One is the Loneliest Number

Prologue

18th of December, 2022
Montfort, Netherlands

Standing in the front row of the church hall, inside his dark black suit, all Max Verstappen could do is stare at one of the three pictures exposed at the altar, amid many many flower wreaths. It was him and his father, Jos, during the magic night at Abu Dhabi, where Max became a Formula One World Champion and finally lived up to his dad's expectations. Or so he thought.

The picture gave him mixed feelings. It was indeed one of the happiest moments of his life, but this gesture – Jos putting his right hand on his shoulder and pulling him closer – was also something Max feared for most of his childhood. It was usually followed by shoving and, more often than not, a slap with the back of his hand.

The pastor continued the funeral service, and at some point "Stil, mijn ziel, wees stil" was sung. Victoria delivered the eulogy, as Verstappen had previously denied doing so. He sat for one hour in front of a piece of paper and a drying pen, thinking of what to write. He couldn't put more than two sentences together, and so the task was delegated to his sister.

21st of December, 2022
Monte Carlo, Monaco

Max sat at his empty bedroom, staring at the window with a blank look. The sun had eventually set, and now the only thing lighting up his room was the Red Bull minifridge beside him, which glowed neon blue and red.

"I should furnish this flat someday" he thought, briefly looking at the mattress on the floor and his gamer setup in the corner, the only two other pieces of furniture in the room.

As he got up, the bell rang. "It's probably Kelly" he thought, walking towards the door. Indeed, it was.

She was holding a bag in her left hand, and without saying anything, she hugged Max with her free arm.

– How you holding up, babe? – She asked, with a pitying face – I can't imagine how it is losing a dad, specially one like yours. – Max opened his mouth to say something – Anyways, I got takeaway from this Italian place you like! Thought it would cheer you up. – She half smiled and let herself in, putting the bag on top of his coffee table and making herself comfortable on his comically small couch, one of the leftovers from the previous tenant.

Verstappen looked at her neutrally, she smiled back and asked if he would join her. The thought of saying no quickly crossed his mind. Ultimately, he closed the door and sat on the floor across her on the coffee table.

The Italian food was not even half bad, but Max didn't eat much. He seemed very focused on observing Kelly, her every movement and expression, with a concerned face.

– Not tasty? – She asked, after noting him distracted – I'm surprised. It is your favourite restaurant in town.

– I'm tired, have a flight tomorrow evening and haven't slept last night. – He said while letting his fork go.

– Flight? Where to?

– I'm to attend a show run for the team in Milton Keynes. It was already postponed two weeks, can't let them waiting. – Max answered inexpressively.

– Well, why did you come back to Monaco then? I'm not complaining, just wondering. – She said, taking another tortellini in her mouth.

"I wanted to be alone" Max thought while throwing his leftovers in the bin. Kelly wouldn't react well to such an answer.

– I wanted to see you. – He turned to her, making the best impression of a smile he could manage. She smiled back briefly.

After struggling a bit to make Kelly leave, Verstappen called the night and laid on his mattress, staring at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

Roughly 5 months ago
Le Castellet, France

Max Verstappen had performed an almost perfect undercut on his championship rival, Charles Leclerc, and by lap 18 the Dutchman was trailing the Ferrari closely.

Focus, determination, fearlessness, ruthlessness. Those were some of the fundamental characteristics of a racing driver, something Max learned from his father. During the race, Verstappen didn't see fellow drivers. He saw obstacles.

And when Charles Leclerc lost his rear in turn 11 and ended up in the barriers, Max had every reason to be happy, but he wasn't. Leaving the crash site, now leading the race, the Dutchman's thoughts were inside Leclerc's cockpit.

"This is it for him" he pondered. "His championship hopes are over". Max recollected their time in karting, how he thought Charles was a brilliant competitor, and had every bit of good sense and compassion he himself wasn't allowed to have by his father. Verstappen found himself longing for a championship fight with Leclerc, something he thought the Monégasque deserved: a shot. Like he had in 2021.

22nd of December, 2022
Nice, France

Shortly before Christmas, the airport in Nice was crowded with late holiday fliers and arriving tourists. Outside, rain fell vividly with some snowflakes mixed in-between, to the despair of said crowd. Everyone wanted to get out of there as quickest as possible.

Verstappen made his way to his gate with the help of two bodyguards granted by the airport authority and his manager, Raymond Vermeulen. The gate was small, only meant for private jets, and one single attendant stood behind the counter. She wasn't doing anything in particular, and seemed to wait patiently for the boarders.

– I'm afraid I have bad news, Mr. Verstappen. – She approached him as soon as he arrived at the counter. – We are cancelling private flights tonight. – He gasped and made his usual irritated expression. – Unfortunately, with this storm coming, we have to prioritize long haul flights with more passengers in it. We already notified your captain and your plane will be spending the night in one of our hangars, as a courtesy. We are very sorry. – She said, in a heavy French accent.

– What the fuck! You call those three drops of water a storm?! I need to get to London by tomorrow! – Max reacted as he usually did to inconveniences.

– You'll probably be able to take an early flight tomorrow morning, if the... storm... passes overnight like predicted by the weather forecast. Again, we are very sorry.

The attendant left, and Max rubbed his face.

– Ik ben echt niet in de stemming om terug te rijden naar Monaco en deze shit morgenochtend te herhalen. (I'm really not in the mood for a ride back to Monaco and repeat this shit tomorrow morning) – Verstappen complained to his manager, Vermeulen.

– Ook zullen de wegen waarschijnlijk binnenkort worden geblokkeerd en vliegen helikopters niet meer dan vliegtuigen. (Also, the roads will probably be blocked soon, and helicopters aren't flying more than aeroplanes) – Vermeulen added.

– Bedankt voor het inzicht. (Thanks for the insight) – Max sighed. – Ik denk dat het een hotel voor de nacht zal zijn. (I guess it will be a hotel for the night)

As his manager was already pulling out his phone to book two hotel rooms, Verstappen heard someone call his name from behind. The intonation, the accent, the singular way his given name was enunciated gave away the owner of the voice.

– Max! – Charles Leclerc walked towards him, carrying two luggages in each hand, wearing a white polo and accompanied by two Ferrari people.

Max's heart skipped a beat for a second.