Double Sided Tracks

Shelf

Max wasn't raised by the most gentle person, or level headed person. He never heard apologies coming out of Jos' mouth— whether it's towards his mom, his sister, mechanics, anyone, especially towards him.

Nora is brave. To run when you're hurt, to run when you can't fight, to run when you're afraid— she's brave for that. Something that Max never was able to do, he never got to run. He stayed and took blows after blows.

Running is  brave, but Nora probably would think that staying is brave. They complement each other.

Max wanted her to stay, to not run for a second. To stoop low to his level and match his anger, his audacity, he wants her to yell at him and take it out on him.

Nora is never short on apologies, compliments or anything of the sorts.

"Oh I'm sorry Max, I knocked over Sassy's bowl."

"Oh that's actually great, I hope you know you're actually good at that."

Such simple things yet very on brand, it made his chest hurt.

"Can we talk?"  Was the text he sent. He managed to get Nora to stay until the morning of the race but she left before the race even started, leaving no room for Max to argue because he has a race to do.

He gave her a few minutes before picking up his phone and calling her number, she picked up after the third rings.

"Hey," she greeted softly.

"Hey," he said, scratching his jaw even though it's not itchy. "Can we talk please, I-" I'm sorry, I'm sorry and I know it's useless but I am.

"I'm at the airport, I'm going to London."

London? To Lewis' house? Is what he wanted to ask but he stayed silent, letting her speak.

"Can you stop by Amsterdam?" He asked quickly. Voice desperate, he's not above begging.

She stayed silent for a few seconds before sighing, "it's a school thing, I don't know how long it'll take."

It's not a no,  "just for half a day at least." He asked, not above begging.

"I'll let you know," she said. Max lets out a relieved sigh, they chatted for less than a minute about the details before hanging up. He reckons they can talk over there, and Max can– he can fix this. He has to fix this.

He has to.

There was a knock on the door and it was Brad, "what are you doing?" he asked, giving him a weird look.

He shrugged, can't even call out the way Brad is looking at him because yes, what is he doing? He's slumped in his makeshift driver's room in Milton Keynes, a room for him to wind down after sim time, after meetings or to do quick workouts with Brad when he has time.

"I found this in your bag," Brad handed him a paper. "It's all crumpled under your sweatshirt." He explained and Max snatched it out of his hand, like a kid whose hand was caught in a jar full of candies.

He can't even ask why Brad was rummaging through his bag because it's normal, really. But he does not want Brad to see the paper, which he clearly failed at.

"Did you buy a house in Amsterdam?" he asked with an incredulous tone and Max was about to give him lip until he snatched the paper bag, "and this very legal, very expensive paper was crumpled on the bottom of your bag?" he said in a disbelief tone, Max laughed at that because—Brad is like a mother hen sometimes.

"Brad—"

He flattened the paper like his life depended on it, then rummaged through his drawer to find something. "How can you live like this?" he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.