Dopamine | Adrenaline Book Two

29.2- Sacrifice

"You're completely out of it, boy," his father shouted angrily as he grabbed Max's shoulder, dragging him into the depths of the Red Bull garage.

"Is there shit inside that skull of yours?" he asked, tapping Max's helmet. "Why the fuck did you stop to help? That's not your fucking job! You need to win!"

Max remained silent.

"Your team will hate you for this; you're being selfish, Max!" His father sneaked his final comment of endearment and sweetness to Max before the driver headed back to his car, summoned by the mechanics. "Stom varken," He mumbled under his breath before leaving his son.

The race was going to start again.

"Focus, Max. We still got this," Christian leaned into the car and stretched his hand into the cockpit, tapping Max's chest just before the green light signaled the cars to return to the track.

"If we don't place at least third, the championship is lost for us, Max. Focus," his engineer informed him as the cars followed behind the safety car.

Max was down in fifteenth place now.

Safety car deployed.

As the race leader restarted the pace, the cars quickly accelerated to full speed. It became a matter of racing skill and strategy— achieving a podium finish was all up to Max.

// Recommendation of background music:  "Photograph" - Cody Fry

That was when he began to remind everyone the reason why he had four world championships to his name and why he would go down in history as one of the greatest drivers that the sport had ever seen.

Fourteen.

Thirteen.

Twelve.

Eleven.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six.

Five.

Four.

...

Three.

Max had not won that race, but when he crossed the finish line ahead of Lando Norris's McLaren in fourth, the Red Bull pits went wild. It was almost as if the Dutchman had won the championship right there and then. And for what it's worth, he had achieved something much more significant than a title that very same day.

When Max parked his car in third position, he ran into the arms of his teammates as if it were a team victory. They all congratulated him for his incredible display of skill on track. The team was proud, and rightfully so. Because of him they could continue to have a shot at the championship now.

Turning back to remove his helmet and gloves, the blond was faced with the presence of Lewis and Charles, each displaying contrasting moods on their faces—happiness and disappointment personified.

Giving a cordial nod and handshake to both drivers, they awkwardly refrained from engaging in a proper conversation until they were called for interviews. While waiting for his turn, Max was approached by Felipe, who was in the process of removing his own helmet. He offered a handshake to Max.

"Man, thank you," Felipe said, pulling Max into a hug. "I finished in the points, I did," his voice sounding emotional, as if he might burst into tears. "Thanks for helping, thank you really," the Brazilian said gratefully, lingering in the hug.

Charles, already frustrated with the race, observed the heartfelt interaction between Max and the Brazilian driver like a stab. How could Max be so kind now, when they were no longer together?

The entire scene felt like a movie unfolding in front of him, and all Charles could think about was how Max proved to be a better person than he gave himself credit for. Charles had been considered one of the nice ones before his new teammate was introduced, but even he wasn't certain that he would have thought to stop his own car and risk positions to help someone else. It was not something that was normally done, and Max had taken the initiative to prioritize helping the new driver over his own championship eligibility.

It's a striking contrast, isn't it? If the Red Bull driver had lost any more positions, he wouldn't have landed third, potentially resulting in a loss of the championship. Why was Max willing to sacrifice so much for a random driver now?

As Max approached the podium, his initial excitement began to fade. Throughout his career, he had experienced numerous podiums, but the Brazilian one was among the most passionate— passionately against him. With a strong fanbase favoring Lewis Hamilton, Max often faced boos and a chilly reception. Without expecting much, he stepped into the podium with little to no celebration from his part. To his surprise, however, the crowd erupted in the loudest of cheers upon his appearance. The unexpected reaction left the Red Bull driver bewildered, unable to grasp that the ovation was actually for him.

As a faint chant started to build among the crowd, Charles wondered if it was in honor of Lewis. After all, Lewis considered himself an honorary Brazilian, and it wouldn't be surprising to see the fans celebrating him as such. Initially, his teammate seemed to share the same thought, but as the chants grew clearer and louder, Lewis's smile faded. The crowd wasn't chanting Lewis's name—it was Max's.

"Max! Max! Max!" echoed through the air, disrupting the British anthem.

Realizing the chants were for him, Max was caught off guard. It was unconventional and somewhat disrespectful to chant a driver's name during another's victory, but how could he not enjoy it? It was a pleasant surprise, one that the blond had never anticipated, leaving him unsure how to react to the crowd's unexpected adoration.

At that moment, he glanced at the smiles on his team's faces and those in the crowd behind them, and his eyes reflected their joy back at them.

Was winning merely about accumulating points? Anyone who has experienced something like this would certainly argue otherwise.

Being loved.

When he glanced at Lewis, he saw the look of someone who appeared to feel deprived of something. Based solely on their expressions and the crowd's reactions, anyone observing would have assumed that Max had won the race and Lewis had lost. Technically, Lewis had earned the first-place points and would be taking home the trophy. But to the fans pressed against the barriers, it was Max who they believed deserved that position.

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