her fingers lightly across the counter. “It’s really nice,” she said. “Feels warm. Not too modern, not too cold.”

Her agent leaned in beside her. “There’s a small scratch here,” he pointed out. “Probably from bottles or glassware. Does that bother you?”

Nina shook her head. “No. Bars are supposed to have a bit of life.”

She moved farther into the living room, taking it all in. Her gaze drifted toward the far corner near the window — empty now, nothing but clean hardwood and a discreet outlet panel set low into the wall.

She stopped there.

“I could put a DJ set here,” she said.

Lando didn’t react. Or at least, he tried not to. A smile slipped through anyway, brief and involuntary, gone almost as soon as it appeared.

That was exactly where his DJ setup had been.

She knew that.

She remembered sitting on that sofa, watching him mix tracks he never quite finished.

The agent chimed in, oblivious. “That corner was wired specifically for audio equipment. Mr. Norris had his setup there.”

Nina nodded. “Makes sense. The space feels right for it.”

Lando stayed near the kitchen bar, hands in his pockets, silent, watching her move through the apartment like she could see echoes in the walls no one else could.

His agent cleared his throat and gestured toward the hallway. “If we continue, the bedrooms are down this way.”

They followed him, Nina’s agent walking half a step behind her, already tapping notes into his tablet.

“This first room is the guest bedroom,” Lando’s agent said. “Built-in wardrobe, blackout blinds. The windows were replaced last year, so it’s very quiet, even with the street nearby.”

Nina stepped inside and turned slowly, surveying the room. She opened the wardrobe, tested the depth, then crossed to the window and rested her palm lightly against the glass.

Her agent gestured toward the corner. “There’s some damage to the skirting board here. We’d usually ask for it to be repaired.”

Nina crouched to look, her ponytail slipping forward over her shoulder. “It’s minor,” she said, standing again. “I’m not worried about it.”

He hesitated, clearly expecting a negotiation that didn’t come. “You’re sure?”

She nodded.

He blinked, then tapped something into his tablet. “Alright.”

As she stood back up, her eyes went to the empty stretch of wall. “You could fit a double bed here,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Or bunk beds.”

Lando’s breath stalled.

Kids.
In this room.

His agent broke the silence, shifting his weight. “It’s a versatile space,” he said. “People use it in all kinds of ways.”

Nina nodded again, still looking at the wall, like she was already deciding what would go where.

“Yeah,” she said softly.

Lando leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest, suddenly aware of how small the room felt, how unreal it all sounded once she put it into words.

They moved on to the master bedroom.
Lando’s steps faltered in the doorway.

“This is the main room,” his agent said, keeping the tour moving. “Custom lighting, heated floors, and direct access to the ensuite.”

Nina walked in without hesitation. She stood near the window again, looking out at the city as if she recognized every building in the skyline. Her eyes softened for a moment before she turned back.

“The light is beautiful,” she said quietly.

Her agent scanned the room critically. “Closet space is smaller than your usual accommodations.”

“It’s enough,” Nina replied, already moving toward the ensuite.

Inside, the bathroom gleamed — white marble, a deep soaking tub, walk-in rainfall shower, integrated vanity lighting, underfloor heating. Lando’s agent pointed everything out.

Nina ran her fingertips along the edge of the sink. “It’s really well done. Feels clean.”

“If you want something larger or more modern,” her agent began, “we can keep looking. There are a few penthouses—”

“No,” Nina cut in gently. “This works.”

They moved back into the hall and toward the last room — the former gym.

“This room was used as a gym,” Lando’s agent said. “The flooring is reinforced, with additional power points. It could easily work as a second guest room, a walk-in dressing room, or be kept as a workout space.”

Nina moved in, eyes scanning the walls before stopping at the corner where Lando once trained his neck.

“It could fit a bike and some functional weights,” she said thoughtfully.

“Or a nursery,” her agent added.

Nina smiled faintly. “Yes. That too.”

Lando kept a step behind her as they moved back into the hallway, close enough to hear the soft rhythm of her footsteps, far enough to keep himself contained.

Her agent slowed, glancing between them. “Alright,” he said finally.

They stopped near the entrance.

“That’s the full tour,” Lando’s agent said, professional again. “If you want to revisit any room—”

“No,” Nina said. “I’m good.”

A brief pause.

“This is the one.”

Lando felt it in his chest before his mind caught up.

Why? What does this mean?

“Ms. McLaren,” her agent cut in carefully, “we can still view larger units within your budget, if you’d like.”

Lando nodded automatically, unsure what he was agreeing with. He didn’t know if he wanted her to buy it or hoped she wouldn’t. The thought refused to settle either way.

Nina shook her head. “There’s no need.” She glanced around once more, not searching, just confirming. “I can see myself here. Julien and I. My family. And it’s close to MTC.”

She looked back at them, a small, decisive smile forming.

“It fits.”

Her agent nodded. “Okay. We’ll move forward, then.”

Nina’s gaze shifted to Lando. “Could I speak to Mr. Norris alone for a moment?”

The request caught him off guard.

The agents exchanged a brief, confused glance.

Lando’s agent looked to him. “Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, forcing a breath. “That’s fine.”

The agents stepped out into the corridor, the door closing softly behind them.

Silence.
Heavy, charged.

Lando spoke first.

“What are you doing, Nina?”

She searched his face for a second before looking around the apartment again. “I didn’t expect you to sell it.”

He shrugged. “I’m not with McLaren anymore. Didn’t make sense to keep it. I’m in London now.”

She nodded, almost thoughtfully. “I always liked this place. It still feels like… itself.”

He swallowed. “It’s strange, you choosing my apartment.”

She frowned, almost amused. “Why? I feel comfortable here.”

“That’s exactly why,” Lando said quietly. “It’s… strange to hear you say that.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “Do you remember the first time I came here?”

Of course he did.
Every second of it.

Nina walked slowly toward the kitchen bar, fingertips grazing the marble. “I’d had a fight with Papa. Because of Arthur.” She laughed under her breath. “Feels like a lifetime ago.”

She leaned against the counter. “You made me a Jägerbomb here.”

“I remember,” he murmured.

“And then you made me mix it myself,” she said, laughing.

Lando said nothing. He just watched her as the memory surfaced a part of him he didn’t want to follow.

She pushed away from the bar and wandered toward the living room, moving like she already knew the way. “And you used to DJ here.”

“And you used to throw off my timing,” Lando said before thinking.

She turned, smiling. “I was trying to learn.”

He didn’t answer. The ache sitting under his ribs was too sharp, too familiar.

“Anyway… it really is perfect, Lando. For me and Julien.”

His jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you tell him about me? About… us?”

She paused — the first real hesitation he’d seen from her.
Then she smiled again. “Some things don’t need to be shared. Maybe I just wanted to keep that part of my life to myself.”

“That doesn’t sit right with me,” Lando said.

She stepped closer, close enough that he felt the warmth of her presence. “I have good memories with you. Truly, I do.”

He looked down. “It’s hard hearing you say that.”

“Lando… I moved on. A while ago.”

He blinked, the words cutting deeper than he expected.

“And you should too,” she said softly. “It’s… better this way. For both of us.”

Lando exhaled through his nose, gathering himself.
He needed to change the subject before he broke.

“How’s your injury?” he asked.

She tilted her head, lips curving. “Which one?”

The teasing felt misplaced, light and casual, as if she wasn’t talking about the two wounds that had rewritten both their lives.

“Your hip,” he said quietly. “The one you had before.”

She kept smiling. “Oh. That one. It’s fine now. Florida fixed me up.”
Then, with a tiny shrug, she added, “Everything else healed too.”

Everything else.
She said it like she’d bumped into a table, not like she’d been hit by his car.

Lando nodded slowly, still thrown. “You’re… thriving at golf.”

Another smile warmed her features. “I am. It’s the first time in my life I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Between Jupiter, the LPGA events, the training… it all made sense.”

“Then why come back?” Lando asked, lifting his eyes to hers. “Why Woking? Why here?”

Nina leaned her hip against the bar, arms loosely folded. “Because it was time. I’ve been running from a lot of things for years. Family responsibilities included.”

Lando hesitated. “You mean…”

She nodded, more to herself than to him. “I decided to step in with Papa. Properly this time. I’m working with McLaren now. Not as a charity ambassador or on the sidelines — actually working. Learning. Preparing for what comes next.”

She paused, then added, “Being the heir isn’t just a title anymore.”

Lando looked at her, the pieces clicking into place. “So you’re… actually part of the team now.”

“In a way,” she said. “I’m learning the business side. The culture. And Julien’s here too. Being based near the MTC just made sense.”

She looked around the apartment again, slower this time, more deliberate.

“This place fits all of it,” she said quietly. “Close to work. Close to family. And it feels…”

She searched for the word. “…familiar.”

His lungs seized for a moment. “That’s what I don’t get, Nina,” he said. “This place should make you want to leave. It should remind you of me.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through. “You should want to forget me.”

She stayed quiet, letting him finish.

“And yet,” he went on, voice lower now, “you’re here. You bought my car. You want to buy my house.” He shook his head. “You talk like none of it ever pushed you away. Like you don’t hate me.”

“I don’t,” she said simply.

That stopped him.

He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but wasn’t.
“I don’t understand you,” he said. “You talk like it still matters.” His voice faltered. “Like this place still matters. Like I still—”

He stopped, jaw tightening, then forced the words out.

“Like I still matter to you.”

She met his gaze without hesitation. “Because you still matter to me.”

There was nothing he could say to that. No argument, no defence. Just one question left standing between them.

“Why?”

She eased away from the counter, retreating just enough to give him space.

“These last two years were a lot for me,” she said. “I needed distance. I needed to disappear long enough to figure out who I was without all of this.” She paused. “Florida gave me that. Golf gave me that. Julien gave me that.”

She glanced back at him.

“And now… coming back feels right.”

“But you still haven’t answered my question,” Lando said quietly.

She smiled. “Which one?”

He shook his head. “Why this,” he said. “I get why you’re back. Family, work, all of that. But you don’t need to come back to my life. To my house. To everything that was mine.”

“Maybe I do,” she said gently. “Or maybe this is my way of telling you we’re okay. That you don’t have to keep holding on to the guilt.” Her voice softened. “That we’re not stuck there.”

Lando looked away.

She stepped closer and touched his arm, grounding him.

“I’m not here to reopen old wounds,” she said. “Or to erase them. I just don’t want you holding on to all of it anymore.”

“It was just so sudden, Nina,” Lando said, his voice breaking. “One day you were here and the next—”
He stopped, unable to finish.
He stayed where he was, rooted to the spot, every part of him unravelling in slow motion.

“I know,” she said softly. Her hand tightened around his arm, almost without thinking. “But don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Lando’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For everything.”

His eyes burned, pressure building fast.

Nina closed the last bit of distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “I’m okay.”

He shook his head against her shoulder. “No,” he said. “It’s not.” His breath came ragged. “You’re not.”

He held on to her then, and that was when he finally broke. “I fucked up. So much.” His eyes squeezed shut. “Again and again. And I don’t know how to live with that.”

“Lando,” she murmured, her hand moving in slow circles against his back. ”I forgive you. For everything.”

Her voice dropped. “Please… don’t carry more than you have to. You’ve already lost enough.”

He blinked hard. “I can’t forgive myself.”

“You have to,” she whispered. “At some point, you have to give yourself peace.”

He pulled back and looked at her like she was a memory wearing skin. “How do I do that if you’re not here?”

“I promise,” she said softly. “You’ll find a way.”

Silence settled between them, filled with everything they had never had the chance to say.

Nina was the one who stepped back first. She turned toward the door, already reaching for the handle, ready to let the moment end and the agents back in.

“I wanted to see you play tomorrow,” Lando said suddenly. “In Surrey.”

She stopped. Turned back to him.

Her brows lifted, genuine surprise crossing her face.

“You want to come?”

“I do,” he said. “I want to be there.”

She paused for a moment, then nodded. “Then come.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s sold out. Even hospitality. I checked this morning.”

She laughed. “Lando. I’m in the field. Guests aren’t a problem.”

He looked away again, as if meeting her eyes would make it harder to let go.

“If you want to come,” she added, “I’ll put your name down.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I mean, with Julien…”

She shook her head. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about him. He’s still in Monaco with his family.”

He hesitated. “So you’d be there on your own? Wouldn’t that be… awkward, if I’m there and he’s not?”

“Lando,” she said gently, “I told you. It’s fine.” She waited until he looked up. “And I’d like you there.”

He paused, holding her gaze. Every instinct told him to look away, not to hope, not to believe the moment. But he didn’t.

“You would?”

Her smile deepened. “Yes,” she said. “Come. It would genuinely make me happy.”

The words didn’t quite feel real.

“I… thank you,” he said.

She stepped back, re-establishing the boundaries. “Just don’t turn this into something that hurts, okay? Come, watch, enjoy the day. Nothing more.”

He nodded, knowing she was right. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll be there.”

She smiled once more. “Good. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She reached for the door, and the moment dissolved as the agents stepped back in, all smiles and business.

Nina shifted instantly, her posture straightening, her expression closing off, distant and composed. Whatever had passed between them was gone.

“Shall we move forward with the offer?” her agent asked.

“Yes,” Nina said.

Chapter 9: ⛳8th hole

Summer had settled over Surrey in a golden haze that softened everything, blurring the edges of the morning. The air was warm between the trees, scented with cut grass and sunscreen. It was barely eight, yet the sun was already strong.

Lando walked down the narrow path leading to the course, hands tucked into his pockets. The sun hit his white shirt and he suddenly wondered how much it showed of his body. He had changed twice before leaving the apartment, settling on a shirt and proper trousers without really admitting to himself who he was trying to look good for.

He had barely slept, barely eaten, barely managed to think straight since Nina walked out of his apartment with that careful kindness he didn’t know what to do with. Everything since had felt a little… weightless, as if the hours weren’t quite landing right.

He told himself he shouldn’t have come this early. Hospitality opened later. Spectators usually drifted in closer to tee times. But staying home hadn’t been an option. His thoughts refused to settle unless he was here.

The course was already stirring to life. Players stretched and took practice swings on the range. Volunteers stood by their lists, calling names softly. Caddies rolled bags over the gravel paths, wheels crunching underfoot. The noise formed a steady background hum, but it all felt strangely distant, as though it reached him a second too late.

A staff member looked up as Lando approached.
“Morning. Player guests check in here.”

Lando nodded and stepped closer.
“Name?”

“Lando Norris,” he said quietly.

The volunteer scanned the list, tapped once on the screen. “You’re with Ms. McLaren.”

Hearing her name said so casually sent a small jolt through him.

He thanked him and followed the path toward the practice area. Sunlight filtered through the branches overhead, dotting the ground with moving patches of brightness. His heart beat higher in his chest the closer he got.

Around the corner, the driving range opened into view.

And there she was.

Nina stood near the far end of the range, cap pulled low, her ponytail brushing her shoulder. Her coach was beside her, pointing something out along her alignment stick. She nodded, made the adjustment, set up again and sent the ball away. It rose clean into the blue sky, landing almost exactly where he’d aimed.

Lando stopped a few metres back, leaving them their space. He didn’t want to interrupt. He barely trusted himself to speak without his voice giving him away.

She glanced over between shots.

The flicker of recognition was brief. A small, simple acknowledgment. Then she turned back to her coach.

Lando let out a slow breath.

He stayed where he was, watching her finish two more shots. Watched her tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Watched the way she adjusted her grip, shifted her weight on her feet the same way she always did when she was nervous. Tiny habits he’d never forgotten.

The sun was warm against his neck. The grass shimmered. A light breeze moved through the range. Birds sang somewhere nearby. Snippets of conversation drifted over from other players.

Everything felt… normal.

And somehow, that made it all harder.

Nina switched to her next club and finally turned slightly, giving him a clear signal to come closer if he wanted.

His pulse jumped.

He walked toward her slowly, careful not to let his nerves show.

“Hey,” she said softly. “You came.”

Lando swallowed. “Yeah. I did.”

“Good.”

Nina wiped her hands on her glove and set her club against the bag. Her coach stepped away to talk to a marshal, leaving them a small pocket of space.

She looked at Lando again. “You okay?”

Lando nodded, even if he wasn’t. “Yeah. Just… wanted to see you warm up.”

Her mouth curved. “It’s not the most exciting part.”

“It is to me,” he said, already wishing he’d held it back.

Nina held his gaze a second longer. She didn’t blush, or look away, or lean in. She simply took in his words, like someone who understood exactly what he meant, but wasn’t allowing herself to respond.

“You’re early,” she said.

“I didn’t sleep much.”

She hummed. “Me neither. I never sleep properly before a competition.”

Silence settled between them. Not uncomfortable, just… unfilled. The steady thud of clubs striking balls rolled across the range, giving them something to focus on besides each other.

She reached into her bag and pulled out her water bottle, holding it out to him without really thinking. “Here.”

Lando hesitated. “You sure?”

She shrugged. “It’s warm. And you look like you forgot to drink anything this morning.”

He took it. One sip. Then another. Only then did he realize how dry his mouth had been.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, handing it back.

She twisted the cap closed, took a small sip herself, then slid it back into the bag. “You’ll come by the ropes later?” she asked. “Before I head to the first tee?”

“If you want me to.”

“I do,” she said simply.

That pulled the breath straight from his chest.

Her coach returned, gave her an updated timing sheet, then looked at Lando with polite curiosity.

“You here for Nina?” he asked.

Lando nodded. “Yeah. She invited me.”

The coach seemed surprised but didn’t dwell on it. “Alright. We’ll be heading to the tee in about twenty minutes.”

Nina gave Lando a quick glance. “I’ll meet you by the spectators’ path.”

“Okay.”

She reached for her driver again and settled into her stance. For a moment, he watched the change take over. The set of her shoulders. The stillness. The player she’d grown into.

She hit. The ball flew straight and long, drawing a satisfied nod from her coach.

“Go get a good spot,” she said without turning. “I’ll find you before we start.”

Lando hesitated, then stepped back.
“Yeah. I’ll be there.”

He walked toward the ropes, the summer heat rising from the ground, a strange mix of comfort, stress, and ache coiling inside him.

He stopped at the edge of the path, every instinct urging him to do something he shouldn’t.

In the end, he turned back toward her, careful not to make it obvious.

She had switched to long irons, rolling her shoulders once again before settling into her stance. The strike was clean. Perfect. Her coach murmured something approving, but Nina didn’t look at him.

She looked at Lando.

A long stare.
As if waiting.
As if expecting something only he could give.

The corner of Lando’s mouth lifted.
“That was good,” he called, just loud enough for her to hear as he made his way back toward her.

Her shoulders eased, just a little. She faced the ball again, reset, and swung. Another beautiful shot.

And once more, she looked at him.

He didn’t say anything this time. He let the praise sit in his eyes, the way he used to when he watched her practice in Monaco.

She smiled. Almost shy.

He had forgotten that she did that.
Smiled only at him when she played well.

Her coach stepped aside to check something on his tablet. Nina used the pause to grab her towel, wiping her hands before glancing back at Lando.

“You’re going to make me nervous,” she called, teasing.

“You’re doing great,” he said.

She shook her head, laughing softly. “Go. You’re distracting me.”

Lando chuckled. “Sorry.”

Her smile deepened.

She returned to her stance, and he stayed to watch one more shot. Then another. Then he stopped counting.

Each time the ball flew clean off her club, Nina looked for him. And each time, he gave her what she was searching for. A nod. A soft smile. A quiet approval she never asked for out loud, but still wanted.

He didn’t know what it meant.
He didn’t want to think too hard about it.
He just liked watching her.

He always had.

Eventually, it was time to go.

Nina’s round was steady from the first tee. Solid drives. Smart decisions. A calmness in her posture Lando hadn’t seen since before everything changed. He followed her from hole to hole, staying behind the ropes, always close enough that she could find him if she looked.

Sometimes she did.

Sometimes she didn’t.

But every time she hit a perfect shot, her eyes found him first.

By the eighteenth hole, the leaderboard confirmed it.
She had won.

Spectators clapped. Volunteers congratulated her. Her coach hugged her, pride obvious. Nina lifted her arms just a little, smiling in a way Lando hadn’t seen in years, glowing with a joy that seemed to warm everyone around her.

Watching her like that made it impossible for him to blink, afraid of missing even a second. A quiet fullness swelled inside him as the realization settled. She had become everything she once dreamed of.

Lando lingered nearby for a while as she stayed on the course for photos and interviews, then drifted away, suddenly aware of how out of place he felt.

He headed to the clubhouse.

At the bar, the bartender looked up. “What can I get you?”

Lando’s gaze flicked over the neat rows of bottles behind the bar. He hummed, considering, then remembered he was driving. There was a brief pang at the thought. Then a small, satisfied smile.

He’d done it. Today, he’d driven all the way to Surrey to watch Nina win.

“Orange juice, please,” he said.

The bartender smiled. “Good choice,” he said, sliding the glass across the counter.

Lando took a sip, letting the cold settle, his eyes wandering around the room.

That’s when Nina appeared beside him.

She looked tired but glowing in that post-win way.
“You stayed,” she said.

“Of course I stayed.”

She exhaled, like she’d been holding that breath all day. “I need something cold.”

She sat next to him and ordered an iced tea, then nodded toward a corner booth, tucked far enough away to feel private. They moved there together.

Up close, her cheeks were still warm from sun and adrenaline. A loose strand of hair clung to her temple. She didn’t notice. Or maybe she didn’t care.

She leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.
“So,” she said softly. “Talk to me.”

“About what?” he asked.

“You.” Her eyes softened. “What happened to you while I was gone?”

He looked away. “Nothing happened.”

“Not to me, Lando.”

He stayed quiet.

“I know it’s been hard for you,” she continued gently.

He glanced back at her. “And why are you asking?”

“Because I care about you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

Her brows lifted slightly. “That again?”

Silence.

“You look different,” she said.

He swallowed. “Different how?”

She hesitated, searching for a careful way into something that wasn’t careful at all.
“You’ve changed,” she said finally. “You’ve lost some of your rhythm. Physically, too.”

His jaw tightened.

She noticed immediately. “I’m not judging you. I’m asking because I’m worried. Did you stop training?”

He exhaled, eyes dropping to the table. “Not on purpose.”

“And eating properly?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Maybe.”

“Lando.” Her voice was quiet. “You gained weight. And I don’t mean that in a bad way. I just… you used to take care of yourself. You always trained. You always moved. Even when it was hard. Even when you didn’t want to. And now…” She paused. “It feels like you let yourself go a little.”

He didn’t answer.

Nina leaned back slightly, studying him. “Is it because of me?”

“No.” He answered too quickly. “It’s not because of you.”

“Then why?” she asked. “Is it because of what happened with McLaren?”

His hands clenched beneath the table. “Partly.”

“Where did you go after?” she asked quietly.

“Nowhere.” He rubbed his thumb along the rim of his glass. “I stayed with my parents for a while, then went back to London. Tried to keep my life moving.”

He paused. “But nothing stuck. I stopped training. I stopped working. Even the things I used to love just… fell flat.”

He took a sip, staring into the glass. “I wasn’t myself anymore.”

“Everything got heavy after the accident.”

Her brows knit together. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“And now?” she asked. “Where are you standing today?”

He hesitated. “I’m focusing on Quadrant.”

She held his gaze. “Is that what you want?”

“I’m the CEO,” he said. “I’ll keep building it.”

“That’s not what I’m asking,” she said. “Do you want this to be your life?”

His thoughts went blank for a moment.

Nina leaned forward again. “Lando… you can talk to me. You always could.”

He swallowed, then closed his eyes. It felt like giving in, like admitting something he’d been holding back for far too long.

“I miss racing.”

She didn’t interrupt. She let him go on.

“I miss everything about it,” he said. “The focus. The feeling. Waking up with purpose. Competing. Believing I could win. Being… good at something.” His voice lowered. “Quadrant is great. it keeps me busy, keeps the days full. But it’s not the same. It feels like I let go of the only thing I was built for.”

Her expression softened. “I know that feeling. When I got injured, I thought I’d never play again. I thought golf was over for me.” She gave a small smile. “And look at me now.”

He smiled back at her. “Winning everything.”

She laughed quietly. “Exactly. And that only happened because you were there when I needed you. I wouldn’t be here without you, Lando. I’m very gra—”

“Ms. McLaren,” came a gentle voice, careful not to break the calm around them. “Lana’s awake.”

A woman stood nearby with a toddler settled on her hip. The little girl blinked against the light, still half-asleep, cheeks warm from her nap, curls sticking out in every direction.

Nina’s face changed instantly, touched by a tenderness Lando had never seen before.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Hi, baby. Did you have a good nap?”

She held out her arms, and the woman passed the child to her. Lana settled in without hesitation, her cheek pressing into Nina’s shoulder, tiny fingers clutching the fabric of her shirt.

The attendant gave Lando a polite nod before leaving.

Lando stared, his eyes fixed on the small human being in front of him.

For a second, his mind emptied.
Everything inside him came to a standstill.

He managed, barely, “Who’s that?”

Nina looked down at the little girl, brushing a curl off her forehead with gentle fingers.

“My daughter,” she said simply.

The words didn’t feel real.

Lando’s eyes widened, breath catching in his throat. “Your… daughter?”

Nina shifted Lana slightly so she wasn’t just a bundle against her shoulder. Only then did she turn the toddler toward him.

The child blinked sleepily, adjusting to the light. Then her gaze lifted and landed on Lando.

Wide green-blue eyes.

She stared at him with soft curiosity, then lifted her hand clumsily to her mouth. A tiny smile broke across her face, pure and instinctive, as if she recognized warmth before she understood anything else.

Lando felt the room shrink around him.

He couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t move.
Could barely breathe.

Nina rocked the girl gently, completely unaware of the collision happening inside him.

“Lando,” she murmured, her voice carrying a new, maternal softness, “this is Lana.”

The little girl let out a small, breathy giggle and reached a hand toward him.

And Lando… froze.

He was gone the moment their eyes met. Lost. Drowned in the impossible familiarity staring back at him.

“Lando?” Nina called.

He tore his gaze from the child. “She’s your daughter?”

“Yes.”

He looked at Nina, almost pleading. “I’m… I’m confused.”

She held his stare, a quiet resolve beneath her calm.
“So many things happened in these two years, Lando. We need to have a long talk.”

He blinked, once, then again, like his brain was lagging behind the moment. He pushed to his feet without knowing why.

“Wait…” His hand dragged through his hair. “Is she…?”

He cut himself off, his mouth going dry in an instant, then sank back into the chair without really deciding to.

“How old is she?”

Nina didn’t answer right away. She watched him carefully, as if gauging how much more he could take.

“Say something,” he said, his voice tight.

She met his eyes again and held them, brightness there now.

“Don’t,” he breathed. “Don’t tell me.”
The words faltered before they could finish forming.

His nose stung.
His chest clenched so sharply he had to force air into his lungs.

Nina didn’t look away. Not even for a second.

“She has your eyes, Lando.”

His head shook in complete disbelief. “No.” A breathless laugh slipped out. “No fu—” He stopped, glanced at the baby, then shook his head again. “No way.”

He gripped the edge of the table, unable to tell if it was shaking from the floor beneath him or from his leg bouncing under it.

“My—” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard and tried again.
“She’s… mine?”

Nina nodded. “Yours.”

Lana blinked up at him again, those eyes widening with sleepy wonder, unmistakably his.

Lando’s hand lifted to his forehead, fingers pressing hard as if he could keep the world from tilting. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Nina drew a breath. “I didn’t know myself. Not at first. I was pregnant before I left for Jupiter. I didn’t realise until I was already there.”

He stared at her, stunned. “Then why didn’t you reach out?”

Her lips pressed together, weariness flickering across her face.
“It’s complicated, Lando.”

He opened his mouth to ask more, but a tournament assistant appeared in the doorway.

“Ms. McLaren, sorry— they’re waiting for you downstairs. Prizegiving is starting.”

Nina inclined her head. “I’ll be right there.”

She stood, Lana still in her arms, then glanced back over her shoulder at Lando.
“When are you going back to Monaco?”

“Tomorrow night,” he said. His voice sounded far away, like someone else was speaking.

“Alright,” she murmured. “Let’s meet there.”

He blinked. “In Monaco?”

“I never changed my number.” She shifted Lana gently against her shoulder. “Call me if you want to talk.”

She didn’t pressure him.
She didn’t insist.
She just gave him the choice.

Then she walked out, Lana’s small hand resting against her shoulder, curls bouncing softly with each step.

The door closed behind them.

Silence filled the room.

Lando stared at the empty space where they’d been sitting seconds earlier. His pulse thundered in his ears. His hands felt cold. His head swam, foggy and crushing all at once.

“I have a daughter?” he whispered, to no one.

The words sounded unreal.

He said them again, slower, as if repetition might make them true.
“I… have a daughter.”

He sank forward, elbows on the table, hands covering his face. He stayed like that for a long moment, breathing through the tremor in his chest, trying to anchor himself to something—anything—that didn’t feel like it was slipping away.

Eventually, he pushed himself up and left the clubhouse, stepping out into the parking lot. His legs felt unreliable, but he moved anyway. His thoughts were scattered, looping, impossible to hold still.

He drove home, barely aware of the wheel in his hands. He didn’t remember the turns. He didn’t remember the road. He didn’t remember unlocking the door.

Only the echo of Nina’s voice replaying in his head.

Yours.

 

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Holes