Collision [𝗠.𝗩.]

♦ England, December 14th Cont ♦

Not to brag, but... we might have shifted gears and started working on 2025 already... - @JaguarF1

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ENGLAND

DECEMBER 14TH

I can do this.

I have no choice, really. But I can do this. The worst that happens, is I'll be shut out. The best? Well, I'm not sure if there is a best in this.

As I grab the last bag from the hire car, I spot my neighbours. Steve runs over, offering me a key. Ah. Right. The garage key. I'd made a deal with them, to park my Audi in their garage, and waive the whole they have to put towards my home insurance in return.

"Got it cut at last!" He passes me the key, and I take note of the bags under his eyes. Poor sod, he must be up at all hours with the little one. "Any chance I can ask for a sneaky autograph off him?"

Of course. I don't mean to laugh, but it's too late, I am. "I'll ask him nicely. Call it a Christmas present."

Steve retreats to his back garden, and as I hear his boys shouting at him and what I think is a football being kicked, I lock the hire car and get to my flat as quickly as I can. The garage key wasn't necessary, but I appreciate it. I'll miss Steve and Brianna. Maybe I can convince them to visit me when I move.

If, my mind reminds me, if you move. It's not definite. Not yet. I still haven't decided on a place, and I still probably have to sign a ridiculous amount of paperwork.

My train of thoughts around moving disappears off a cliff in the back of my brain as I get to the top of the stairs. The landing space is semi-cluttered. Max has already started wrapping presents. I'm glad I had his shipped to my parents. I don't think I'd be able to wrap it in secret here. I head into the living room, placing the bag on the floor. He's busy wrapping up a box of some kind; a large-ish one, about the size of two Xboxes stacked side-by-side. I can't see what's in the box, though, it's plain brown cardboard.

"No peeking." He mutters, pulling up the red and green paper, and taping it down to one side of the box.

"Why, is it mine?" I doubt it. He wouldn't dare wrap it in front of me... would he?

"Maybe." He says, not looking up as he folds the paper around the mystery present.

Focus, my brain reminds me.

Right. Yeah. That.

Fuck.

I disappear into the kitchen so that I can have five minutes to think. To breathe. The lack of a wall between the living room and the kitchen doesn't give me any privacy, but I can get some by turning to the window; which I do. Staring through the plastic blinds that have gathered a thin layer of dust while I've been away I dare to sift through the box of thoughts labelled What's going on with Max?.

I fish my phone from my pocket, sending off a text to James.

BIGGER LOSER (Me);
Wish me luck.

LOSER (James);
You've got this

With a deep breath to try and buy myself a few more seconds, I turn and decide that at the very least, James was right about not working myself up over this shit.

"Max—" I wince at the timidness in my voice. It doesn't help that he's looking up at me with a mixture of concern and confusion. Sighing, I make myself walk over, and sit down on the floor, in front of him. The present he's been wrapping is nearly ready.

Stop stalling.

"Are you—" I'm working myself up. Fuck's sake. "Look, since the other day, you've been a bit... off? I get it if you don't want to talk, but—"

I've pulled the pin on this grenade. And yet, it's not blowing up in my face. Max sighs, eyes back on his task at hand. I get it. Eye contact can make things harder.

"One time, I didn't win. I was second." His voice is quiet, lacking the usual confidence. He was this soft-spoken when we last discussed his problems with his father. It's unsettling. "He was in my face. Angry. Asked what good I was if I couldn't win an easy race."

My blood runs cold at the mental image my mind is painting. A young Max in karting gear, with his father towering over him, shouting and scaring the life out of him. I have to remind myself that Max does not want nor does he need my pity.

He tapes down the last parts of the wrapping paper, sighing. "Hearing you say that about yourself... I don't like it. Reminded me of that."

"I'm sorry." The words tumble out too easily.

"You didn't know." He pushes the box aside, eyes finally flicking up to meet mine. I don't like the vulnerability I can see. It's not that I expect him to always be strong, it's that I can see a change that makes me wonder just how much more went on. Did his father hit him as well? Shit, has more been said that I'm not aware of?

I shuffle on the carpet, closing the gap between us. Max's hands are out, pulling me into an awkward hug. It's a silent apology for his behaviour. One I don't want, nor is it needed. I shift to my knees, wrapping my arms around him.

"I won't say it again. I'm sorry. I was just—" I sigh. It's my turn to talk. And I don't want to. But I have to. "The idea of not making it to the first race next year is pretty crap. That's why I said it. I won't do it again. Not now I know this. We— We good?"

"Why wouldn't we be?" I hear a mild hint of amusement; he presses his lips to my cheek.

"Just checking." Because I'm scared. Because it feels like everything has been slowly going wrong since Brazil. Because I'm afraid that clinging to Max to stay above water will only push him away, so I'm trying to make it alone and— And I'm making it worse somehow. Maybe. I don't know. My inexperience with serious relationships is fucking me over. "It's not like this shit is easy for you. Add on all the crap I've done to make your dad angrier, and—"

"Stop." He pushes me back, hands to my shoulders. Panic bites at me for a moment. "None of this is your fault. I— We are both bad at this."

We're both silent for a prolonged moment.

He sighs. "I'm sorry. I should talk too. It— Daniel keeps telling me to talk. I—"

He pulls his lips into a fine line, frowning.

"I don't want to drop this on you so early. It's a lot."

"Max." Confidence rises up. The need to help him, to soothe his worries, flicks an override in my brain. "I'm pretty sure we went past the it's too early to trauma dump point when I crashed. And if we don't deal with it now, when will we? So... So let's..."

Let's what? Fuck sake. I should have asked James for more advice. Maybe I could've asked Esteban too.

"How about we just try?" I suggest, my smile false, but hopeful. Trying is better than nothing.

Max nods, pulling me in for a brief hug. "I can do that."

"Good. Don't— Don't think you can't tell me something. This—us— We'll figure it out. I mean, shit, we got past the awkward I love yous pretty easily... minus the whole nearly dying bit."

He chuckles, eyes flicking down at the ground as his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"We can do this. And I am sorry."

"Jess—"

"No, Max, seriously. If I'd known, yes yes, but I still said that, I still upset you. And that's on me. Now, how about you do me a huge favour."

He tilts his head, confused. "Uh...?"

"Wrap the presents I bought for the guys. Your wrapping is far neater than mine."