Collision [𝗠.𝗩.]

Monaco, December 13th

@TotallyNotJess🔒 why is your mum asking me about my favourite colours? - @NotNotLiamLawson🔒

@NotNotLiamLawson🔒 She's probably going to embroider something for you. - @TotallyNotJess🔒

@TotallyNotJess🔒 why - @NotNotLiamLawson🔒

@NotNotLiamLawson🔒 idk ask her - @TotallyNotJess🔒

⸻

MONACO

DECEMBER 13TH

"Do you really need to pack your PlayStation?" I ask, overdramatic in my sighing. Max grins at me as if he's completely innocent, not stuffing it into his suitcase next to my jumpers.

"Your dad said he doesn't have one! And he's never played FIFA." Max is trying his best to appear innocent, adding his controllers to the suitcase.

I have a feeling that my dad is going to start asking for a PS5 right before Christmas now... and given that I haven't sorted him a present yet, maybe I can get lucky. But it's a huge maybe. Because along with the whole pandemic shit throwing supply chains for a loop over the past few years, it is also the run-up to the goddamn holidays. There's a seriously slim chance I'm going to find one.

But I might as well give it a shot; I add Dad - PS5(?) to my phone's notes app. I really need to finish up on Christmas shopping. I've spent too long enjoying my time with Max in his home. Maybe I can get some stuff on Amazon. Or drag Max around a shopping centre.

"Oh! I need to get your Switch too!" Max announces, jumping to his feet as he dashes out the room, past one very confused cat.

"I know, Toto." I try not to smirk as the cat responds to her mock name with a sad mew. Holding a hand out, I let the Bengal approach me on her own terms, giving her a gentle fuss when she does. "I know. He's a total pain. How do you put up with him?"

Max returns to the room with the travel case for my game console, almost stepping on the poor cat's tail, if not for me gently pulling the offending limb away. "What time is it?"

"Uhhh..." I have to stop petting the now-unimpressed cat - she stomps off in a huff - to check my phone. "About half past nine?"

"Hm. Okay." Max stuffs a few more things into the suitcase, and I can't help but wonder if he's going to pack the bloody kitchen sink too. "So enough time to go shopping?"

I'm not the only one who hasn't done their present hunting, then. I smile at his sheepish expression. "I've got us a hire car; we can dump our bags at home, spend the afternoon chilling, then maybe go out to Lakeside or Westfield tomorrow. They're the biggest and nicest places I can think of. I mean, Bluewater is pretty but half the shops I like aren't there anymore. Actually, fuck it, let's go for Westfield since it's the biggest. If we head up early, we'll beat most of the traffic, and have a better chance at getting—"

I fall into silence, mostly because Max is just staring at me with a smile and glint in his eyes that I can feel getting under my skin. My smile is a nervous reaction, I know it is.

"What?" I finally say, only because the silence is eating at me. Did I say something stupid?

"I didn't know you like shopping."

"I only like shopping when I'm getting people presents. I'm not Like Pierre or Charles, the fucking primadonnas with their fancy clothes and fancier watches."

The flight to England is short; Max doesn't let me carry a single suitcase as he loads the hire car with them like a badly played game of Tetris. He could have at least put one of them across the backseat of the silver Skoda. But no, Max is proud of his work and slams the boot down with a smug grin.

"Gimmie the keys—"

I'm laughing at him; he thinks he's driving? Cute. I swing the keyring around my index fingers, brows raised as realisation slowly sinks in for him. It's followed by an attempt to snatch the car key from me; I pull my hand behind my back.

"Nope! I'm driving!"

"You cannot drive. You're—"

"Not a fucking invalid, Max." I huff out as he tries again to get the keys from me. I slip the keyring off my finger, dropping the keys into my left hand and clenching my fist painfully around the little hire car company's keychain and clunky car key. Max's hands reach behind me, finding the key, and struggling to gently pry my fingers away from it. "Max. Please. Let me drive. I need to fucking drive something or I'm going to lose my fucking mind."

I know where this has come from. I'm desperate to prove I can return to the car before the pre-season testing begins. I want to prove that I can heal just as fast as Lance did when he fucked his wrists. Just as quickly as any other driver has. I want to prove I'm worth the extra year Jaguar has given me. It's been looming in the background, and I've done all I can to not let it show to Max. Things are rough enough after the shit his father's said and done.

But right now, with a car key in my hand, and in my home country, I want to drive. Not like some nutcase, just... just drive. Because I can. I know I can. Fuck sake, what good am I if I can't drive? What good am I if I can't fucking race?

"Alright." Max's voice is soft, his hands have moved to my back; I can smell the honey-scented body wash of mine that he keeps stealing. "You're right."

"What?" Fuck. I said something, didn't I? Too lost in my stupid head—

"You're right. You need this. To drive. But—" He pauses, one hand leaving my back to press a finger under my chin. I'm forced to look up at him. His blue eyes are wide with concern, brows framing them in a way that makes me worry over what I've said without realising. "Don't say that about yourself again. Ever."

His tone is firm. Sharp. I swallow, mouth dry and devoid of any words to spit out. The concern is gone from his eyes. They're hard, like a storm brewing over the ocean. There's a hint of something else, something I can't quite grasp. Something I'm afraid to ask about. It's that same thing, the same glimmer that was in his eyes when he told me about his father's words in Brazil.

"I mean it, Jess. Don't you ever say that about yourself again."

My lips part but I don't know what to say. He once said I was the scary one. Right now, staring at me like that, his tone serious yet lacking any indication of anger... He's scaring me.

"Okay." I finally say, sounding pathetically meek. I think I'm nodding as I speak, but right now all I can see is the sharpness in his eyes. That thing that I don't know whether or not to be afraid of. "I won't."

In front of you.

When he lets go, I'm dashing to get in thecar. I just want to drive. And forget whatever it isthat made Max act so unlike himself. The gentle growl of the engine, as itgrumbles into life, makes me long for the tracks again.