#Carbon Fiber Wheels

[goodoldbandit]

Mastering Motorcycle Wheels: A Complete Guide to Choosing, Maintaining, and Maximizing Performance

Good Old Bandit Good Old Bandit. gob.stayingalive.in Wheels are the foundation of your motorcycle’s handling, performance, and style. Each type serves a unique purpose, from rugged #SpokedWheels to sleek #CarbonFiberWheels. This guide explores four major wheel types—spoked, cast, forged, and carbon fiber—and helps you understand which is best for your ride. We’ll also cover #TubeVsTubeless…

[motliez]

Instagram: @Motliez

[openroadmoto]

YOSHIMURA carbon fibre end can. Perfectly complements a 1990s sportsbike.

[thetruekyle]

The Dragula dreamcar.....

1970 Chevrolet Chevelle SS

[exoticcarbonfiber]

How To Maintain Your Carbon Fiber Steering Wheel For Longevity

Carbon fiber steering wheels are a commonly installed performance and aesthetic upgrade by car enthusiasts. Highly light, durable, and incredibly strong: this is what carbon fiber is with respect to steering wheels, aestheticism, and performance. From a carbon fiber steering wheel G37 to whatever model you have, care and maintenance are necessary to add to its life and keep it looking like new.

Routine Cleaning

One of the simplest yet crucial maintenance is keeping your carbon steering wheel clean. Over time, dust, grime, and oils from your hands get built up on the surface, thus affecting the way the wheel both appears and feels. The simplest way to clean it is with a very soft microfiber cloth and gentle cleaner formulated for carbon fiber surfaces. Never use strong chemicals or abrasive cleaners; they damage the finish and compromise the material.

For tougher stains, you can use a diluted mild soap and water solution, but make sure to dry the wheel thoroughly after washing it. Regular cleaning preserves its pristine ball shape minus dirt that has begun to affect the finish texture.

Maintain the Finish

Glossy and shiny are other characteristics that mark carbon fiber steering wheels. After a while, from exposure to sunlight and environmental conditions, such a gloss finish would dull and become discolored. To maintain the shine of the carbon fiber, it is advisable to put some protective coating. This coating must be safe on carbon surfaces. These coatings ultimately form a shield against UV rays, moisture, and any other contaminant by which the wheel will retain its original look.

Be careful with what type of products you choose. Opt for coatings made especially for automotive and carbon fiber surfaces. Avoid using household wax or polish as they leave residue behind or do damage to the material.

Handle with Care

One of the best advantages of the carbon fiber steering wheel G37 or any other is the strength it has but it still needs to be handled with care. Avoid unnecessary pressure or sharp impacts because carbon fiber will be more susceptible to scratches or even chips if it is not handled properly. When not in use, keep it out of direct sunlight or extreme conditions that can damage the material over time.

Also, you should regularly check for any signs of damage, like a loose stitch or frays along the edge. When you notice some kind of damage, it is advisable to fix it right away before it gets worse.

Avoid Excessive Heat

Although carbon fiber stands heat, at the same time, it does not have to be subjected for long periods to continuous high temperatures. For instance, don't park your car under the hot blazing sun for so long if your area tends to get very high temperatures. High heat causes carbon fiber to get bent out of shape or stained, rendering your steering wheel both an unfunctional and ugly piece of kit.

It may also be wise to consider getting a windshield sunshade or otherwise park your car in the shade as much as possible so that in the future, heat damage will not occur. When done, life expectancy will definitely increase significantly.

Conclusion

Simple, regular crowns and easy general maintenance are all that your carbon steering wheel will require. It would keep the lifespan and aesthetics well. Cleaning, protecting, and careful use are similar to all other vehicles, except that it would apply to the carbon fiber steering wheel G37. These are steps that will help ensure it remains in the best condition year after year. If you would like to learn more about how to care for carbon fiber upgrades, visit Exotic Carbon Fiber Inc. and browse through an assortment of high-end automotive products meant to enhance your car's performance and longevity.

[nepestsports]

Exploring the Versatility and Performance of Carbon Gravel Wheelsets

Introduction:

Gravel riding has become really popular lately. It's when cyclists ride on rough paths instead of smooth roads.

Bike wheels are really important for riding smoothly. Lots of riders like using carbon gravel wheelsets because they're strong, not heavy, and can handle different kinds of ground.

We'll discuss why carbon gravel wheelsets are excellent for gravel biking in this blog.

The Advantages of Carbon Fiber Material:

Carbon fiber material is perfect for bicycle components that need to be both lightweight and strong. This material is used in carbon gravel wheelsets, which are sturdy, stiff, and light—all very helpful when cycling on gravel, uneven terrain, or mixed surfaces.

Conclusion:

The best dirt wheelsets are made of carbon because they are incredibly sturdy, lightweight, and versatile. These wheels enable you to travel farther and faster whether you're racing on dirt tracks, traveling on lengthy bike vacations, or riding on bumpy roads. They are extremely durable and add to the enjoyment of gravel riding for riders worldwide.

[techdriveplay]

The New Audi RS 6 Avant GT

The new Audi RS 6 Avant GT is the pinnacle of the model series. The special edition is packed with exclusive details.

The new Audi RS 6 Avant GT is the pinnacle of the model series. The special edition is packed with exclusive details for both the exterior and the interior. An impressive pass-through roof edge spoiler, redefined diffuser, and 22-inch wheels in a distinctive design underscore its top position in the model series. The interior features high-quality bucket seats, a fresh color combination, and…

[wroetolando]

𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙵𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎 | 𝙻𝙽𝟺

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: lando norris x fem!reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: the one where lando crashes during a race, and you’re the first person he calls from the hospital, leading to the world discovering your relationship and realizing just how much you mean to each other

𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗰: control - halsey

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: crash?

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The moment Lando’s car spun out, your heart dropped into your stomach.

The race had been tense from the start—too many close calls, too many drivers fighting for positions that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Lando had been holding his ground, P4 with only a few laps to go, when suddenly—disaster.

One second, his car was stable. The next, the rear tires lost grip, and the McLaren was skidding sideways at high speed. The impact with the barrier was sickening, the sound of carbon fiber shattering ringing through the speakers of the live feed.

Your breath caught in your throat as the commentators fell silent for a moment before scrambling to process what had just happened.

“Big crash for Lando Norris!”

The camera panned to the wreckage—his car sat crumpled against the barriers, front wing completely destroyed, one wheel hanging at an unnatural angle. But you weren’t looking at the car. You were searching for movement. Searching for Lando.

Seconds felt like hours.

Then, finally, relief—Lando’s helmet moved. His hands gripped the steering wheel before he slowly, painfully, started to unbuckle himself.

“He’s moving,” someone in the McLaren garage muttered, but it wasn’t enough. Not for you.

You needed to see him walk away. You needed to hear his voice, to know he was okay.

Marshals and medical staff were at his car within moments. The camera showed him trying to get out, but something was wrong. He hesitated, gripping his side as if in pain. That was when the medical team stepped in, helping him out of the cockpit and guiding him toward the ambulance.

Your phone buzzed with messages. You ignored them all.

All that mattered was getting to him.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and stress.

You practically ran through the halls, only stopping when you spotted the familiar papaya-colored jacket outside one of the rooms. McLaren’s team principal looked up, eyes heavy with concern.

“He’s okay,” he said quickly, holding up a hand to stop your panic. “Bruised ribs, mild concussion. They’re keeping him for observation, but he’s stable.”

The breath you’d been holding finally escaped, but it didn’t stop the shaking in your hands. “Can I see him?”

“He asked for you.”

That was all you needed to hear.

Pushing the door open, you found Lando sitting up in bed, looking far too smug for someone who had just been pulled from a wrecked F1 car. His hair was messy, a cut visible on his temple where his helmet must have pressed too hard.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite emergency contact,” he teased, voice slightly hoarse. “Took you long enough.”

You didn’t say anything. You just crossed the room in three steps and wrapped your arms around him—gently, careful of his injuries, but firmly enough that he knew just how scared you had been.

His breath hitched. Then, his arms circled your waist, holding you just as tightly. “Hey, I’m okay.”

“You weren’t moving,” you whispered into his shoulder. “I thought—”

“I know,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

You pulled back just enough to cup his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

He grinned, despite the exhaustion in his eyes. “No promises.”

You smacked his arm lightly, making him wince. “Ow. Injured man, remember?”

“Then stop making jokes and rest.”

Lando just sighed, leaning back into the pillows. “Stay?”

You didn’t even hesitate.

Climbing into the narrow hospital bed beside him, you carefully curled up against his side, mindful of his bruised ribs. His hand found yours, fingers lacing together as his breathing evened out.

For the first time since the crash, you felt like you could finally breathe too.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

The world found out about Lando’s injuries almost immediately. Social media exploded with concern, fellow drivers sent messages of support, and McLaren released official updates.

But what people didn’t expect was the blurry photo of you curled up beside Lando in the hospital bed, posted to his Instagram story with a simple caption:

“Best medicine.”

The internet lost its mind.

Until now, your relationship had been private—close friends and family knew, but the public had been none the wiser. That changed overnight. Suddenly, fan edits, speculations, and messages flooded in.

Carlos was the first to text.

Carlos: “So this is how I find out you have a girlfriend? After a crash? Dramatic.”

Lando: “Now is not the time, Sainz.”

Oscar wasn’t much better.

Oscar: “At least tell me you scolded him properly.”

You: “Oh, he got an earful.”

And then, of course, there was Max.

Max: “I knew it. Only someone special would put up with his nonsense.”

Lando read the messages over your shoulder, laughing even though it made him wince. “I think they approve.”

You rolled your eyes. “They’re lucky I didn’t strangle you for scaring me like that.”

His expression softened. “I really am sorry.”

“I know,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. “Just… be more careful, okay?”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I promise.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

Two Weeks Later

Lando had never been one to enjoy sitting still. Recovery was torture for him—forced rest, limited movement, no racing. But if there was one upside, it was that he finally got to spend uninterrupted time with you.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he grumbled as you forced him to stay on the couch, a blanket draped over him.

“Enjoying making sure you don’t injure yourself further? Absolutely.”

He huffed. “I feel fine.”

“You’re still bruised, your concussion isn’t fully healed, and you wince every time you try to move too fast,” you listed off, arms crossed. “Sit still and let me take care of you.”

A slow grin spread across his face. “You like taking care of me?”

“I like making sure you don’t do anything stupid.”

“Same thing.”

You sighed, exasperated, but he just pulled you down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “For being here. For worrying. For everything.”

You smiled against his lips. “Always.”

And in that moment, as he pulled you closer, you knew—no matter how scary the crashes, how stressful the races, you’d always be right here, waiting at the finish line.

Because loving Lando Norris was always worth the risk.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・

masterlist

[exoticcargeardavidus]

Crafting Excellence: The Art of Custom Carbon Fiber Steering Wheels - exoticcargear.com

Elevate your driving experience to new heights with exoticcargear.com, where the art of customization meets the precision of carbon fiber. In this exploration, we delve into the craftsmanship behind Custom Carbon Fiber Steering Wheels, showcasing how Exotic Car Gear transforms the heart of your vehicle into a unique masterpiece. Join us on a journey of innovation and elegance as we uncover the meticulous process of creating steering wheels that redefine driving luxury.

Exotic Car Gear: Crafting Custom Carbon Fiber Steering Wheels

Introduction to Customization Excellence: Delve into the world of customization excellence at Exotic Car Gear. This section introduces the artistry behind crafting custom carbon fiber steering wheels, highlighting the brand's commitment to pushing the boundaries of automotive aesthetics.

The Essence of Customization: Explore the essence of customization. This section emphasizes how Exotic Car Gear views customization as a form of self-expression, with steering wheels becoming a canvas for individuality and personal style.

Precision Craftsmanship: From Concept to Creation

Designing Your Vision: Collaborative Creativity: Delve into the collaborative process of designing your vision. This section showcases how Exotic Car Gear works closely with clients to understand their preferences, ensuring that each custom steering wheel reflects the driver's unique style.

Meticulous Material Selection: Carbon Fiber Excellence: Explore the meticulous selection of materials, with a focus on carbon fiber excellence. This section highlights how Exotic Car Gear sources and utilizes premium carbon fiber to guarantee the highest standards of quality and durability.

Artisanal Production: Handcrafted for Distinction

Handcrafted Precision: The Artisan's Touch: Delve into the art of handcrafted precision. This section showcases the skilled artisans at Exotic Car Gear, who meticulously shape and mold each steering wheel, ensuring that every detail is crafted with utmost care and precision.

Innovative Techniques: Pushing Boundaries: Explore the innovative techniques employed in crafting custom carbon fiber steering wheels. This section highlights Exotic Car Gear's commitment to pushing boundaries, incorporating cutting-edge methods to achieve unparalleled results.

Personalized Driving Experience: The Impact of Custom Steering Wheels

Elevated Aesthetics: Beyond Standard Design: Delve into the elevated aesthetics of custom steering wheels. This section emphasizes how Exotic Car Gear's creations go beyond standard design, adding a touch of luxury and sophistication to the interior of any vehicle.

Driving Dynamics: Performance and Comfort: Explore the impact on driving dynamics. This section showcases how custom carbon fiber steering wheels not only enhance the visual appeal but also contribute to the overall performance and comfort of the driving experience.

Your Signature Steering Wheel: Experience the Difference

In conclusion, at exoticcargear.com, we invite you to experience the difference of a custom carbon fiber fabrication. From collaborative creativity and meticulous craftsmanship to innovative techniques and personalized driving dynamics, Exotic Car Gear redefines the art of customization. Contact Exotic Car Gear to design your signature steering wheel, elevate your driving experience, and make every journey a statement of distinction and excellence. Choose customization, choose precision—choose Exotic Car Gear.

[satellite-evans]

all I need

Pairing: Lando Norris x driver!reader

Summary: Lando gets furiuos when you get fined for swearing after your crash.

Word count: 2.9k+

Warnings: fluff, swearing, injuries, angry lando

Request : Hi could I please request a lando x reader fic where the reader is a driver and she gets in a big crash and the team radio is like asking if she is okay and shes like answers after a bit and is in pain because she just CRASHED and then she accidentally swears on radio and she gets fined and the media is going crazy and like lando is just being a good protective boyfriend and is defending her in interviews and stuff? Thanks!! xoxo - anon 🍟

A/N:

Hi love, thank you so much for sending in a request and trusting me enough to write your idea!! I hope I did it justice xxx

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

One moment, everything is fine—you’re fighting for position, pushing the car to its absolute limit, heart pounding with adrenaline as you navigate the treacherous corners. The next, it all goes horribly wrong.

The rear tires lose grip. A sharp twitch, then a full spin. Time slows, but your mind races. Your hands react on instinct, desperately trying to correct, but it’s too late. The world outside the cockpit blurs in a sickening whirl of colors—track, barriers, sky. Then nothing but gut-wrenching weightlessness as the car lifts off the ground.

The impact is catastrophic. Metal shrieks against metal, carbon fiber shatters like glass. The force slams through your body, rattling bones, squeezing air from your lungs. Pain flares—sharp, immediate—radiating from your ribs, your shoulders, your skull as the cockpit jolts to a brutal stop. Static crackles in your helmet.

For a moment, everything is eerily still. Your pulse roars in your ears, drowning out the stunned gasps from the crowd, the commentary scrambling to make sense of what just happened. Your breath is ragged, shallow. The world tilts nauseatingly around you.

Then, the radio buzzes to life.

"Y/N, Y/N, are you okay?!" David's voice is urgent, bordering on frantic. There’s a tightness to it you’ve never heard before, and that alone terrifies you more than the crash itself.

You try to respond, but pain flares when you shift. A groan escapes before you can stop it. Your fingers fumble for the radio button, and when you finally manage to press it, your voice comes out weak, breathless.

"Fuck—yeah, I think so." A cough, a wince. "That hurt."

Across the track, in his car, Lando watches it all unfold in real-time. His stomach drops, breath catching as he sees your car crumple against the barriers. His knuckles go white around the steering wheel, heart hammering painfully against his ribs. The images flash across the big screens, slow-motion replays dissecting the crash from every angle. He can’t tear his eyes away.

Is she okay? Is she responding?!" His voice is laced with panic, the desperation evident.

His race engineer hesitates. "We're waiting on confirmation, Lando. Focus on the race."

But how the hell is he supposed to do that? The car, the track, the championship—all of it fades. Right now, none of it matters except you.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens. "Please—can you keep me updated? I need to know if she's okay." His voice wavers just slightly, the emotion threatening to spill over.

A pause. Then, softer, "We will, Lando. Just focus for now."

He exhales sharply, forcing himself to keep driving, but his eyes keep flicking to the screens around the circuit, searching for any sign of movement from you. His heart pounds as he waits—praying to hear your voice again.

A beat of silence stretches after your message. Then, Race Control’s voice cuts through.

"Y/N, reminder that all radio transmissions are broadcasted live. Watch the language."

Despite everything, a strained, breathy laugh escapes you. "Yeah, yeah, noted. Ow."

The medical car is already pulling up, orange lights flashing, marshals swarming the wreckage. You can hear them shouting, their voices urgent but professional. Someone taps on the side of your cockpit, checking for a response. Your fingers twitch, slow and uncoordinated, but you give them a thumbs-up.

The crowd, stunned into silence, exhales as one. The commentators try to fill the dead air with reassurances, but the tension is thick. On social media, the crash is already going viral—clips looping endlessly, speculation running rampant.

The straps of your harness dig into your bruised shoulders as the adrenaline begins to wear off, replaced by a dull, spreading ache that makes every breath feel like a struggle. The world around you is a cacophony of noise—sirens wailing, the frantic chatter of the marshals, the dull roar of the crowd beyond the barriers—but it all feels distant, muffled by the ringing in your ears.

"Try not to move too much," one of the medical staff instructs gently, his gloved hands already working to unbuckle you from the mangled remains of your car. "Can you feel everything?"

You give a small, shaky nod. "Yeah," you breathe, wincing as you shift slightly. "Just sore. Really sore."

The relief on his face is immediate, but the tension in the air remains. They move carefully, extracting you from the cockpit as gingerly as possible. As soon as you're free, your knees threaten to buckle, but strong arms catch you before you hit the ground.

"You’re alright, we’ve got you," another voice reassures, steadying you as they guide you toward the waiting medical car. The flash of cameras in the distance, the low hum of anxious murmurs from the pit lane—it all feels surreal.

The moment the checkered flag waves, Lando doesn’t care about anything else. Not the debrief, not the podium celebrations—none of it matters. His car screeches to a halt in parc fermé, barely lined up properly, but he’s already halfway out before the engine even fully shuts down. His hands rip off his steering wheel, then his helmet, tossing it aside as he breaks into a full sprint toward the medical center.

His lungs burn, but he doesn’t slow down. The only thing driving him forward is the sheer panic gripping his chest. His mind replays the crash on an agonizing loop—the way your car crumpled, how long it took for you to respond, the thought of losing you was eating him alive. He pushes past team personnel, ignoring their calls, shoving the medical center doors open with enough force to make them slam against the walls.

"Where is she?" His voice is sharp, almost desperate.

A nurse barely has time to react before he spots you. Sitting on the edge of the examination bed, bruised and battered, your race suit scuffed with streaks of dirt and dried blood. Your arm is wrapped around your ribs, and there’s a gash just below your glove, crimson seeping through the fabric. Your right knee is swollen, and every inhale looks like it stings.

But you’re alive.

Lando exhales a shuddering breath, his entire body sagging with relief. He crosses the room in seconds, reaching you like you might disappear if he doesn’t move fast enough. Without hesitation, he takes your hand, gripping it tightly like an anchor. His fingers ghost over your bruised knuckles, his touch impossibly gentle.

"Jesus, Y/N…" His voice is hoarse, cracking under the weight of the fear still clinging to him.

You manage a small, tired smile despite the pain. "I’m fine. Trust me, it’s not as bad as it looks."

His jaw clenches, eyes scanning you like he doesn’t quite believe you. "Not as bad as it looks? You scared the hell out of me. Don’t do that again. Ever."

The intensity of his words makes your chest tighten—not just from the bruises, but from the raw emotion behind them. You squeeze his hand, grounding him.

Later, after the doctors clear you—bruised ribs, mild concussion, but nothing broken—you limp out of the medical center, Lando’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist. Every step sends a dull ache through your body, but at least you’re standing.

David intercepts you, shifting awkwardly on his feet. "So, uh… don’t shoot the messenger, but you’re getting a fine for the team radio."

You blink. "You’re kidding, right?"

Before David can even answer, Lando scoffs, disbelief flashing across his face. "She just survived a high-speed crash, and they’re fining her for swearing? Seriously?"

David sighs, handing over the paperwork with an apologetic shrug. "Yeah… FIA wasn’t too happy. Regulations and all."

You stare at the notice for a beat before letting out a tired, incredulous laugh. "Yeah, okay. Next time I crash at 200 mph, I’ll be sure to say ‘gosh darn it’ instead."

Lando shakes his head, jaw tight with frustration. "Unbelievable."

But instead of dwelling on it, he just pulls you in closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The warmth of his embrace eases some of the lingering tension in your body. "Don’t worry about it, love. If they want to fine you for being human, let them. You’re still the toughest person I know."

You smile, leaning into him, exhaustion settling deep in your bones. Because at the end of the day, a fine means nothing when you still have Lando by your side.

And, as expected, the media goes absolutely wild.

"Formula 1 Driver Y/N Y/L/N Fined After Shocking Radio Message Post-Crash!"

"Did Y/N Deserve Her FIA Penalty? Fans Debate Over Radio Outburst!"

"Y/N’s Crash Sparks Controversy: Was the Fine Justified?"

The headlines flood every social platform within minutes. Slow-motion replays of the crash loop endlessly on TV screens, side-by-side with grainy images of you wincing as you climbed out of the wreckage. Every angle is analyzed, every expression dissected.

Your post-race hospital visit is barely over when reporters start circling like vultures, bombarding you with questions before you even have the strength to face them, but Lando was having none of it.

Seated in front of the media, still in his race suit, Lando’s jaw is tight, hands clenched on the table as microphones are shoved toward him.

"Lando, there's been a lot of discussion about Y/N’s penalty for language over the team radio. Do you think the FIA was justified in issuing the fine?"

He scoffs, jaw tightening. "Are we seriously focusing on a fine when she just survived a massive crash?" His voice is sharp, edged with barely restrained anger. "She was in pain. She was shaken up. And she swore—who wouldn’t? It's ridiculous."

The journalists shift uncomfortably, but another one presses on. "Rules are rules, though. FIA has strict guidelines about profanity on public transmissions. Do you think it sets a bad precedent if they don’t enforce them?"

Lando lets out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Mate, if your first thought after seeing a crash like that is to talk about a penalty, maybe rethink your priorities."

Another journalist jumps in. "But don’t you think it’s important to maintain professionalism on the radio? A lot of young fans look up to drivers."

Lando rolls his eyes. "Right, because what’s really damaging to young fans isn’t the fact that someone just had a life-threatening accident, but the fact that she said ‘fuck’ while trying to breathe properly again." He leans forward, voice lower but no less cutting. "If we’re talking role models, maybe start by making sure the sport actually supports its drivers instead of fining them for reacting like a human being."

His words are already making waves, clips spreading across social media.

And while you’re still exhausted, still aching from the crash, there’s something about seeing him so openly, fiercely in your corner that makes your heart ache in the best way.

Even after the official interviews, the media frenzy doesn’t stop. Paparazzi crowd outside the paddock, desperate for a statement. Team members act as buffers, but there’s only so much they can do.

As you slowly make your way out of the motorhome, Lando’s arm firmly around your waist, cameras flash, voices overlapping as reporters shout over each other.

"Y/N, do you think the FIA’s decision was fair?"

"Do you regret your words on the radio?"

"Lando, how did it feel watching the crash happen live?"

He tenses beside you. "How do you think it felt?" His voice is sharp, protective. "I watched someone I love crash at full speed. So no, I don’t really give a damn about some radio penalty right now."

You squeeze his hand in silent gratitude. He doesn’t have to be this involved, but he is. Always.

Another journalist turns to you, voice softer but no less intrusive. "Y/N, how are you feeling after the accident?"

You exhale, trying to keep your expression neutral despite the lingering pain. "Sore, obviously. But I’m okay."

"Will you be racing in the next Grand Prix?"

Lando answers before you can. "She’s focusing on recovery first. That’s the priority."

It’s not a direct confirmation, but it’s enough to hold off the speculation—at least for now.

The chaos of the day finally starts to feel like a distant memory as you curl up on the couch in Lando’s apartment. An ice pack rests gently on your ribs, offering some comfort against the bruising, but it’s Lando’s presence that truly calms you. His arm drapes protectively around you, pulling you in close like he never wants to let go, his warmth surrounding you in a way that makes you feel safe. His thumb moves in slow, soothing circles on your arm, the rhythm gentle and steady.

It’s such a contrast to the frantic energy of the day—the flashing cameras, the endless questions, the tension in the air—but now, in this moment, all of that feels like it belongs to another world. This is where you’re grounded.

You sigh, resting your head against his shoulder, letting the quietness of the room wrap around you like a soft blanket. But there’s something still heavy in the pit of your stomach, a lingering feeling that something was unsettled. You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes tracing the faint lines of worry still etched across his face, the tension that’s only now starting to ease from his features.

"You didn’t have to go that hard for me," you murmur, your voice soft, though you know the words don’t quite do justice to what you’re feeling. You had been overwhelmed by everything that happened, but he—he had been beside you every step of the way, his every move showing how deeply he cared.

He scoffs, shaking his head slowly like the idea is completely foreign to him. "Of course I did. It’s bullshit," he mutters, his voice laced with frustration that hasn’t quite gone away. "You should be getting support, not fined for a stupid word." The words come out with a little more heat than he intends, but it’s the underlying softness in his voice, the way he’s speaking to you like he wants to protect you from the world’s unfairness, that makes your heart flutter.

You chuckle softly, a tired sound that makes his grip on you tighten just a fraction, like he’s afraid you might slip away. "Guess I owe you, huh?" you tease, trying to lighten the mood.

Lando’s response is immediate—he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. His hands shift, cradling you with a tenderness that almost feels too gentle, like you’re something precious he’s afraid to break. "Just don’t scare me like that again," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath, as though the thought of you being hurt again is more than he can bear. "And we’ll call it even."

You smile up at him, heart full of warmth for this man who always seems to put your well-being before his own. But you can’t promise him that. You know how the sport works, how unpredictable it is. You’ll never be able to give him that guarantee.

But there’s something you can promise him, something more important. You squeeze his hand, the simple act grounding you both in this moment. Your voice is steady as you look up into his eyes, locking your gaze with his. "No matter what happens," you say, the words firm but soft, a promise from the deepest part of you, "you’ll always have me. I’ll always have you."

His expression softens in a way that makes you think he’s heard every unspoken word in your statement, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The air between you feels full—full of shared understanding, full of the love you have for each other, full of the promise that no matter the challenges, no matter the risks, you’ll face it all side by side.

For a long moment, Lando is quiet, his thumb still brushing over your skin in slow, absentminded strokes. But then his breath catches slightly, and when you glance up, you see it—the way his eyes shimmer with unshed tears. His jaw tenses as if he’s trying to hold it all back, but the emotion is too heavy, too raw.

"I thought I lost you," he admits, his voice breaking just enough to reveal the fear he’s been holding in. "When everything was happening, and I couldn’t reach you..." He trails off, shaking his head as if trying to push the memory away, but his grip on you tightens like he never wants to let go again. "I don’t know what I would’ve done if—"

"Hey," you interrupt softly, your hand moving to cup his face, your thumb brushing against the dampness on his cheek. "I’m here. I’m okay. And I’m not going anywhere."

That seems to break whatever wall he was trying to hold up. Lando lets out a shaky breath, his forehead dropping against yours as he closes his eyes. "I just... I can’t lose you," he confesses, the words raw and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache. "Not you."

You press a soft kiss to his lips, hoping it conveys everything words can’t. "You won’t," you promise against his mouth, your voice unwavering. "I’m right here."

He nods slightly, like he’s trying to believe it, and when he pulls you into his arms again, it’s with a desperation that speaks to how close he felt to losing you. But in this moment, with his heart laid bare and your arms wrapped tightly around each other, there’s nothing else that matters.

Lando kisses you gently on the forehead, his lips lingering there for just a second longer. "That’s all I need," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. Then, his arms pull you even closer, his warmth radiating through your bones.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

also something strange and bittersweet about watching the exhausted machine guts of the cars being wheeled off. thank you speedy cars!! thank you hands that made them!! built them!! fixed them!! made them fly!! beautiful carbon fiber fossil fuel skeleton angels

[calebeliason]

This car! So freaking good!

@alfaromeole @alfaromeousa @alfaromeopassione @alfaromeogiulia @modifiedcargirls @tunedandracecars @tuned-camber @racecar-stuff @racecafe

[vividracing]

New Post has been published on https://www.vividracing.com/blog/our-ultimate-bronco-badlands-build/

Our Ultimate Bronco Badlands Build

When it comes to enhancing the Ford Bronco, we spared no expense in creating the ultimate off-road beast that maintains its daily driving comfort. From performance upgrades to luxurious touches, our Ford Bronco is what we find to be the perfect balance between all the adventure capabilities while maintaining it’s reliable daily driving duties. While we say we spared no expense, (mainly the $10,000 suspension kit) we were able to achieve Raptor qualities, at a budget friendly price tag. The VR Tuned ECU Tuning Box and VR Performance Bronco Exhaust System we proper additions to make this the ultimate Jeep killer. Let’s jump into some finer details of this build!

Icon Vehicle Dynamics Stage 8 Suspension Kit –

To elevate the Bronco’s off-road capabilities, we incorporated the Icon Vehicle Dynamics Stage 8 Suspension Kit. This high-performance suspension system enhances ground clearance, improves handling, and provides a smooth ride on rough terrains. With improved articulation and damping, this kit ensures the Bronco conquers any obstacle that comes its way. Check out this amazing suspension package HERE. Not looking to make the jump into Stage 8? That is totally ok! Icon’s suspension packages are completely modular and give drivers the option to begin their build journey as low as a Stage 1 Kit and build as far as Stage 8 and beyond! Heck, you could even start with a IVD Spacer Kit to get your Bronco nice and level before replacing the stock suspension. This is one reason we love Icon Vehicle Dynamics and the mission to have performance solutions for all Bronco drivers! You can shop all Icon Vehicle Dynamics Supsension Kits for the Ford Bronco HERE.

  VR Forged D14 Wheels and Toyo 38″ Tires –

Equipped with VR Forged D14 wheels sized at 20 x 8.5, our Bronco exudes a commanding presence. These lightweight and durable wheels are designed to withstand the rigors of off-roading while adding a touch of aggressive style. Complementing the wheels are Toyo Open Country M/T 38″ tires, offering excellent traction and grip in various conditions, making the Bronco unstoppable on any trail. The forged wheel option is a great compliment to the massive 38″ tires to help save some weight. Did you know the weight difference between between at forged vs cast wheel can be about 2 lbs per wheel?! Factor in sprung weight and that can actually make a difference! Not to mention the strength of Forged wheels are no match for cast production wheels. Check out the D14 VR Forged Wheels for the Ford Bronco HERE.

VR Performance Front Bumper Light Bracket with Rigid Industries Adapt XP Lights –

To illuminate the path ahead, we integrated a VR Performance Front Bumper Light Bracket with four Rigid Industries Adapt XP lights. These powerful and versatile lights provide exceptional visibility, ensuring safe off-road adventures even during the darkest nights. With their adaptive technology, these lights adjust to changing conditions, optimizing your visibility in any situation. You can check out this light bracket HERE! Heck, to save you time, we made it a kit as well! VR Performance Ford Bronco Lighting Kit

AlphaRex NOVA-Series Headlights –

The AlphaRex Nova Series Headlight upgrade for the Bronco might be one of the coolest upgrades you can do to your truck from a visual perspective. These headlights give you the “Raptor” look plus some. With light optional lighting sequences and bi-color options, the AlphaRex headlights will have everyone asking, “Where did you get those headlights, and who makes them?!” Installing these headlights is super easy and they come with everything you need to give your EcoBeast a proper facelift. They are easily one of our favorite additions to this project! Check out the AlphaRex Bronco Headlights HERE!

VR Performance 3rd Brake Light Extension Kit –

Safety is paramount, even during intense off-roading. That’s why we added the VR Performance 3rd Brake Light Extension Kit. This kit extends the height of the 3rd brake light, improving visibility to vehicles behind you. Whether you’re cruising on highways or navigating challenging trails, this enhancement ensures your presence is easily noticed, enhancing safety for you and others. Check out the Brake Light Extension for the Ford Bronco HERE!

VR Tuned ECU Tuning Box and K&N Cold Air Intake Kit –

To boost the Bronco’s performance, we incorporated the VR Tuned ECU Tuning Box. This advanced device optimizes engine performance, enhancing horsepower and torque while maintaining fuel efficiency. This tuning box is a simple plug-n-play solution to tapping into some governed pony in your Bronco. Adding a tuning box doesn’t require you puuting your Bronco on a dyno or anything technical. It’s a simple, 30-minute install that is a true game changer! This upgrade is really the catalyst to optimal performance and good times behind the wheel of this EcoBeast! Learn more about the VR Tuned Tuning Box and why it’s the best $750 you’ll ever spend HERE!

K&N Cold Air Intake Kit –

Complementing the tuning box is the K&N Cold Air Intake Kit, which increases airflow to the engine, resulting in improved throttle response and as an added bonus, some SWEET induction noises! Cold Air Intakes are a tried and true upgrade that usually look cooler that there incrimental performance, but with the addition of the VR Tuned Tuning Box, we are able to take full advantage of this CAI and gain 45 FT-LBs of torque! If you want to check out this rad intake kit, click HERE! Want to see more on the Cold Air Intake? We have this in-depth video as well!

Anderson Composites Carbon Fiber Hood with Raptor-style Vents –

For a touch of sporty elegance, we installed the Anderson Composites Carbon Fiber Hood with Raptor-style vents. This lightweight carbon fiber hood not only enhances aerodynamics but also adds a unique aesthetic appeal to the Bronco. The Raptor-style vents provide additional cooling and lend a bold and aggressive look to the vehicle. Check out the carbon fiber hood HERE!

VR Performance Valvetronic Exhaust System –

To unleash a thrilling sound and maximize performance, we opted for the VR Performance Valvetronic Exhaust System. This innovative exhaust system offers customizable sound profiles, allowing you to switch between aggressive and milder tones at the touch of a button. It not only enhances the driving experience but also delivers improved exhaust flow, resulting in increased power and torque. VR Performance Valvetronic Exhaust

Baer Brakes Big Brake System –

This Big Brake Kit was critical to ensuring we could get those beefy 38″ tires to stop when needed. We highly recommend this upgrade to anyone considering adding larger tires to their setup! You can check out that Big Brake Kit by Baer Brakes HERE

F1 Mats Floor Mats –

To enhance the Bronco’s interior, we added a touch of luxury with F1 Mats floor mats. Crafted with premium materials, these mats offer unrivaled durability and protection while adding a touch of elegance. With their precision fit and refined design, they elevate the overall aesthetic of the Bronco’s cabin, ensuring a comfortable and stylish experience. Check out F1 Mats Floor Mats for your Bronco or any vehicle HERE!

  We hope our build inspires you to make your Ford Bronco build one of a kind and something you can enjoy to its fullest potential. If you need any assistance outfitting your project, some hesitate to give us a call at (480) 966-3040 or email us at sales@vividracing.com to get in touch with one of our Off-Road Performance Specialists! 

[exoticcarbonfiber]

How To Customize Your Carbon Fiber Steering Wheel

The entire focus of your interior can be a custom carbon fiber steering wheel. Right off the bat, it gives an upgrade in style and performance in ways you never imagined. Through this step-by-step tutorial, we go deep into the creative process of making a personalized steering wheel from design to installation. Read more :- https://medium.com/@exoticcarbonfiberus/how-to-customize-your-carbon-fiber-steering-wheel-f694306bff16

[hold-fast-and-rise]

Take a look at this incredibly well-done 1989 Porsche 911 Carrera 4

This 911 underwent a comprehensive three-year restoration with over $210K invested. It received bodywork and a cream-colored exterior repaint, paired with a full interior makeover featuring Espresso Nappa leather and custom upholstery throughout.

The fun doesn’t stop there, this 911 also received a full suspension overhaul with KW Coilovers, a front and rear Brembo big brake kit, and the 3.6-liter flat-six was rebuilt to a 3.8-liter displacement. Some other notable modifications include an external fuel filler cap, projector headlights, 17” Fuchs-style wheels, Braum carbon-fiber seats, a MOMO Prototipo steering wheel, and a Billy Boat exhaust system.

Credit: bringatrailer wob_cars

[tropes-and-tales]

Lieutenant Steal-Your-Girl, Part III

(Bob Floyd x F!Reader; Jake Seresin x F!Reader)

CW:  Angst (relationship woes); open relationships; violence (the boys be fighting); 18+ only.

Word Count:  3871

AN:  This is part of a larger mini-series, found here, and it was requested by several anonymous folk!

AN2: This has not been edited in any way, shape, or form!

Jake has the idea to follow you and Bob.  A nauseous rage courses through him from where he sits, tucked away in the shadows.  He has the idea to follow Bob’s truck as it drives to Bob’s place, to confront the two of you:  his treacherous girlfriend, and his fellow Dagger.

But from his vantage point, he watches you and Bob.  He sees how broadly you smile, how Bob says something that makes you laugh.  When was the last time Jake made you laugh like that—where you pause in your steps, throw your head back, and actually laugh?

Then he sees Bob Floyd—fucking Baby on Board—lean into you, sees the scrawny fucking back-seater kiss you.  He sees how you melt into the kiss, the way your body arches into Bob’s.  He sees you when you break away, the little laugh you give as you reach up and adjust Bob’s glasses, the tender gesture needling at Jake’s heart.

He has the idea to follow you and Bob, but Jake finds himself frozen in place.  He sits in his truck in the side alley.  He stays there long after you and Bob leave, his hands clenched so tight on the steering wheel that it creaks from the pressure of his grip.

*****

Bob knows from his work that there are always limits.  A plane, designed in such a way, can only go so high or so fast before systems start to fail.  Punishing speed, the crush of gravity, extreme cold or heat…engineering can only do so much.  There are always limits where a system starts to fail.

Bob knows this thing with you is exactly the same.

He’s reaching his limit.  Maybe he’s already reached it and has been a dead man flying for a while now. 

He went into this thing with open eyes, he thought.  This thing.  Hell, he doesn’t even know what to call it.  A fling?  An affair?  A relationship?  No word really captures it, and half of the words make it feel tawdry, even though Jake was the one who opened up your relationship.  The other half of the words make it feel tender and promising, which is hard to believe when you’ve only ever spent the night once.

Like tonight:  Jake told you in no uncertain terms that he was going off to fuck another woman.  You watched him leave the Hard Deck.  Moments later, you left with Bob, came back to Bob’s apartment, and fucked Bob.

And now you’re dressing and getting ready to leave.  You sit on the edge of Bob’s bed and pull your shirt back over your head, and Bob is left tangled in his sheets and feeling about as badly as a man can.

There are always limits.  Steel, carbon fiber, titanium…it all cracks under pressure, if there’s enough pressure.

“You can stay,” Bob says.  He sits up and reaches to the bedside stand for his glasses.  He slides them back on his face and watches how your shoulders tense up at his offer.

“I should head home.”

Bob snorts at your choice of wording.  Home.  Where you live with Jake, when Jake deigns to come home and be with you.  When he’s not out sleeping with other women, sowing his wild oats—too scared of being locked down for life to one woman, but too much of a coward to cut you loose in the meantime.

The noise makes you turn and look at him.  You study his face and must see something there, because you frown and say his name in a way that sounds like a warning.

“Bob.”  You meet his gaze and shake your head faintly.

“What?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”  He leans forward and takes your hand in his, but you pull it away.  He sighs. 

“Don’t…just…I don’t want to—”  You try to find the words, but he cuts you off.

“What are we even doing?” he asks. 

You turn away, hang your head, and with your back to him, Bob can see the tension in your shoulders, the slump in them.  How tired you look even from this angle.  Worn down.  The pressure must be getting to you too.

“I don’t know,” you finally reply.  Your voice is so quiet, barely above a whisper, he has to lean closer to hear you.  “He…he wants to take me home with him for the holidays.”

Another snort, but more bitter.  “So he can play Boyfriend of the Year?  So he can pretend like he hasn’t been fucking around on you for the past year and making you feel like shit?”

You curl in more on yourself, wrap your arms around your waist, and isn’t this why Bob has steadily grown to hate Jake Seresin?  That he’s made you into a cringing, insecure creature, so unsure of yourself that you can’t even voice what you want?

“Honey, c’mon.”  He moves towards you and you don’t dodge him, so he settles behind and wraps both arms around you.  He pulls you close, and he feels how you sag against him.  He lays his cheek against your head and sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair.  “I don’t wanna fight.”

“Then don’t fight.”

He kisses your temple, sighs again.  Settles back against you and takes in the scent of your shampoo, the scent of you that manages to linger in his place long enough after you leave that he aches with how much he misses you.

“I just want to see you happy,” he says, and that’s the truth.  He wants to see you laughing and smiling, and if Jake could do that for you, Bob would step aside even if it hurt.  “Are you happy with him, honey?  Are you happy with the life you’re living with him?”

You shake your head in reply.

“Then why…”  He trails off, doesn’t finish the question, but you understand it anyway.

“Because he’s all I’ve ever known.  The only boyfriend I’ve had.  I’ve…Bob, I’ve followed him all over the country my whole adult life.  Everyone back home knows me as Jake Seresin’s girl, for heaven’s sake.”

The admission stings Bob a little, but he can’t say he’s been your boyfriend.  He’s mostly just been your hook-up.

“I’ve dated him since I was a kid,” you add.  “It’s been so many years.”

“So many years and he still won’t commit.”

That makes you untangle yourself from him, and you stand up from the bed and turn to look at him.  If he expects rage or tears, he is disappointed:  there’s only your eyes fixed on his and a deep exhaustion behind them.

“Maybe all he needed was this time to get all this,” you gesture broadly, “out of his system.”

Bob shakes his head in frustration, and he reaches down on the floor to snag his boxers, his t-shirt.  He pulls them on and stands to face you, and when he places his hands on your upper arms, you don’t pull away.

“And I need you to understand that a real man who really loved you would have had nothing left to get out of his system,” he tells you.  He jostles you lightly, tries to get the words to sink into your skull for once.  “He would have given you so much love, he wouldn’t have even looked at another woman.  He would have given everything to you, with nothing left for them.”

You reach up and grasp his wrists where he holds you.  You look so sad.  Defeated.  Bob can see not just the past year but the years, all the time you invested in Jake—so much that you aren’t even you to many people.  You’re Jake Seresin’s girl, and your identity is wrapped up in your feckless boyfriend.  Bob can guess that you only see yourself as a pale reflection of Jake’s bright fly-boy persona.

“It’s been so many years,” you repeat sadly.  “It has to mean something, Bob.”

Then you gently pull yourself from his grasp, and Bob can only stand there as you leave.

*****

Bradley has a sense about these things:  something bad is coming.

He has a preternatural feel for doom which, not to be dramatic, probably comes from his dad dying in a freak accident and then his mom withering away from cancer years later.  He got both ends of the death spectrum—sudden, violent, and slow and wasting—and so he feels particularly sensitive to certain atmospheric conditions that signal trouble.

Then again, Hangman’s fucked up life blowing up during a Saturday game of dogfight football is hardly on the same scale as Bradley’s path to being an orphan.

Bradley scoffs at himself (dramatic asshole, he thinks), but his stomach does do a warning twinge the moment all the relevant players are on the field.

There’s Hangman, the Golden Boy from Texas, his jawline clenched so hard that Bradley imagines his teeth cracking under the pressure.

There’s you, you hand held firmly by Hangman until you get set up in your perch higher up on the sand—you shake out a blanket, weigh down the corners with your shoes and a cooler.  You tilt your head towards Jake for the bruising kiss he lays on you before he turns away and makes his way to the other Daggers.

And then there’s Bob, standing quietly with the other Daggers, watching quietly as Jake kisses you. 

Something about the scene makes Bradley go on alert, and the thought drifts through his head the moment Jake walks past Bob.

Jake knows.

Which should be fine.  Jake should know.  Bradley is entirely confused about how the man couldn’t know, since the open relationship was his idea.  Since Jake brazenly took other women home while you watched like an abandoned kitten from the sidelines of the Hard Deck.  Since Jake joked around about it sometimes, months ago, playfully tried to drum up dates for you with the other Daggers.  Hell, Bradley was there when Jake sidled up to Bob once, asked the guy if he wanted to fuck you, and if it was all just joking around, Jake still shouldn’t be surprised if Bob eventually took him up on the offer anyway.

Goddamned Jake and his fucked-up life.  Bradley never saw the point of it, opening up a relationship like yours.  That sort of shit probably works fine for couples where both parties are into it, but any casual observer could see how miserable you’d been at the start of it.

You hadn’t really started smiling again until Bob came along, and that is something worth pondering, Bradley thinks.

The problem with Bradley’s sense for impending doom is that he’s rarely wrong.  Almost never.  So ten minutes into the first game of dogfight football, when Jake—who is on Bob’s team—hits the backseater, all hell breaks loose, and all Bradley can think is shit, I’m right again.

*****

One minute, Bob is standing in the sand, watching Harvard drop back and throw a perfect spiral to Coyote.  As his gaze shifts to take in the other ball—currently tucked against Nat’s stomach as she tries to weasel past Javi—Bob’s world suddenly shifts sideways, and he finds himself with his face in the sand before the pain from the blow even registers.

“Wha—” he starts to say, but something presses him down into the sand, someone’s on top of him, and Bob only gets a glimpse of Jake’s red, furious face before a fist connects with his face.  The wire frame of his glasses dig into his cheek, and Bob stops thinking and just reacts.

He jabs his elbow up and connects with Jake’s belly; the man grunts out in surprised pain and ease up enough for Bob to roll out from under him.  He finds his feet, does a quick scan of himself.  Ribs hurt.  Face hurts from the hit and the cut from his glasses.  Nothing catastrophic though.

Jake stands too, but only for a second—then he charges Bob again.  Bob only has a split second to react.  He takes a quick step to the side, manages to dodge being completely tackled, but Jake gets an arm around him and drags him back to the ground.

Bob’s never been much of a fighter.  Aside from backyard squabbles with his brother and cousins when he was a kid, he’s never been in a proper fight until now. 

He probably gets one half-assed blow in for every three of Jake’s.  The man’s fists come fast, steady—timed to the hammering of Bob’s heart, almost—and each new bloom of pain is immediately replaced by a new one. 

It feels like it goes on forever.  It feels like Bob and Jake are the only two people in the world because everything is quiet except for the blows that reverberate through Bob’s skull.  Later on, he’ll realize the entire fight is less than a minute, really just a handful of seconds before the Daggers understand what’s happening and pull Jake away.

Bob lays on the sand, gasping, sun-blinded and stunned in pain.  The only sounds are his own pulse thudding away in his aching skull…but then he hears screaming.  He manages to turn his head, blinks against the spots dancing behind his eyelids.  His vision is blurry—his glasses are long gone—but he knows it’s you running towards him, and even against the royal beating Bob just took, he smiles.

*****

It’s funny how much can change in less than twelve hours.

You’d left Bob the night before, exhausted and confused and unsure of what to do.

Half a day later, here you are:  kneeling on the sand between a bleeding Bob, glaring up at Jake, and the decision is so fucking clear to you.

“What the fuck, Jake?” you yell.  You turn back to Bob; his face is already swelling, and a shallow gash on his cheekbone oozes blood.  You notice a glint in the sand and see his glasses, but when you pluck them from where they are half-buried, you see that they are beyond repair.

“You know what the fuck,” Jake growls back.  He takes a half-step towards you, but Bradley holds him back.  You study Bob, take in each wince as he catches his breath. 

“You okay to stand?” you ask him, your voice low. 

Bob nods, and Nat kneels on the other side of him.  Together, you each get an arm under him and help him stand up.  He staggers for a moment, leans on you, and you brace yourself to take his weight.

Then you turn back to Jake.  His expression is stony:  his eyes cold and impassive as he takes in you and Bob.

“I’m closing our relationship,” he tells you. 

That’s what makes you laugh.  That’s what transforms all the hurt and confusion and self-doubt to a sad sort of hilarity.  You take a sharp inhale at his words, but then breathe them out in punched-out laugh, a shrill giggle that probably makes you sound insane…but once you start laughing, you cannot stop.

You know it sounds hysterical, but it’s been years of this bullshit.  Instead of screaming or crying, you laugh—until tears flow down your face, until your ribs ache from the effort.  Bob has an arm around your waist, and he squeezes your side in a grounding, questioning gesture, but you let it all out.

It’s so fucking stupid.  It’s been stupid for so long.  You’ve been stupid for so long.  Trailing after Jake like a whipped puppy, eating every bit of shit he ever fed you.  And for what?  For a man who never put you first, rarely even put you second, and who only wants to shut down this entire stupid open deal the moment it stops being fun for him.  All those years meant nothing after all, and even if you’ve only ever been Jake Seresin’s girl, it hasn’t amounted to much anyway.

Are you happy with him, honey?

Bob asked you the question only hours ago, and now you know the answer with a certainty you’ve never felt before in your life.

“Oh, Jake.”  You reach up with your free hand and swipe at the tears that have finally slowed as your laughter died down.  You study the faces of the Daggers around you—their expressions range from wariness to confusion, and Bradley has a faint grin—and then you look your boyfriend dead in those gorgeous eyes a shade of greenish-blue you’d never seen in another person.

“Fuck you,” you spit out.  “Forever until the end of time, fuck you.”

He sputters some reply, but it washes over you.  You never note it at all. 

That’s how you finally end your relationship with the only boyfriend you ever had:  walking away from him on a sunny San Diego beach, staggering under the half-dead weight of the man who just took a hell of a beating for doing nothing but caring for you.

*****

Bob is not exactly clear the next few hours.  He never loses consciousness, but he’s not entirely all there either.  Pain makes time skip and drag in a weird way.

There’s a trip to urgent care.  X-rays.  His dislocated nose is reset; a dislocated finger is taped into a splint.  He’s packed in ice packs, given prescription-dose ibuprofen, and sent home.

You and Nat take care of him:  hover at his elbow, keep him steady as he totters from Nat’s car to the urgent care waiting room, then back, then home.

Nat disappears for a while, then returns with a pain pill left over from her wisdom tooth removal surgery.  Together, you and her get Bob cleaned up, tucked into bed.  The pain pill is just starting to pull him under when Nat calls out from the doorway of his bedroom.

“I’m gonna take her over to her place.  Pack a bag or two.  You okay on your own for a bit?”

Bob nods, and he wants to ask for you—he wants to see you, wants to take your hand in his, wants to make sure you’re okay—but his tongue is thick in his mouth, and his eyelids feel like they are weighted down.

He sleeps.  Despite the pain, he sleeps deep and dreamless, and when he surfaces back to wakefulness, the day has ended.  Long shadows creep across his bedroom floor.

He gets up on unsteady feet.  Makes his way to the bathroom, studies his face in the mirror.  He looks like shit, swollen and bruised.

He hears the low murmur of his TV, and when he makes his way to the living room, he finds Nat sitting alone.  She stands up, makes her way over to him.

“How you feeling?” she asks.

Bob chuckles.  “Like I got the shit kicked out of me.”

She helps him sit, then perches on the couch beside him.  He doesn’t even have to ask the question before she answers it for him.

“She’s at my place.  I told her she could crash there as long as she wants.  I have the spare room, and things are…well, they’re a lot right now.”

“She could stay here.”

Nat nods, bites at her lower lip.  “Yeah, she knows.  It’s just complicated.”

Bob shakes his head.  “Seems like it just got a lot less complicated.”  The dark thought crosses his mind then, so he adds, “unless she didn’t break up with him after all.”

“She did.”  Nat sighs, and she turns herself to face him.  “I need you to listen to me, okay?”

He doesn’t like the ominous tone in her voice, but he nods.

“You need to let her go,” she says simply.

He’s stunned by Nat’s order for a moment, then he laughs.  It’s ridiculous—after all of this, he’d just let you go?  Now that you’re finally free of Jake?

Nat’s eyebrows furrow together.  “I’m serious, Bob.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be let go.”  It comes out defensive.

“Maybe she doesn’t,” Nat agrees.  “But maybe you need to be the bigger person anyway.”

It takes his pilot a long time to get through to him, but in the end, Bob sees the sad wisdom of what Nat is trying to say.  They talk for hours—interrupted only long enough to order food, then eat—and then they talk more.

Nat understands your situation as well as he does.  Maybe she understands it better, even.  She points out what everyone knows—you and Jake, your long history together—but then she adds more that Bob never knew, bits and pieces gleaned during girl-talk at the Hard Deck, then a flood of intel freely given during the past few hours as the two of you tended to Bob.

“They grew up in a small town in Texas,” she explains.  “I grew up in a similar sort of place.  Towns like that, they aren’t democracies.  They are some weird fiefdom system, and people like Jake and his family are at the top of the heap.  Jake’s dad owns a Chevy dealership, you know?  His mom was the county fair queen.  They live in this big, sprawling ranch and just rule the town.  Then comes along your girl, and she’s from a middle-of-the-road sort of family.  Nothing spectacular.  But Jake noticed her, and a guy like him noticing a girl like her…that’d be like me turning down a date with a prince, Bob.  She was so young, and everyone around her was telling her how lucky—how blessed—she was.  Of course it warped her thinking.  She was just a dazzled kid, and by the time she started to wise up, she’d invested years into her relationship with him.”

“I get it.”  He lifts his hands, helpless, then lets them drop.  “So I’m too late either way.”

“No.”  Nat reaches out and puts her hand on his knee, pats him gently.  “Not too late.”

“Then what?  Let her go, then what?”

“Then you do like the cliché says.  If you love her, let her go.  If she comes back to you, then you know she’s yours.”

Bob shakes his head.  He wants to disagree, wants to make Nat understand how he feels with you, another cliché:  how he feels like a complete person.  Not that he is missing pieces and you’re there to shore up the missing parts.  It’s harder to describe, the calm that washes over him when you’re with him.  A charged calm, a paradox, because he feels like he can finally relax, knowing he’s found his person, but he also feels a jolt of energy because he’s found his person and wants to face each and every adventure with you.

“You have to give her time and space to be alone.  To learn who she is without Jake fucking Seresin jerking her strings.  She’s never been alone, Bob.  Doesn’t she deserve a chance to find out who she is?  Who she might be?”

His voice, when he finds it, comes out rough-edged, a croak.  “What if she doesn’t come back to me?”

Nat’s hand back on his knee, bracing him.  “Then you’ll still always be the man who broke Jake’s spell over her,” she replies.  “And that will always count for a whole fucking lot.”