Finding Home - an f1 romance

chapter 17

Max Verstappen (POV):
The week-long break between Monaco and Canada was much needed, but I still felt exhausted. The only thing that stopped the headache I've had for days was filming a Red Bull video with Checo, Daniel, and Yuki.

Even then, I still felt horrible. The video brought a few genuine smiles, but most of the laughs were forced, and Daniel kept throwing me looks. I just know he's worried, and that honestly makes me feel even worse.

I hate the way my own mind turns everything against me. Filming the videos becomes exhausting, the thought of someone liking me is unreachable, and being happy is nearly impossible.

That's just life, I guess.

Natalia, on the other hand, seems to be having fun. Her friend, Ava, is a sweet reporter, and they hang out around the paddock a lot. She's one of the better ones, and you know she truly is because I'm always quick to judge the media and press personnel. They're inseparable. The only times I see them without each other is when I'm being interviewed by Ava. But they somehow always gravitate towards each other. Right now, most of the media left since it's usually just drivers briefings that are left. Ava stays, waiting with Natalia until I take her back to the hotel. We still have to appear like the happiest couple ever.

I'm anything but happy, yet Natalia brings genuine smiles to my face. It doesn't make sense to me, but it also does. I know I've gone clinically insane if I'm contradicting myself this much.

Now, I'm finally returning to the hotel from a long day of media. My head hurts and exhaustion tortured every bone in my body. All I want is to sleep and sleep and sleep.

My head hits the pillow before I can even change, and while I felt utterly disgusting about it, my body couldn't physically move despite how much I desperately want to.

Eyes closing, I fall away into sleep.

~

I let out a loud sigh against the pounding of my head. Loud beeps stream from my phone, and I blindly reach for it.

"Hello?" I answer groggily.

"Max!" I hear them say loudly, flinching as my head continues to ache. "Where are you? The debriefs before free practice is starting in 20 minutes. No one knows where you are," Checo says.

OH.

FUCK.

"Fuck, I'm, uh, st-stuck in traffic," I stumble
out, using the tone I usually use like complaining or being overall annoyed. "Sorry, I thought I left the hotel on time. Be there soon, bye!"

I quickly hang up, running around my house in a chaotic mess. I arrive 15 minutes later, panting as I shoved away invasive paparazzi and ran to the Red Bull motor home.

"Sorry I'm late," I rush to say, sitting in my seat with a quiet groan.

All pairs of eyes lock on me, showing a display of confusion, concern, and . . . and disappointment. Biting my lip, I look down and keep quiet, providing feedback whenever possible.

Fuck, how could I forget about this? I don't want to look up and see the disappointment clear as day on Christian's eyes, or the engineers, or anyone else who came early for the meeting only for me to arrive late.

It doesn't help that I have a pounding headache that won't go away, and I feel as tired as ever. Even through the sleep, the dark cloud of bitter and raging emotions follows. More than anything, I long for isolation, but that's not possible.

Instead, I should be thinking about how much better I need to do for Canada. I have to win this time, I have to. I can't have my father be angry, again.