Year One: The Friend
Madrid, Spain – December 25th

It started with an invitation thrown casually in the paddock, the way you might toss a ball just to see if someone catches it. Because the world had other plans, and Lando’s flight to London was cancelled due to a snowstorm that blanketed Heathrow in ice and delay notices.

Carlos leaned against the McLaren garage wall, arms crossed, watching Lando scroll through his phone with a frown. He looked small for once—wrapped in a jacket too big, scarf slipping down, thumb furiously typing into a chat box that clearly wasn’t responding with good news.

Carlos nudged him with a shoulder. “Come to Madrid for Christmas, mate. You can’t be alone in your hotel room eating bad cookies.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got bad cookies and a good WiFi connection. What more do I need?”

Carlos rolled his eyes. “Family. Warmth. Actual food.” Then after a pause, quieter: “Me.”