𝐄𝐯𝐚 @kimikebab - Tumblr Blog

Jul 20

Angeleyes pt. 1

pairing: max verstappen x ex!reader theme: fluff, angst, second-chance romance, secret baby/pregnancy wc: 11.4K from iris ◡̈ @freddiefromthefandoms, for you to fall asleep to ♥︎ thank you for the overwhelming amount of support for this silly idea based on my bestfriend's request! I did not expect this to get much attention, but I'm glad it did :) I'm so excited to show you what I have in store for this mini-series. I hope it's what you guys expected. leave your comments and thoughts; I'm excited to read them, whatever they are! PS. Just go along with Alex in P2 and William's podium, ok? It's something I will always selfishly add to feed into my delusion. If you go along with it, I promise to release chapter 2 early. deal? ⤷ ゛not proofread ˎˊ˗

After having to walk away from the love of her life, she reluctantly returns to the paddock with her Formula One-obsessed toddler, whose biggest dream is to meet Max Verstappen, the hero he's adored his entire life and the father he's never known, with the very same impossible angel eyes.

masterlist previous | next listen to ♥︎ ocean eyes, you're losing me (from the vault), who knows, we can't be friends (wait for your love)

2019

The morning had started with Lily staging a full-scale intervention in front of the hotel mirror.

"If I'm going to be sweating in a paddock all day, I am at least going to look cute while doing it," Lily had declared, wielding a curling iron like a weapon. "And you are too. So sit.” She had sat, yielding to her best friend’s cheeky aggression. “Do I really need to go, Li?” she asked now, reluctantly adjusting her top for the tenth time as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. “I don’t know anything about the sport, and I don't know anyone there. I’m just taking up space from someone who actually deserves it.”

Lily smiled, stepping up behind her to give her a playful nudge. “Hey, you know Alex!” She laughed, rolling her eyes. “Come on! It’ll be fun. You’ll love it, I promise,” Lily said, pressing a pass into her hand and kissing her cheek. She sighs at her reflection, knowing she’d lost even before it started.

When they arrived, she quickly realized she was entirely out of her depth. She trailed quietly behind the couple, doing her best to duck away from the cameras that Alex and Lily effortlessly smiled for. Once they reached the hospitality suite, she stepped out onto the balcony, looking down at the blur of mechanics, celebrities, and roaring cars below. Everyone seemed to have a crucial purpose, and she decided that if she was going to survive the day without hiding in a bathroom stall, she needed caffeine. Leaving the suite, she navigated her way toward the Paddock Club to track down some food and coffee, but on her way back, the identical-looking buildings and glass doors blurred together. She forgot which turn she had taken and suddenly realized she had no idea how to find the Red Bull suite.

Wandering down a quieter hallway, she turned a corner too quickly and plowed straight into a solid chest. She tripped backward, losing her footing, but the man reacted instantly. One of his hands caught her securely by the waist while the other gripped her wrist, steadying her arm just in time to stop her coffee from splashing all over them. “Shit, I’m so sorry!” she gasped, quickly steadying herself. “Ah, it’s no problem. I wasn’t looking where I was going either,” the voice replied. She looked up, meeting a warm smile and a pair of striking blue eyes. Her gaze drifted down to his navy shirt, noticing the red bull logo. “Oh, do you work for Red Bull?”

The man blinked, a look of brief, genuine confusion crossing his face before a small smirk broke out. “I—uh, yeah. I mean, yeah, I do.”

“I'm so sorry to bother you, but could you point me in the direction of their hospitality suite? I’m terrible with directions, and it’s my first time here.” He let out a low laugh, nodding toward the corridor. “Of course. Follow me, I’m heading that way anyway.”

As they started walking, she took a sip of her coffee, relieved. “So, first time at a race?” he asked, glancing over at her. “Is it that obvious? I thought I was blending in perfectly.”

“The panicked look when you turned the corner gave it away a bit,” he teased, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “But you’re doing great.”

“Good to know. My best friend’s boyfriend is a driver, so she dragged me along,” she explained. “You might know him, Alex Albon?” His smile widened significantly. “Yeah. Yeah, I know Alex. Good guy, good driver.”

“Oh, really? Do you fix his car or something?” she asked innocently. He bit his inside lip, trying incredibly hard not to burst out laughing. They were literally walking past a massive, two-story promotional poster of his own face, but her eyes were fixed entirely on the path ahead.

“Ah, no,” he said smoothly, playing along. “I work over in the other garage. Different car.”

“Is it stressful? It seems like a lot of pressure. I hear you guys had to change tires in like two seconds.”

“It has its moments,” he chuckled, playing into the narrative she built. “But the drivers get all the credit anyway. We just do the heavy lifting.”

“Typical,” she joked, nudging his arm slightly. “Well, make sure you don't screw up his tire change today, okay?” Max let out a hearty laugh. “I’ll do my very best to keep the boss happy.”

Over the next five minutes, the initial awkwardness completely vanished, melting into an easy rhythm of quick jokes, but the moment they reached the entrance of the garage, the bubble burst. A group of engineers in matching team gear spotted them, their eyes going wide before they urgently called him over. Turning back to her, he offered a parting smile that she couldn't help but return. “Thank you for saving me,” she said.

“Anytime,” he said, giving her a quick, playful wink. “If you ever get lost again, I’ll come find you.” With her heart doing a strange, unfamiliar little flutter, she walked into the hospitality area and found Lily sitting by the sidelines while Alex was getting his racing suit zipped up. “Oh, hey! Where have you been?” Lily asked, pulling out the chair next to her.

She sat down, unable to wipe the grin off her face as she set her coffee down. “I got lost on my way back, but this cute guy, I think he’s changes the tires or something, helped me find my way back. He said he knows Alex.” Lily’s eyes widened as she took in her friend's flushed face, a knowing smirk instantly spreading across her lips. “An engineer, huh? Did he have a name?”

“I forgot to ask, but he was really sweet”

“And to think, you almost didn't want to come,” Lily joked, bumping her shoulder against hers.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

When it was finally time for the race to start, the atmosphere shifted from chaotic to electric. Lily pulled her by the arm through the garage, navigating around stacks of spare tires and heavily focused mechanics until they found a spot near the back wall. Someone handed them a pair of heavy, noise-canceling headphones, which muffled the sudden, earth-shattering roar of twenty engines firing up on the grid. She clamped the headphones over her ears and stared at the wall of monitors. Truthfully, she was completely lost, not knowing what the numbers on the screen meant nor the little letters or colors of flags. She resolved to look at only one thing: car number 23. The rest of the grid was just a blur of passing colors, but she took her cues from Lily. For as long as her best friend was gripping her arm, jumping up and down, and screaming into the garage noise, she was right there alongside her, cheering just as loud knowing something was going right.

As the laps ticked down, the tension in the garage thickened. Alex was driving a flawless race, defending his position fiercely. By the time the final lap rolled around, even she was leaning forward on her tiptoes, her heart hammering against her ribs. When the checkered flag finally waved, the entire garage erupted into a wall of sound. Mechanics slapped each other on the back, and team members flooded toward the pit wall. Alex had secured an incredible second place, sharing the front row of the podium with his teammate, who had taken the victory.

Before she could even process the win, Lily grabbed her hand, dragging her out into the bright sunlight of the pit lane to join the swarm of media and team personnel waiting behind the barriers. “Congrats, Alex!” she screamed over the deafening roar of the crowd. Alex broke through the crowd, his face covered in sweat and a massive grin, and immediately pulled Lily into a breathless hug, lifting her off her feet. He pulled back just enough to press a hard kiss to Lily’s lips before looking over. “Thanks!” he beamed, glowing with pure adrenaline. “What a race, right?”

“You were amazing!” she yelled back, cheering for him. Alex gave them a quick wave before a press officer gently nudged him toward the television cameras for his post-race interviews. As he walked away, her eyes began to wander across the chaotic paddock.

The top three cars had parked in their designated slots, and a swarm of photographers was currently surrounding the number one car. The winning driver stood on top of his car, arms raised in victory as the crowd chanted his name, before hopping down. He reached up with both hands, unlatching his helmet and pulling his balaclava off in one smooth motion to shake out his hair, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Her breath caught sharply in her throat. She froze, her eyes widening as the pieces instantly clicked together.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Lily looked over at her, blinking in confusion as she tried to trace her friend's exact line of sight through the crowd. “What? What’s wrong?”

“It’s him,” she stammered, raising a trembling, subtle finger toward the center of the media circus. “The guy. The engineer. From earlier. He said he was...”

Before she could even finish the sentence, the sea of mechanics and photographers seemed to part. The winner wasn't heading straight to the weighing scales just yet. Instead, he was walking directly toward their section of the barrier, a victorious, incredibly smug grin plastered across his face. He had spotted her instantly. He stopped right in front of her, resting his forearms on top of the barrier, completely unfazed by the cameras flashing around him.

“You think I kept the boss happy enough?” Max asked teasingly, his voice carrying easily over the noise. She stared at him, her jaw slightly slack, her brain still trying to reconcile the helpful tire-changer with the reigning champion of the sport. She finally found her voice, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “You said you changed the tires!” Max let out a hearty laugh, his bright blue eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “Actually, if I remember correctly, you said that. I just didn't deny it.” She opened her mouth to argue, but the words were instantly cut off. Fueled by the pure, chaotic high of his victory and the sheer amusement of the moment, Max suddenly leaned over the barrier, caught her jaw with his hand, and pulled her into a hard, breathless kiss.

It was fast, hot, and tasted faintly of sweat. Her brain entirely short-circuited as she gripped the metal rail to keep her balance. When he finally pulled back, a wicked, victorious grin stretched across his lips at the utterly dazed look on her face. He gave her a quick, playful wink, turning on his heel to head toward the garage for his weigh-in, leaving her standing entirely frozen against the barrier.

Beside her, Lily burst into a sudden, uncontrollable fit of laughter, burying her face in her hands before nudging her hard in the ribs. “Oh my god. You didn't. You actually didn't know who he was.” She turned slowly to face her best friend, her fingers coming up to touch her tingling lips, her cheeks burning bright red. “He told me he worked in the other garage!”

“He did! Driving the other car!” Lily shrieked with laughter, looping an arm through hers as they watched his retreating back.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Their love was as quick and unexpected as that first kiss shared across the paddock barrier. One reluctant visit turned into a permanent, every-race-week habit. She became a constant fixture at Max’s side, cheering him on through every high-speed turn and always waiting right at the edge of the team garage, ready to greet him with a breathless kiss in parc fermé the moment he climbed out of the car.

He was simply never without her, and she was never without him.

The media quickly fell in love with them, though she still preferred the quiet moments away from the cameras. Most days, she would be curled up in the corner of his driver’s room, reading a book or watching a movie on her tablet, simply enjoying the quiet sanctuary away from the roaring paddock. The moment Max walked in, looking exhausted and running a hand through his hair, the tension would instantly melt from his shoulders the second his eyes landed on her. He’d walk straight over, dropping to lay on her and wrapping his arms securely around her waist to pull her close.

"I missed you," he would whisper, his voice soft enough to keep the words a private secret just between the two of them. "You saw me an hour ago," she'd reply with a soft laugh, her fingers instinctively burying into his hair.

Max just buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the familiar scent he had completely memorized by now. "That was sixty minutes too long." She giggles, pressing a kiss on his forehead. It was in quiet, stolen moments like these that she realized she was completely, utterly gone for him.

Falling in love with Max was a sudden shift she never saw coming. It was watching the fierce, ruthless competitor the world saw on television dissolve into the gentle, needy man holding onto her like she was his only anchor. She loved the way his thumb would idly trace circles on her hip when he thought she wasn't paying attention. She loved the quiet confidence in his eyes when he looked at her from across a crowded room, a silent communication that belonged only to them. Standing by the barriers, watching his car fly past at impossible speeds, her heart didn't just race out of excitement anymore, it beat in time with his.

She had come to the track completely lost, looking for nothing more than a simple cup of coffee, but looking at him now, she knew she had found exactly where she belonged.

2020

Their whirlwind romance was brought to a sudden, screeching halt when the pandemic decided to press pause on the entire world. The moment the global lockdown was officially announced, Max didn’t even bother asking for her input. He simply turned up at the front door of her apartment with a stack of flat-packed cardboard boxes, packed up her entire life himself, and moved her into his Monaco penthouse, stating that his house had a better view of the sea, delivering it with that trademark, matter-of-fact confidence, but on the inside she knew, he just couldn’t stand benign apart for any longer than a day.

Suddenly, their routinary life on the international racing circuit was replaced by the domestic, deeply cozy reality of quarantine. They spent endless, lazy afternoons completely melted into the deep cushions of his sofa. They would lose track of time binge-watching television series until their eyes blurred, wrapped together in a giant, oversized cashmere throw blanket while the sun dipped below the horizon outside.

Even when Max had to return to his strict daily routine, which involved spending grueling hours competing in highly competitive virtual races on his simulator, he flatly refused to be separated from her. His solution was a late-night impulsive order from Amazon that resulted in the arrival of a plush bean bag so ginormous. He dragged the monstrosity right beside his sim rig, piling it pillows and blankets just so she could read or nap comfortably within arm's reach while he drove.

Naturally, his online racing buddies were quick to notice the sudden shift in his attention. During a live-streamed race, Chris’s voice crackled loudly over the team Discord channel. “Max, why do you keep looking to the side, mate? Is Sassy peeing on your setup again? You’re dipping on the straights.” Max let out a soft, low laugh, his hands remaining perfectly steady on the steering wheel as he turned a sharp corner at two hundred miles per hour on the virtual track. “No, no. My girlfriend’s sleeping. I’m just checking on her. She was stirring.”

Instantly, the stream's live chat exploded into a frantic wall of oohs and awws, and Jarno chimed in over the headset with a laugh. “Is she sleeping on the hard floor, mate? Give the girl a proper bed!”

“No! I bought her this bean bag, it’s massive,” Max defended immediately, a fiercely fond, protective warmth creeping into his voice. “She sleeps there when I play. I just don’t like her sleeping all alone in our bedroom.” The boys teased him relentlessly for being a simp, but Max just grinned, completely unbothered by the banter. He loved her, and if the internet wanted to watch him turn into absolute mush because of it, they were welcome to the show.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

On some days, he drew her into his favourite thing completely. She would never forget the afternoon the delivery truck arrived with a surprise that left her completely speechless: a custom sim rig built exclusively for her. Max had gone to ridiculous lengths, contacting a specialized builder to customize the entire setup, from the carbon-fiber seat to the leather-wrapped wheel casing, in a beautiful, soft butter-yellow, her favorite color.

“Just press down on the gas, schat,” Max encouraged, leaning over her shoulder, his chest pressing against her back as she gripped the steering wheel with pure terror. “You won’t fly off the track, I promise. Just hold it straight.”

“It’s too fast Maxie! The screen is moving too quickly, I’m going to crash into the wall!” she argued, her heart hammering against her ribs as the virtual tire barriers loomed large on the triple monitors. Max let out a hearty, booming laugh that vibrated against her spine, leaning down to press a tender, lingering kiss to the top of her head. “Okay, up,” he commanded gently, pressing pause on the game. She gladly scrambled out of the seat, letting out a breath of relief. Max plop-dropped down into the racing seat, placed his long legs expertly on the pedals, and then caught her tightly by the waist, pulling her down securely onto his lap. “Now drive. You focus entirely on the steering and the apexes, and I’ll handle the speed.”

That became their favorite afternoon rhythm.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

On other days, she would coop herself up in Max’s home office, one he barely used her work, simply existing to showcase all his trophies and medals, losing herself in quiet, slow-paced crafts to pass the time. Mondays were reserved for crochet, while Fridays were dedicated to intricate thousand-piece puzzles spread across the mahogany desk, and Max would dutifully follow her there every single time, dragging the giant bean bag into the center of the office floor just so he could be the one napping or watching near her while she worked. It was a kind of calm that built the perfect sanctuary out of isolation.

Of course, being locked in together twenty-four hours a day also fueled a fierce, magnetic sex drive that seemed to grow more intense with every passing week. They didn't even need words anymore. All it took was a specific, heavy, darkened look from Max across a room, whether she was washing dishes or sorting through laundry,she knew exactly what was coming. He would walk over, lift her effortlessly against his chest, and carry her to the bedroom, the sofa, or simply take her right where she stood, their passion entirely uninhibited and raw. That consuming physical closeness naturally bled into a beautiful, heavy sense of emotional safety.

Late one evening, they lay tangled in their bed, bare and stripped of any inhibition, wrapped securely in each other's damp skin and tangled sheets. The room was entirely dark save for the silvery moonlight filtering through the windows, and Max’s thumb was tracing soft phantom stars and hearts across the soft, warm skin of her shoulder as she rested her head heavily against his chest. Listening to the steady, rhythmic, calming beat of his heart, her thoughts began to drift, floating through the bright future she was secretly beginning to picture, until she couldn't keep the quiet question inside any longer.

"Maxie?" she murmured softly, her voice a tiny whisper in the dark room. "Hmm?" he responded immediately, his hand pausing its gentle tracing to cup her bare arm, squeezing her gently.

"Would you ever want kids?" she asked. She shut her eyes tight against his chest, a sudden wave of intense vulnerability washing over her, terrified that she had broken the golden rule of romcoms and moved way too fast, way too soon, but Max didn't pull away.

Instead, he just let out a low, breathless chuckle, his chest expanding under her cheek as he tightened his grip, pulling her even deeper into his side. "Of course," he said smoothly, his tone so steady and sure it felt like the most natural, undeniable truth in the world. "I’d love to have them one day. With you." She smiled in the darkness, her heart swelling with an immense, peaceful contentment that made her eyes sting with happy tears. She was perfectly ready to leave the conversation at that, but Max kept going, his voice quiet, deep, and laced with a rare, soft vulnerability.

"Do you think of names sometimes, too?" Too? The realization that he had already been privately dreaming about their future sent a sweet, electric thrill straight through her veins. She shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at his face in the moonlight. "I mean... I used to keep a handwritten list of them when I was much younger. Just silly daydreaming."

"Yeah?" Max’s eyes crinkled at the corners with a soft, beautiful smile. "Okay, imagine if we had a little girl. What would you name her?" Her heart beat a little faster against her ribs. "I don't know, I always used to love the name Autumn, it's my favorite season, and it sounds gentle."

Max smiled up at her, reaching up with his free hand to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. "I love it.” A heavy, intimate beat of silence settled over the room. The ocean waves outside crashed softly against the shoreline below, the rhythm matching the peace in their bedroom.

"And if we had a boy?" Max asked softly, his gaze locked onto hers.

She stared up into those blue eyes, the exact same eyes that had gotten her out of trouble the day they first met in the paddock. The same eyes that pulled her in, kept her close, and allowed her to fall in love with Max Verstappen, the person. Not the racer. The pure, domestic, undeniably sweet Max. The answer was already alive and thriving in her heart.

"Emilio." Max repeated the name instantly, testing the weight of the syllables on his tongue, his slight accent softening the edges of the vowels. "Emilio."

"I've always loved your middle name, Emilian," she whispered, her fingers trailing up his bare chest to rest against the warm line of his jaw.

"And if we ever have a boy, Max, I want him to carry one of my favorite parts of you."

2021

The garage wall monitors blurred into a chaotic wash of flashing colors as the final lap concluded, but the commentator’s voice blared over the headsets with absolute clarity, shaking the very foundations of the room.

“And Max Verstappen wins the World Drivers’ Championship for 2021! He is officially the champion of the world!”

The words sparked a roaring fire in her chest. Seeing his car cross the finish line under the sudden, spectacular eruption of Abu Dhabi fireworks felt less like a sporting victory and more like an emotional explosion. She was the absolute proudest she had ever been in her life. Screaming until her throat burned, she jumped up and down, throwing her arms around mechanics, engineers, and anyone within arm's reach before the team aggressively pushed her through the frantic crowd toward the barriers of parc fermé. She stood at the very front, her hands gripping the metal rail, her heart hammering against her ribs as his car rolled to a stop right in front of her, its tires smoking.

The moment Max killed the engine, he vaulted over the nose of the car in a blur of pure, unadulterated adrenaline lifting his fist up in the air. He threw his helmet aside, his eyes scanning the screaming sea of team shirts until they locked onto hers. He ran straight for her, his face flushed, chest heaving as he crashed against the barrier.

“Did you see me, schat? Did you see me?” he gasped, his voice tight with an overwhelming, ecstatic high. “I saw you, baby,” she whispered fiercely, reaching out to cup his sweat-dampened face. “I am so incredibly proud of you.”

Max gripped her wrists, his eyes blazing with a fierce, magnetic intensity. “I could not have done that without you. I need you to know that. This win is yours too.” Before she could even reply, he leaned over the barrier, caught the back of her neck, and pulled her into a bruising, breathless kiss. In that exact second, surrounded by flashing cameras and thousands of roaring fans, Max was riding the greatest high of his existence, and he was doing it with his greatest love tightly in his arms.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

The real celebration, however, started the moment they finally escaped the paddock. They fled to a secluded villa for the winter holidays, leaving the heavy weight of the world behind. Away from the grid, it was as if they had transformed into completely new people. The intense, laser-focused racing driver vanished, replaced by a version of Max that was lighter, softer, and entirely consumed by her. One evening, they were curled up together on the sofa in front of a roaring fireplace. She was leaning back against his chest, and Max’s arms were wrapped securely around her waist, holding her close against the winter chill.

"You're remarkably quiet tonight, champ," she murmured, turning her head to look up at him. "Still trying to figure out if it was all a dream?" Max let out a low chuckle, pressing a warm kiss just beneath her ear. "No. The racing part feels real," he whispered, his blue eyes softening completely as they locked onto hers. "It’s this part that feels like a dream. Just being here with you."

She shifted in his embrace to face him fully, her fingers coming up to rest against his jaw. Looking up, she stared deep into his eyes. A sudden, quiet wave of intensity washed over her, and she stared at them fiercely, memorizing every fleck of light, terrified of ever forgetting exactly how he looked at her in this moment. "I love you, Max," she whispered, the words carrying the simple, unedited truth of everything she felt. Max’s breath hitched, a soft, captivated smile breaking across his lips. He pulled her flush against his chest, burying his face in her hair. "I love you," he murmured deeply against her skin. "So much, schat."

Holding each other in the quiet room, they both felt incredibly, impossibly lucky. In a world full of chaos, they had somehow found their perfect peace. The year ended on that spectacular, untouchable high. They were completely consumed by each other, Max riding the wave of his historic championship, and her simply happy being his anchor.

Everything felt so effortlessly perfect, so beautifully permanent, that neither of them could have possibly known this beautiful peak was actually the beginning of the end.

2022

She had naive hopes for his championship. She thought that once the number one was secured on the nose of his car, the suffocating pressure would ease. She thought he would look at the trophy, realize he was exactly as great as he had always dreamed, and finally let himself breathe. Instead, it did the exact opposite. The taste of victory only made him hungrier, sharper, and completely unreachable.

The shift was subtle during the first quarter of the year. A simulator session running two hours later than usual, a delayed text, a lingering engineering meeting. It was manageable. She was okay with it. She had always known racing was his first love, and she was perfectly content being a close second, but by the second quarter, the manageable hours turned into a ghost town. Max was rarely home. When he was, his body was there, but his mind was still on a track thousands of miles away.

Then came the forgotten dinners. One rainy Tuesday night, she spent hours in the kitchen preparing his absolute favorite meal. She texted him, and he replied almost instantly, promising he was wrapping up and heading out. Seven o’clock became eight. Eight dragged into eleven. The food on the stove grew cold, and a matching, heavy chill settled deep in her bones. When the clock struck midnight and the front door still hadn’t opened, she packed the food away in silence. She went to bed alone, waking up the next morning to the predictable routine: an extravagant bouquet of flowers on the counter and desperate makeup sex.

Eventually, even the intimacy shifted. The slow, reverent lovemaking that she was used to with him was replaced by something quick, mechanical, and entirely one-sided, almost always fueled only by whatever leftover adrenaline he had when he finally crawled into bed. As terrible as it sounded, she let him do it. She leaned into it because, in those brief, breathless minutes, it was the only time she could actually feel him.

It was the only time he was close enough to touch.

In the paddock, it was even worse. He used to linger by her side, but now, he would walk away in the middle of their conversations, his eyes darting toward the telemetry monitors, entirely consumed. He was too hard to catch, too far to reach. She used to have a place beside him, but now, she felt like a ghost haunting the room.

Then came her birthday. Lily had thrown her a beautiful surprise party at a quiet lounge in town. Alex was there, laughing and keeping the drinks flowing, and for a glorious twenty minutes, Max was present too. He kissed her deeply when she walked in, handed her a stunning bouquet, and wrapped his arms securely around her waist as they blew out the candles on her cake.

“Make a wish, birthday girl,” Lily cheered, snapping a photo. She looked back at Max, whispering, “I already have mine.” But the moment the cake was cut, the illusion shattered. Max retreated to the corner of the booth, his face illuminated by the harsh blue light of his tablet. He spent the rest of the night furiously texting GP about tire degradation.

They drove home in absolute, suffocating silence. Max knew he had messed up. He looked over at her at a red light, his expression softening as he reached across the console to grip her hand, and because she loved him so completely, all it took was that single look from his blue eyes for her defenses to crumble. She let him pull her into his arms that night, but when she woke up the next morning, naked and cold to an empty bed and a text saying he had an early meeting at the factory, something inside her snapped. Never again, she promised herself. If he did it one more time, she was done.

Then came the Japanese Grand Prix. Max clinched his second World Drivers' Championship in the pouring rain of Suzuka. Watching him celebrate on the screen, a heavy, painful knot formed in her stomach. It was a double-edged sword. She was proud, but she knew what this meant, the obsession would only worsen. That night, her phone buzzed. It was a text from him: 'WDC again schat! Can’t wait to come home to you and celebrate our anniversary. I love you.'

A desperate spark of hope flared in her chest. He hadn’t forgotten. Their anniversary was on the day he landed. Maybe this was the turning point. Maybe he was finally ready to come back to her. That hope solidified into sheer, terrified positivity when she looked down at the bathroom counter, staring at a plastic stick with two faint, unmistakable pink lines.

Everything was about to change.

She knew how chaotic his schedule was, so she took the lead. She booked a table at the restaurant they had been promising to visit for two years but never had the time for. She texted him the reservation details, the dress code, and the exact time before he boarded his flight.

His reply was instant: 'Perfect. See you at 8, liefje.'

At seven forty-five, she sat in the candlelight of the restaurant, dressed in her best clothes, the tiny Red-Bull t-shirt tucked safely in her handbag. Eight o'clock came and went. By nine, the bread on the table was stale. By ten, the waiters were offering her sympathetic looks. At twelve, the restaurant closed its doors, and she walked out into the cool night air entirely alone.

She didn't cry on the way home. The tears had run dry somewhere around nine-thirty.

When Max finally walked through the front door of the penthouse, it was nearly four in the morning. The apartment was entirely dark, empty and eerily quiet. She was sitting perfectly still on the edge of the mattress, staring blankly into the empty space of their bedroom. Max kicked off his shoes, looking exhausted but entirely oblivious to the wreckage he had left behind.

"Liefje, why are you awake?" he asked softly, untucking his shirt as if it were just any ordinary day. She didn't answer. She didn't even move.

Max climbed into the bed, stretching his long arms out to pull her back against his chest, but her body remained completely rigid, like a statue. "Are you okay?" he murmured, leaning closer. It was only when his hand brushed her cheek that he felt the cold, dried tracks of her tears. Max instantly sat up, panic bleeding into his voice. "Oh god, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

He genuinely didn't know.

“Max,” she said, her voice completely flat, devoid of any anger. “What day is it?” Max blinked, thrown off by the question. He rubbed his eyes, thinking. “I don’t know... Wednesday? No, Thursday now, I think. The flight was long.” She closed her eyes, the last remaining piece of her heart turning to ash. She shakes her head. “What date is it?”

Max pulled his phone out of his pocket, the screen illuminating his face. He glanced at the top corner, and then, the silence in the room became deafening. The color drained from his face entirely. The phone slipped slightly in his grip. “Oh, god,” Max whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. “Our anniversary. Schat, I—I am so, so sorry. I landed and the team… they had a whole surprise reception waiting at the hangar. Christian, the mechanics, everyone was there to celebrate the title. A few friends came by after, we had drinks, and I just… it completely slipped my mind. I lost track of time, I swear.”

“Let’s end this, Max.” she said softly, the firmness in his voice sent a chill down his spine. She was determined, she was decided. Max froze, his chest hitching. “What? No. No, schat, please. It was one mistake. A stupid, terrible mistake, I know, but it’s just one night. The season is almost over—”

“It wasn’t one mistake, Max,” she interrupted, her voice terrifyingly steady, keeping her cool even as his blood ran cold. “Except it wasn’t one mistake, Max. It hasn’t been five, or even ten. It’s been months and months of forgotten dinners and unsent texts.”

“I’ll fix it,” Max choked out, tears suddenly welling in his striking blue eyes, his voice breaking in a way she had never heard before. He reached out, his hands trembling as he tried to grab her waist. “Please. I will talk to GP, I will cut back on the sim—”

“But you won't,” she said, gently placing her hands over his, stopping him from pulling her close. She looked at him with an immense, heartbreaking love, but her grip was final. She was entirely understanding of who he was, but she had reached her limit. “I am so proud of what you’ve achieved, Max. Truly, but I can't be with someone who would easily trade me for a high-speed chase. Not anymore. Not when I spend almost half the time sitting alone in the dark thinking if you still loved me, if you'd come home to me because you'd miss me, praying that we'd go back to how we used to be. How we were when you were just my Max. Not World Champion Max.” She slowly turned her head, her eyes dropping down to her lap. She looked at her stomach, her hand hovering just an inch above it with so much hidden guilt, so much quiet fear, before she looked back up at his eyes, those damn eyes she had promised herself she would never forget. She slid her legs out from under the covers, stepping onto the cold floor. She didn't look at the closet. She didn't grab a bag. She just stood there in the quiet moonlight, looking down at the boy who had once promised to always come find her if she got lost.

"I love you," he says desperately. “Don’t go.” Max whispers. Her heart pinches in her chest, forcing her to close her eyes and pray it was over. “I’ll grab my things when you're out.” Max sat frozen in the center of their massive, empty bed, the tears finally spilling over his cheeks, his mouth open but completely silent as the quiet weight of his own world crushed him.

2023 ~ 2025

The year that followed was unbelievably hard.

Packing up her life and leaving Max’s apartment was one thing, but carrying a secret as monumental as the one growing inside her changed everything. She knew she couldn't risk the relentless prying eyes of the media, so she flew across the Atlantic, heading back home to British Columbia. Nested among the quiet, towering pines and the crisp mountain air, she sought the anonymity she desperately needed. She did remarkably well on her own, grounding herself in the stillness of her new life. During the long months of her pregnancy, her family wrapped her in a protective bubble of love and privacy, keeping her safe from the echoes of the racing world, but the real test came when her son was finally born. The moment the news reached the other side of the world, Lily didn't even hesitate. She booked the first available flight out for her best friend. Lily spent the first two months living out of the spare bedroom, navigating the sleepless nights, the endless diaper changes, and the overwhelming rhythm of early motherhood right alongside her.

Alex became a constant, anchoring figure in their lives too. Whenever his brutal schedule allowed for a break between races, he would fly straight out, trading his racing suit for rolled-up sleeves and a baby carrier. He was completely natural with the baby, effortlessly stepping in to give her a chance to sleep, eat, or simply catch her breath. Standing in her quiet kitchen, watching Alex walk around the living room rocking her son to sleep while Lily organized bottles, her heart would swell with a profound, aching gratitude. She was endlessly thankful for both of them, their fierce loyalty was the shield that kept her small, fragile new world safe from the chaotic storm she had left behind.

When the baby turned one, Lily decided it was time for an intervention. She marched into the kitchen, confiscated the baby bottle brush, and looked her dead in the eye. "Come on, just one party," Lily insisted. "It’s in Canada, after the Grand Prix in Montreal. I will fly with you there and back. We’re just having a short, quiet gathering to celebrate Alex’s previous win. You need to breathe." She hesitated, her eyes immediately drifting toward the nursery door. Lily’s expression softened, and she reached out to squeeze her hands. "I know why you're saying no, you know, and I already made sure he won't be there. Not even close. I promise you."

It took a few more rounds of convincing, but once her mother stepped in and practically ordered her out of the house, insisting she would take perfect care of her grandson, she finally relented.

Still, it was the first time she had been apart from her son since the day he was born, and the physical ache of the separation hung heavy in her chest. By the time she and Lily arrived at the venue, her heart was hammering against her ribs. She felt entirely out of place, battling a sudden wave of postpartum insecurity about her dress, desperately missing her baby, and wrestling with a toxic, underlying fear that Max would somehow materialize in the crowd.

"You'll be fine, babe," Lily whispered, leaning in close as they scanned the room. "He won't be here. He's all the way back in Monaco from what I heard." She shook her head, forcing a tight smile. "Wasn't thinking about him." Lily let out a knowing chuckle. "Right. If you say so." She gave her a supportive pat on the shoulder before slipping away to help Alex accommodate their arriving guests.

Left alone near the bar, she tried to smooth down her dress, feeling exposed without the familiar weight of a baby in her arms. "What are you having?" The deep, smooth voice came from right beside her. She blinked, looking over, and instinctively pointed a finger at herself to clarify if he was actually speaking to her. Standing there was a man who was devastatingly handsome, with thick, dark hair and heavy, warm eyes that held a distinct air of easy confidence. "Um... a Virgin Piña Colada," she said, her voice a little small. The man chuckled, a rich, low sound. "Nice choice." He turned to the bartender without missing a beat. "One of those, please. And a bottle of beer for me."

She blinked in surprise at the extra drink. "What are you doing?"

"You are Lily Muni He’s best friend, right?" he asked, leaning one elbow against the bar counter. A genuine laugh slipped out of her before she could stop it. "Why do you say her full name like that?"

"I like her name," he replied with a slight shrug and a charming grin. "It is like the best name ever."

She laughed, the tension in her shoulders finally beginning to ease. "She is my best friend. Inseparable for life. And you are? An engineer of some sort?"

"Alex’s teammate." Her jaw dropped slightly, a cold splash of familiarity hitting her. "Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know." She apologized quickly, a sharp ache in her chest reminding her of the exact same mistake she had made years ago in a different paddock, with a different driver.

"You didn't have to know me," he said smoothly, completely unbothered. "I was willing to introduce myself anyway." She smiled, but as she looked at the lingering, attentive way he was watching her, she could feel it in her bones. This man was flirting with her, and after everything she had been through, she simply didn't have the energy for the racing world's games.

"Look," she sighed softly, turning to face him fully. "I know you're a nice guy. If Alex likes you, I can trust that you're great. But... I have a son. And I know you have much better options out there than a single mother." The man actually smiled, his dark brows drawing together, but the determined glint in his eyes didn't fade for a second. "Well then you’re in luck, I was actually hoping I’d come here and become a dad. Fate, no?"

The unfiltered, blunt, sheer audacity of the line caught her so off guard that a breathless laugh bubbled up from her chest. He smiled, thoroughly pleased with himself, and extended a broad, warm hand toward her.

"Carlos. Carlos Sainz."

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

From then on, Carlos smoothly integrated himself into her world. He was insistent, persistent, and entirely unbothered by her constant reminders that she didn't need a man or a partner in her life. No matter how many walls she put up, Carlos was simply there, taking every step right alongside her. Eventually, the boundaries blurred into something beautiful. One rainy evening, Carlos slept over for the very first time, a duvet lying out on the living room sofa after an exhausting afternoon playdate with her son. Her little boy had grown so much, and in the sweet, chaotic rhythm of their unconventional life, he had started pointing to Carlos and calling him Papa. It had started as a toddler's mix-up, much like how he called her mother Mom, Lily Auntie Mom, and Alex Uncle Dad. It was a funny, tangled family tree, but looking at them all, she felt incredibly, profoundly lucky.

After checking on her sleeping son, she walked back into the living room, sitting on the edge of the sofa near Carlos’s feet. The apartment was quiet, the amber light of the lamp throwing long shadows across the room. "Why do you stay?" she asked quietly, the defenses she usually wore slipping away, leaving her raw and vulnerable in the dark. "Even when I've rejected you so many times?"

Carlos shifted, propping himself up on one elbow. His dark, warm eyes locked onto hers with absolute sincerity. "Because I love you." She let out a heavy sigh, looking down at her hands, but Carlos quickly soft-corrected himself.

"Not in that way," he cleared up gently, a small, melancholy smile touching his lips. "I think I've moved on from it. I've accepted the fact that you will never see me in a romantic way because your mind and your heart are still with someone else, someone so far away."

She looked up at him, her lips parting to deny it, to protect herself, but the lie died in her throat. She couldn't hide it from him. Carlos’s smile widened, turning fond and completely devoid of bitterness. "And I am okay with that, because I found comfort in you. A kind of pure friendship I've never found anywhere else. And... I've come to love him too." He tilted his head toward the small toddler bed they had dragged right beside the sofa, because the little boy had stubbornly insisted on sleeping right next to his favorite playmate tonight. "I love him as a nephew, as a son, as a little boy I never knew I needed in my life."

Silence settled over the room, heavy and comforting. She leaned her head back against the cushion, right near Carlos's shoulder, her breathing slowing down as her body finally relaxed. "My words still stand from the first time I met you at that bar, you know?" Carlos murmured into the quiet.

She shifted her head, looking up at him. "What do you mean?"

"I've always wanted to be a dad," Carlos said, his eyes fixed on the peaceful, rise-and-fall chest of the sleeping two-year-old. "And for that little boy over there, I am prepared to be."

A painful, beautiful ache bloomed in her chest. In that exact moment, staring at the devastatingly good, fiercely loyal man beside her, a desperate thought echoed in her mind: Why couldn't she just love Carlos? Why couldn't she just close her eyes, let go of the past, and convince herself that he was the perfect man for her? Why, even after all this time, after all the distance and the heartbreak, was her soul still fiercely yearning for someone else? Someone who didn't even know their son existed, miles away, racing across the world.

2026

Her son had always been drawn to Formula 1.

With both Alex and Carlos spoiling him with every miniature die-cast model car and every single Williams kit they could find, the little boy was bound to be hooked. At first, it used to be just about the fast cars, regardless of the team or the color, he simply loved watching the machines blur across the television screen. For months, Alex and Carlos had playfully coaxed him, trying to bribe the toddler into choosing one of them as his absolute favorite. What they absolutely didn't expect was for his first real favorite to be someone else entirely.

“Du du du du! Max Verstappen!” the little boy would sing, bouncing off the living room walls in a miniature Verstappen shirt that her grandparents had bought him. Initially, Alex and Carlos were genuinely bummed, poutingly complaining about their wasted efforts, but they quickly turned it into a relentless teasing game directed at her. They laughed about how a toddler could love a driver without ever meeting him, but deep down, she knew it was bound to happen, terrifyingly, inevitably so. A quiet ache settling in her chest.

Blood always recognizes blood.

It was bad enough that she had to watch Max on television 24/7 on a loop, hearing that viral song echoed by her toddler’s high-pitched voice. Seeing his face through a screen and hearing that familiar, blunt Dutch accent again made her feel a tidal wave of emotions she had spent years trying to drown. It grew even more complicated when her son requested, and successfully manipulated both his Papa Carlos and Uncle Dad Alex into buying him merchandise and posters of his father's face to line his bedroom walls.

So now that the idea of actually attending a race was finally placed on the table, her entire body froze. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea, Li,” she whispered, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the fabric of her jeans as she stared down at the two paddock passes Carlos had left on the kitchen counter.

“Come on,” Lily urged gently, reaching out to stop her hands from shaking. “We’ll be locked away in the hospitality unit all day. No one from the public or the media will be able to get to us there. We can cross the paddock to the garage only when we’re completely sure everyone is already locked in their cars, out on track. There’s zero chance of you bumping into…” Lily’s voice trailed off as they both looked over at the now three-year-old boy. He was sprinting around the living room with Alex and Carlos chasing after him, his face lit up with pure, untainted joy, entirely enclosed in his miniature Verstappen racing suit.

She hesitated, the heavy, suffocating knot tightening in her stomach, but as she watched her son's laughter echo through the house, she reminded herself that everything she did was for his happiness. With a deep breath, she reluctantly swallowed her fear. “Fine.”

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

The day of the race arrived with a sky full of nerves, because of the logistics, she and her son stayed tucked away in a private van arranged by Williams in the restricted parking lot, while Alex and Lily went in first to check the coast. Sitting in the backseat, she found herself brushing her hair over and over again, her eyes darting anxiously to her reflection in the rearview mirror every few seconds. “I hope we get to see Mr. Max, Mom! I wanna show him my suit!” the little boy chirped, jumping up and down on the leather seat before scrambling to either side of the big van to peek through the tinted windows.

“He might be very busy today, honey,” she said softly, her voice straining to stay even as she adjusted his collar. “But we can always visit Uncle Dad and Papa and see their garage, okay?” Finally, her phone buzzed with the go-signal text from Lily: Drivers have just been called to the track for the pre-race parade. The paddock is clear.

Relieved that there was absolutely no chance of seeing him, they finally stepped out of the van and made their way into the high-security zone. They reached the hospitality unit safely, but as fate would have it, the Red Bull energy station was positioned directly across the lane from theirs. Fun, she thought ironically, trying not to stare at the massive blue-and-red structure. It was quite chilly out, so she had paired a simple blue tank top with a thick white jacket, pulling the fabric tightly around herself as she stood outside the unit, deeply engrossed in a quiet conversation with Lily.

Unbeknownst to her, a late-running driver was suddenly walking down the paddock lane toward his team's entrance. With the quick, split-second decision-making only a three-year-old could possess, her son spotted the familiar racing suit. Before Lily or she could even react, the little boy’s eyes went wide. He broke away from her side, his small light-up sneakers clicking loudly against the paddock asphalt as he darted straight toward the approaching figure.

“Mr. Max! Mr. Max!” the boy squealed at the top of his lungs, running with reckless abandon. Max Verstappen, completely focused on the impending race and rushing to catch up with his engineers, didn't see the tiny blur of a child until it was too late. The toddler crashed directly into the back of his fireproof-clad legs, wrapping his small arms tightly around Max's knees in a fierce, unyielding hug.

“Oh, I love you, Mr. Max!” the little boy beamed, burying his face right into the fabric of the Red Bull suit. Max stumbled forward a step, completely shocked by the sudden weight around his knees. He blinked, looking down in sheer bewilderment, but the moment his gaze registered the tiny, miniature version of his own racing suit hugging his leg, a warm, booming laugh burst from his chest. “Hey, I love you too, buddy! What’s your name?” Max asked, a wide grin splitting his face as he bent down to the toddler’s level.

But the moment the little boy tilted his head back, the words died instantly in Max’s mouth. He was suddenly staring into a face that was a devastatingly identical mirror of his own. The same golden-brown hair, the exact same nose, and those goddamn, unmistakable blue eyes. “Emilio!” the boy chirped proudly, bouncing on his heels. Max’s heart started booming against his ribs, a violent, deafening rhythm that made his head spin. Emilio? The breath was completely knocked out of his lungs. The world faded into white noise. It can’t be. It’s impossible.

Meanwhile, inside the Williams hospitality unit, she was completely losing her mind. A cold, suffocating panic had seized her chest the exact second she realized her side was empty. “Emilio? Lio, honey, where are you?!” she cried out, her voice cracking as she began sprinting through the hospitality lounge. Lily was running in the exact opposite direction, frantically checking behind couches and under tables. Carlos walked through the entrance just then, laughing about a joke from the garage, but he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her face. “Hey, hey, what’s going on? What happened?”

“Emilio—I can't find him, Carlos! He’s gone!” The blood drained from Carlos’s face in a fraction of a second. Without a word, he whirled around and slammed his weight against the glass doors, sprinting straight out into the open lane. “Emilio!” Carlos’s voice boomed across the entire paddock, raw and commanding, instantly drawing sharp looks from mechanics and team principals alike. “Emilio!” he roared again.

Luckily, the sharp, authoritative voice pierced through the ambient noise of the track, and the little boy’s ears perked up. “Papa! Papa!” Emilio shouted back, his face lighting up. He broke away from Max, who was still frozen on his knees, entirely too shocked and paralyzed to even react as the little boy ran toward the other driver. “¡Ay dios mío, mi amor!” Carlos breathed, dropping to his knees and scooping the toddler up into his arms with a desperation that shook his broad shoulders. He held him flat against his chest, closing his eyes tightly. “We were so worried about you. Don't ever do that again.”

“I just met Mr. Max! He said he loves me!” Emilio beamed, entirely oblivious to the wreckage around him, pointing a tiny finger back toward the Red Bull energy station. A heavy, dark wave of worry washed over Carlos. He slowly looks past the toddler's shoulder to meet the gaze of the man still kneeling on the asphalt. Max was staring back at him, his face completely pale, his eyes wide and hollow. He looked like he had just seen a ghost.

Before another word could be exchanged, the sound of frantic footsteps echoed behind them. She came bursting out of the Williams unit with Lily trailing close behind. “Oh, Emilio, honey! You scared Mommy so much,” she sobbed, rushing forward and practically ripping the boy out of Carlos’s arms, burying her face into his tiny neck as tears finally spilled over her cheeks.

Max wanted to scream. He wanted to run forward, to grab her by the shoulders, to demand answers to the million suffocating questions tearing through his brain, but his limbs felt like poured concrete. He was entirely frozen to the spot, his chest heaving under his race suit. She felt the heavy weight of his gaze, and her eyes briefly flicked over to see Max kneeling just a few feet away, but right now, her heart was too battered and her mind was too consumed by the sheer terror of almost losing her son to even care about the past. She tightly shielded Emilio's head with her hand, turning her back to him.

“Let’s go back inside,” Lily said quickly, her tone sharp and protective as she shot a heavy, warning look at Carlos.

Carlos caught the signal instantly. He glanced back at Max one last time, a silent, heavy look of absolute confirmation, before turning his back. Together, Carlos and Lily flanked her, securely escorting the mother and son back into the privacy of the suite, leaving Max alone in the middle of the paddock as his entire world fractured in complete silence.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Max walked back to his garage like a shell of a man, his legs moving entirely on autopilot. Mechanics were bustling around him, engineers were thrusting data sheets into his peripheral vision, and Christian was asking him a question about the track temperature, but the noise of the paddock was just muffled, ambient static.

All he could see was the little boy's face. And her.

The love of his life. The person he had spent two agonizing years yearning for, looking for, missing, and desperately loving from afar, it was her, unmistakably, and beside her was a little boy so completely identical to him that it would be a flat-out lie to pretend he didn't know the truth. Emilio. The name they had chosen together in the quiet dark of a Monaco bedroom, under the silvery moonlight, when they were dreaming of a future that felt so certain, but the realization didn't bring him peace; it brought a suffocating, violent wave of agony. Why was his son calling Carlos Papa? Why was Carlos the one the little boy ran to? Why was Carlos the one holding her, shielding her, doing everything Max had ever wanted to do in that moment? The jealousy and regret burned hot in his throat.

He wanted so badly to rip his race suit off, march across the paddock, and demand his family back, but he had a race to finish. The grid walk was starting. He had to get into the car. Maybe after, he promised himself, his knuckles turning white as he gripped his helmet. After.

Back in the Williams hospitality unit, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Lily had quickly taken a distracted Emilio up to the private upstairs office with a view of the track, making sure to firmly click the lock into place behind them. It left just her and Carlos standing in the quiet of the lower room.

Her hands were visibly shaking, the adrenaline of the paddock encounter still racing through her veins. Carlos stepped close, his heavy, warm eyes filled with an intense, protective focus. "What do you want to do? Do you want to talk to him? Do you want me to kick him in the nards? What? Just tell me." A breathless, panicked chuckle slipped past her lips despite the terror gripping her chest. She reached out, squeezing Carlos’s large hands tightly, anchoring herself to his warmth. "Nothing, it’s just that he saw him, Carlos. He saw Emilio. I'm scared."

"I'm here," Carlos said instantly, his grip tightening around hers without a second thought. "You want me to just bail? I can. I swear, I'll walk away from the car right now and just hold you right here." Oh, Carlos. The sheer, unyielding loyalty of the man made her heart ache with gratitude. She forced a soft smile, shaking her head. "No. No, I want you to win. Win for Lio. He's been so excited all week to see you and Alex race. I'll be okay."

Carlos looked down at her, his brow furrowing with deep, lingering hesitation. "Are you sure?" he asked again, searching her face for any sign of cracking. "I've got it," she said, her voice finding a steady, quiet strength she didn't know she still possessed. "Whatever happens next, I'll deal with it."

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

When they finally moved down into the Williams garage to watch the race, she focused entirely on the two cars she knew. Emilio, however, was on cloud nine. Perched on a high stool with noise-canceling headphones over his ears, he was jumping and screaming every single time Max, or Alex, or Carlos flashed across the broadcast screens.

When the final lap concluded and the checkered flag waved, Max crossed the line first to take P1. For a fraction of a second, her heart jumped right out of her chest, a sudden, violent echo of the exact same pride she had felt all those years ago, but the bittersweet ache was quickly washed over by pure joy as Carlos brought his car home in P2, with Alex crossing right behind him to secure a massive P3 podium.

The garage erupted. Lily was jumping up and down, holding Emilio’s hands as the toddler bounced on his heels. “Yay! Go Papa! Go Uncle Dad! Gooooo Max!” the boy yelled, his voice straining with pure excitement. Before she could even process, the team was ushering them out of the garage. They were pushed straight toward the barriers of parc fermé just as the top three cars rolled into their designated slots. The moment Alex climbed out of his car, he ran straight into Lily's arms, the mechanics surrounding them in a chaotic wall of celebration. Carlos killed his engine right in front of them and jogged straight over to the metal rail, his face flushed with sweat and a massive, bright grin splitting his features. Without a word, he reached over the barrier, pulled Emilio right out of her arms, and hoisted the little boy high into the air.

“You won, Papa! You won!” Emilio screamed, his little light-up sneakers kicking out in pure excitement. When Carlos finally brought the boy back down, cradling him securely against his chest, she stepped forward with a warm, genuine smile. She wrapped her arms around Carlos's shoulders, hugging him tight over the metal rail. “Congrats, Mr. Smooth Operator,” she teased softly, her voice full of affection for the man who had protected them for so long. Carlos pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to the top of Emilio's head before leaning his forehead against hers for a brief, grounded second of gratitude.

All of this unraveled directly in front of Max’s eyes.

He was standing just a few meters away by the P1 board, a water bottle gripped tightly in his hand. What should have been a glorious, hard-fought victory instantly turned incredibly bitter at the sight. The roaring crowd and the flashing cameras faded into the background as he watched another man hold his son, another man comforted his greatest love, and another man received the exact embrace he had spent two years yearning for. Max took a desperate step forward, the water bottle slipping from his fingers as he tried to catch her eye, to make his legs move faster, to call out her name over the noise of the podium track, but before he could even get close, she gently took Emilio back from Carlos, turned her head away from the Red Bull car, and began walking back toward the hospitality unit, leaving Max standing in the heat of his victory, entirely frozen and alone.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

Emilio had fallen asleep in her arms while they waited for the boys to finish their media duties. She sat quietly in the lounge, cradling his small, heavy body against her chest, the soft rise and fall of his breathing the only thing keeping her grounded. The door opened and Carlos walked in, a tired but bright smile instantly gracing his features the moment he saw them. "Ready to go?" She nodded softly. Carlos stepped forward, carefully shifting Emilio into his own arms. The sleeping toddler didn't even wake, instinctively nuzzling his face deep into Carlos’s chest, his small hands gripping the fabric of his team shirt. She picked up her bag from the floor, smoothing down her jacket, and walked out of the hospitality unit side-by-side with him.

Just before they could cross the paddock gates to head toward the parking lot, she heard it.

Someone called her name.

A sharp, breathless shout over the fading noise of the track. Without even looking, she knew exactly who it was. The voice slicing straight through the cool evening air. She stopped, completely frozen in her tracks, the breath catching painfully in her throat. Carlos paused beside her, his body instantly tensing. He looked down at her, trying to keep his composure so he wouldn't wake the little boy cradled against his shoulder.

Behind them, Max called her name again. It was closer this time. Her heart hammered violently against her ribs, a deafening drumbeat that made her dizzy. She swallowed hard, staring at the exit gates just a few feet away. "Take Lio to the car," she whispered to Carlos, her voice tight. "I'll follow."

Carlos looked at her, his dark eyes filled with deep, protective worry. "You, sure?" he whispered back. She nodded, forcing her hands to stop shaking.

"I'll be right outside if you need me," Carlos said, his voice firm and reassuring. "Just call."

She watched them leave, watching the way Carlos securely shielded her son's head as they passed through the turnstiles. The moment they disappeared from view, she finally turned around. She didn't say anything. She just stood there, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her jacket. Max was standing a mere two feet away. He had changed out of his race suit into a team polo, but he looked completely unraveled. His hair was messy, his chest was heaving, and the fierce, untouchable posture of a world champion was entirely gone.

He called her name again. "Please look at me," Max whispered, his voice trembling so violently it shocked her. She kept her gaze firmly anchored to the ground, staring at the scuffed leather of his trainers.

No. No, no, no.

"Please," Max breathed, the sound of it thick with a desperate, heavy ache. When she still didn't move, Max finally gathered all the courage left in his chest. Trembling, he reached out, his long fingers gently placing themselves beneath her chin.

Don't look at him. Don't fall for it.

His touch was incredibly soft, almost reverent, as he slowly, deliberately tilted her head up.

Please, don't.

Then her chin rose, the movement staggered and heavy, until she could no longer fight the gravity of him. Her gaze lifted, and she was looking at him. Those same striking blue eyes were swimming with unshed tears, completely shattered as he looked down at her.

"Schat," he choked out.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

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kimikebab

Read this NOW it is amazing and I can’t wait for part 2 ☺️🫰