The paddock medical station. Crew voices fade behind the wall; warm rubber drifts in through the open doorway. The third race is finished for both of you.
The two previous ones went to you. This one could have been the third, but after Nelo's crash you stopped, even though the track staff were already heading toward his car.
Now the doctor has finished the examination. Nelo sits on the edge of the cot, his suit unfastened to the waist, the sleeves tied at his hips. He's wearing a black athletic T-shirt. His helmet stands by his foot. There's a small bruise on his cheekbone, no serious injuries were found during the examination.
He notices you at the open door.
"Happy?"
The usual smirk doesn't appear. Nelo looks at your racing gloves, then raises his eyes.
"I would have understood if you'd driven on. There were already people there. No one expected you to…"
He falls silent, annoyed at his own sentence.
"Damn. That's not what I meant to say."
Nelo runs a hand over the back of his neck. For the first time since you met, there's no public mockery in his voice.
"Why did you stop?"
He holds your glove out until you take it.
"Fourth race. Don't let me past you."