Dopamine | Adrenaline Book Two

30- All You Are Is My Last Name

"Tell me father,

which to ask forgiveness for:

For what i am, or for what I'm not?

Tell me mother,

which should i regret:

what i became, or what i didn't."

- Dvoyd.

Leaving the podium, Max carried his third-place trophy and champagne bottle to his team, who greeted him with enthusiastic praise and excitement. The adrenaline from the race and the unexpected support from the crowd provided him with a scenario that he had never experienced before. He could feel the pride from his team, something he had not expected given his current position in the championship. But they were happy, and that was contagious.

However, as he entered his dressing room, the happy aire dissipated. There stood his father, arms crossed and face etched with disapproval. This wasn't going to be good. Max felt the weight of the third-place trophy in his hands grow heavier as if he quickly lost all the strength in his arms. Whatever he had won that day slipped away from his hands with the mere glare of disapproval from his father.

"You really think this is worth celebrating?" his father began, his voice cold and cutting. "Third place? After that stunt you pulled out there?"

Max didn't respond immediately, the words catching in his throat. He had expected this, yet it still stung. The memory of Felipe's grateful hug and the crowd chanting his name played in his mind, but under his father's harsh gaze, those moments felt distant and insignificant.

"You had a chance to win today," his father continued, stepping closer. "And you threw it away. For what? To help someone else? That's not your job, Max. Your job is to win."

Max clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to argue. He knew that trying to explain his actions would be futile. His father's definition of success had always been black and white: winning was everything. Compassion and sportsmanship had no place in his father's world.

Rule number 1 in his book: Never be number 2.

His father had a machiavellian way to thinking, always reinforcing the idea that Max should do all that is necessary in order to win.

"I could. But I did what I thought was right, I wouldn't turn my back on someone who needed help," Max finally said, his voice steady but quiet.

"You're embarrassing me," his father stated, the hatred growing more apparent in the tone of his voice. "Who do you think you are? Superman? You're not here to perform for the audience, Max!"

"You don't make history by being liked."

"I was not performing," Max furrowed his brow. "I did what I did because I knew I'd still be able to gain the positions I needed after."

"Why settle for third when you could have had first?" His father's voice rose, the anger barely contained.

"It was a sacrifice I was willing to make," Max frowned, his voice steady despite the tension.

"For what?" His father shouted, his face red with fury.

Max took a deep breath, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He looked his father in the eyes, a calm resolve settling over him. "For something more important than a trophy. For someone who needed help."

His father's expression twisted with disbelief and anger. "You think that matters more than winning? More than being the best?"

"Yes," Max said firmly. "Sometimes it does."