Little Did You Know

Chapter 21: Dios Te Oiga

The sun beat down over the paddock, and Sergio could feel the tension still lingering in the air after the awkward first meeting between his son and little Max. Chequito had been quiet, looking unsure as he glanced from his father to the toddler clinging to his leg. Sergio knew this wasn't easy for his boy. Everything had changed, and trying to understand that Max—the Max Verstappen—was now this small, needy child must have been confusing for him.

Sergio knelt down to Chequito's level, giving his son a reassuring smile. "Mira frijolito, yo se que esto es confuso, pero Max se acuerda de ti. El solo está un poco diferente ahorita, anda ven." (Look bean, I know this is a lot to take in, but Max remembers you. He's just a bit different now. Come on, come here.) He gestured his son to come closer and then turned toward the wide-eyed toddler now holding onto his shirt as he had come down to their level, who seemed to be peeking curiously at Chequito, clutching Pato tightly in one small hand. "Max, you know Chequito. My son. Can you say hello?"

Max, with his muddled memories blending adulthood and childhood, blinked a few times before a little smile spread across his face. "Champ!" he declared with enthusiasm, his voice high-pitched and bright a 180° from the shy boy a second earlier. Sergio's heart softened at the sound; it was the term Max used for Chequito back when he was fully grown, when they would share light-hearted moments during races. That Max was still in there somewhere, it seemed.

Before Chequito could even react, Max stepped forward, presenting his beloved plush duck to the older boy with the utmost seriousness. "This is Pato," he said showing off the cute yellow creature before tilting his head slightly, "You play?"

Jr. looked up at his dad, unsure, but Sergio gave him an encouraging nod. "Go on, have some fun."

Still a bit hesitant, Chequito extended his hand toward Max and Pato, taking the plushie gently. Max immediately lit up, grabbing his hand to pull him toward the direction of Christian's office in the Red Bull motorhome, where the toddler's toys were kept.

Chequito shot another look at his dad, who just smiled and waved him along. "Anden, we'll be right here." (Go,)

With that, the boys hurried off, Max dragging the older boy along with surprising energy. Once inside, the office was quickly transformed into their playground. Chequito sat down, letting Max pull out his toys—a few race cars, some building blocks, and a couple more plush animals. It was strange at first; but after a while, Chequito found that he was actually having fun even if the toddler's idea of how to play felt a little too childish, Max's enthusiasm and joy for playing was infectious, and soon enough, they were chasing toy cars around the floor, building towers of blocks, and making up little scenes between the plush animals.

Though the communication barrier was obvious—Chequito was still learning English and could understand little of what Max was saying, but it was enough—the universal language of play quickly took over. They laughed, made engine noises as they zoomed cars around, and giggled as Pato and the other plushies tumbled into each other in pretend crashes.

Chequito was surprised at how easily they got along. Max might not have been the "cool" grown-up he had looked up to before, but this version of Max wasn't so bad. He was funny, energetic, and in his own way, kind of awesome in how much he loved to play.

It was of course not something Chequito knew about, in fact, very few people knew about Max's day-to-day first childhood, there had not been a lot of playtime in his younger years, very counted occasions to laugh and be carefree, to be a child. But it wasn't like that now, his Checo played with him, Papa always went along with his imaginings, and even Toto often found himself crawling around on the floor giving the boy horsey rides on his back and now, now he was playing with another child, and it was so fun he never wanted to stop.