Lestappen : As Long As We're Together

Bahrain Grand Prix

MAX

I stood on the podium at attention, full of pride as the dutch anthem played. I looked down at the crowd of people with their hands either at their sides or over their hearts as my anthem played and I smiled with joy. It wasn't unusual that the dutch anthem played after a race, but I'd been worried as it was the first race of the season.

Somewhere in the thirty first lap I checked his mirrors and found no other car in them and I smiled as I finally relaxed into the race. From then on it had been fairly easy.

The anthem came to an end and after all the formalities were taken care of they got to my favourite part. The champagne. Growing up it was always a sight to see as people banged the bottom of the champagne bottle against the podium and it erupted out of the bottle. Now I wondered who was watching me. I wondered what kid would grow up to be named the 'Next Max Verstappen'.

When the day was over, the interviews sorted with and the champagne long since scrubbed off my body, I finally got a moment to breathe. There was a text from my ex, Kelly, saying to call her when I got time. She answered on the first ring,
"Hey." I said.

"Hey, good race."
"Thanks."
"There's someone here who wants to congratulate you." I could hear her smile, "I've read her four bedtime stories but she refuses to sleep before she talks to you."

I smiled at that. Kelly and I had broken up around a year ago but I still thought of myself as P's dad, "Maxie!" Her voice came through the phone along with a request for facetime.

I didn't usually answer calls on facetime but it was P so I pressed the 'allow' button and her face appeared on the screen. She was in an old shirt far too big for her acting as a nightie and in bed but her eyes were wide awake, "Hi, P!" I said, in the voice I used specially for her, "Did you watch the race?"

She nodded enthusiastically and showed me her pyjamas shirt and the smile came from my heart when I saw it was an old shirt of mine, "You were so fast today!" She said and I laughed, unsure of what to say, "I want to be a Formula driver like you one day!"
"Then I'll teach you everything I know." I said, promise in my voice and, if she wanted it to be true, in my heart. I would do anything for this kid.
She yawned and I realised it must be late for her so I told her to go to sleep and she pouted before another yawn broke free and she agreed.

The moment Kelly got the phone she scolded me for putting the idea of being a racecar driver in P's mind but I just laughed. "Listen," I said, "I have to go rest before tonight but I'll call you later?"

She nodded, "Have a good night, Max."
"You too." I said, cutting the phone.

I sighed as I went to the drivers' room. It was amazing how this sport had millions, if not billions, of dollars invested in it and yet the drivers didn't have separate changing rooms.

I opened the door and, by this point, there shouldn't have been anyone left but, of course, he was. Charles Leclerc pointedly ignored my existence and I glared at him, "Could you not look at me while I change?" He asked, his monegasque accent annoying as ever, "It's perverted."
"Takes one to know one." I said, putting my phone on my locker floor, changing out of the interview clothes to a breathable Red Bull t-shirt and jeans. I took my cap from my locker, putting it over my messy hair as Leclerc glared at me.

"Could you stop staring at me?" I asked him, "It's perverted."

He shook his head and got back to tending to a rather nasty seat belt burn. If it were any other driver, save Ocon, I would have helped, but since it was Leclerc I smiled and continued with my day.

I don't know when Leclerc went from one of my closest friends to one of my most hated enemies. It was in our karting days. He believed the rumours people told when I started to win too many races. Then we became strangers. When he finally won a race against me, people used our long gone friendship as an excuse to say I let him win and he hated me for it.

My father had a field day with it, chortling with sick joy when I told him, gloating about how I should have listened to him and that he was right. Never put anything before racing. And I never did again.