Collision [𝗠.𝗩.]

Monaco, December 11th Cont

SPOTTED: Jos Verstappen having lunch with his son and girlfriend only days after making scathing remarks about the latter - @F1Gossip_Guru

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MONACO

DECEMBER 11TH

"I am sorry, Max. I know I said—"

"Jess." He turns to me, hand on the door of the car. Lunch went about as well as trying to bathe a cat. Yet Max isn't letting it show. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me against him; my hands are on his chest to stop me from practically falling into him. "Don't apologise."

"I literally told your dad in no uncertain terms that he's a loser. Your. Fucking. Dad. I outright, to his face, went shut up you have no title wins."

"And?" He raises his brows briefly, a smile on his lips. "Do you want me to be mad at you?"

"No! I— Well... No?"

Max opens the car door, laughing at me. "Get in, silly."

I do as I'm told. The privacy of the car and its tinted windows allows Max - once he's inside too - to continue our conversation. His father is gone - annoyed he had to get a taxi back to the airport rather than being offered a lift - and yet I still feel like the tension is there. As if anything I say might anger the man further... when he's not even bloody here to hear me.

Twisting in the driver's seat, Max reaches out to grab my hands. A twinge of pain shoots out from my left shoulder, but I ignore it.

"Jess. I've been trying for the better part of two years now to be free of him. Of all the bullshit. All the you're not good enough. Fuck sake, I can get P2 and Christian celebrates like it's a win, but my dad? I might as well have crashed." The bitter chuckle feels like a stab to the heart.

"Is that..." I feel rude for asking, but I can't help it. My mind has wandered to the first time I bothered to exchange more than a passing hello with the man. "Is that why he was saying something to you before the summer break? Whatever it was. You looked pretty fucked off by it."

"I didn't tell him - anyone - about us. We had a deal, didn't we?" One he clearly stuck to.

"If I'd known—"

"He's never approved of any choice I make for myself."

The admission is a fresh stab to my heart. I swallow the pity that wants to come out. He doesn't need pity. Looking at him, the way he's smiling, despite the heaviness of our conversation; he should be admired for this. His strength to still be him. To fight through it. Christ, no wonder my mum adores him.

"What do you need me to do?" How can I help you with all of this?

"Keep being you." He leans over, kissing me quickly; it's too simple. Is that really all he wants?

The brief drive back to his flat is enveloped in an uncomfortable silence. I burn time by checking through my messages. Oliver wants us to hit the sims before Christmas, and he's optimistic about us having failed the first crash test. In his - and the engineers' eyes - it's a good thing. We want to fail it, because it means we've pushed the car to its absolute limit, and found that limit fairly quickly. We can work backwards from that limit until we have a compromise.

We're not the only team to have failed; I see another message where Oliver says Williams and Red Bull have failed too. It's not a good sign for us, but also not for Ferrari, Mercedes and the like; we're the three teams that went for risk and found reward.

The family group chat has been expanded; Mick, Liam and James have been added to it, along with Logan. Mum's asking people about allergies and what times they can make it - not everyone is coming on Christmas Day itself, it's going to be us two, my parents, James - as always - and Logan. Mick will be by in the days following because he's spending Christmas with his family.

Max's hand on my thigh startles me— right. We're at his. I flash my best smile, and it seems to settle him.

"Sorry, away with the fairies." I say as we get out of the car and head into the building.

While Max feeds his howling cats, I find myself still struggling to understand just how simple it seems to be. And like always, I rifle through my contacts to find someone who might be able to help.

This time, it's Daniel. Because he knows Max well enough to maybe help with this, but he isn't Charles, who might say something to him.

Posh (Me);
Need advice
I might have made Max's dad HATE me.

Danny Boy (Daniel);
That's not hard to do.
You could breathe near him and he'll
hate you.

Posh (Me);
Daniel. I straight up told him he's a shit
driver.
IN FRONT OF MAX.
IN PUBLIC TOO.

Danny Boy (Daniel);
WHAT?

Texting Daniel was a bad idea. I can hear Max's phone ringing. For fuck's sake. I ping Daniel with a wtf why are you calling max, but I don't get an answer. Instead, as I slump on the couch, Max wanders into the room, phone to his ear, dopey grin on his face.

"I know!" He practically shouts down the phone. I can't hear anything. God knows what Daniel's saying. "Best shit ever!"

Max flops down next to me, his arm out and over my shoulders as the jostling aggravates my shoulder and neck. I watch him pull his phone away from his ear to throw it on loudspeaker. At the same time, he's pulling me into his side.

"—fucking glorious, I would give my seat to have been a fly on the wall!" Daniel sounds just as overly amused by my choice of words as Max is.

"I made it worse, Danny! He was asking for a lift to the airport and I told him no!" The simple denial is something Max seems so thrilled with. I have to remind myself that just saying no to someone who has controlled your life is one hell of a thrill when it works.

"YOU'RE JOKING—" Daniel's words are choked out as he bursts into a coughing fit mixed with cackling laughter. He keeps spluttering while Max grins, placing the phone on his lap so he can give me a goofy look.

"Jess even offered to call him a taxi."

I did. Because my patience with Max's father had gone and I wanted him to fuck off.

"Holy shit, Jess, I'm buying drinks next time we go out!" Daniel finally gets out, still coughing.

"I don't do partying—"

"You will!" Max declares, still looking proud.