evermore | max verstappen

willow

"I'm begging for you to take my hand, wreck my plans, that's my man."

It was pouring down in sheets at Interlagos, as I sought refuge next to an open exit door in the paddock. Cool stone touched my back, as I leaned against the wall, just taking in nature's fury. It was going to be a whirlwind weekend, and I was trying to seek all the peace I could, while I still had the chance.

I nodded at a couple of reporters and drivers who arrived with their partners, everyone making a beeline to their motorhomes and washrooms to wash the muck off of themselves. It was only 10 AM, but I had been here for nearly three hours now, because Max had been too high-strung to sleep in a hotel room last night, retiring to his motorhome at the circuit. "It's only Friday practice," I had protested, because I'd heard Sao Paulo was beautiful at night and wanted to see for myself, but... "It's been only Friday practice every year for me, babe, because I didn't have a fighting chance by the time it was November any other season." But this time, he did, didn't he? And we couldn't fuck that up.

My train of thought was interrupted by my need to find Max, because who knew when FP1 would begin, if it even would, and, god, he needed to get 5 interviews done before the end of things that day. So I shot Charles Leclerc a smile as he entered the front of the paddock looking for something, turning on my heel to go on Mission Max. Which is when I felt a pat on my back.

"Hey." Piercing baby blues held up a weak smile as the Dutchman put his palm on my shoulder.

"Oh, hi. Good morning. I didn't wanna disturb morning training so I didn't come say hi in the driver room. Met Jake though, in the cafe." I unclenched my jaw as he took my hand in his. I was still mad at being an afterthought this weekend, but couldn't help but reach forward and tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. "Did you sleep well?"

"Missed you." His face softened. "Training was shit."

"When is it not," I laughed and he cracked a smile too, his first in days.

"What were you up to? Have you been here too long? I would've called, but..." He ran his hand through his blonde locks. "Too much on my mind."

"It's okay, I'm used to that," I shrugged and elicited a wince from him. "Was fun hanging around here 3 hours, praying for a DNF for everyone else so we can finally talk more than once on a race weekend in Abu Dhabi." Making weary Max laugh was one of my favorite guilty pleasures.

"C'mere," he whispered as he pulled me closer by the waist. I leaned on his shoulder, still not a 100% not mad at him.

"I wish it didn't have to be like this." I leaned further into his embrace.

"I know." He sighed.

"I understand it, you know, it just always is..."

"I know."

"And I get it... In this world, it has to be about you. Otherwise, you'll never win again."

"I know."

"Sometimes I feel like you're slipping away from me."

"That's not true."

"I know." I sighed.

"You always come back."

"I do. Just... sometimes, I wish I meant more than the damn P1 trophy or the champion ring."

Max shook his head. "That's not fair."

"I know. It's okay. I'm allowed to be emotional after 30 weekends of ruined romantic and personal plans."

"That, I can stand to be sorry about. And thank you." He squeezed my hand.

"You've got an unbelievable hold of me, Verstappen."

"I know." We laughed together for the first time that day.