Chapter 26
Max
I pace my flat, book in hand, like a caged lion waiting for the keeper to show up with his meal for the day.
It’s been two days since I’ve had a night alone with Annalise. Ever since I made dinner at her place, we’ve spent most evenings together, eating dinner and watching a movie or working on a sudoku puzzle. Some nights both.
Even while in Canada for the Grand Prix, we managed to fit a night of movie watching in since she’d brought her portable DVD player. But tonight, though I’m in my flat and she’s in hers, we’re a million miles apart.
Separated by family. Mainly hers.
“Right, mate,” Edwin says as he enters my living room from the kitchen. He’s just ended a telephone call.
I peer up at him over the pages of the book I’ve only been able to partially pay attention to.
“The deal I was on the phone about,” he says by way of reminder. “It looks like it’s a go.” His voice rises with excitement.
When I don’t respond, he approaches, hand outstretched. “Are you doing one of your number puzzles?” He turns the book up to see the cover.
“Julius Caesar?" He frowns. “What are you reading that shite for?”
“It’s one of the greatest plays ever written,” I tell him.
“Right. Weren’t we done with all of that back in school?”
I don’t have time to answer his question when there’s a knock on my door. Correction, not a knock, a pounding.
My stomach plummets because I know who it is before Edwin opens it.
“Why on earth doesn’t my key work for your flat?” my mother demands as she barges in, not bothering with a greeting.
“I had the locks changed,” I say, barely looking at her.
“Why didn’t I get an updated key then?”
Because I don’t want you here.
“Oversight,” I say instead of my true thoughts, knowing that would cause one of her epic tantrums … which is the last thing I need right now, since tomorrow is qualifying.
I turn to peer out of my floor-to-ceiling window, viewing the thousands of people strolling the sidewalks and the workers who are constructing the bleachers and chairs that will accommodate the swell of visitors for this weekend’s Grand Prix.
Behind me I hear my mother saying something about needing her own key. I share a glance with Edwin and give a slight shake of my head. He nods in understanding.
“Edwin, do you know my career stats?” I ask.
“Stats,” he parrots. “What like height, weight, and the like?”
“Career wins. Fastest lap times. Number of pole positions.”
He glances to the side. “I know you’re a F2 Champion and on your way to becoming a winner at the Formula 1 level, mate.” He slaps my shoulder.
My mother’s squeak from behind me has the both of us turning to face her before I can reply to Edwin.
“Yeah right.” She laughs. “He’s not winning the championship this season or any other season.”
“He’s in the top two for contention,” Edwin defends. “And if he has another blow out race this weekend like he did in Miami, he can move into first position.”
“It’s still very early in the season.” My mother plops down on my couch, crossing her legs and spreading her arms over the back.
“It doesn’t matter what happens early on in the season.
It’s the second half that matters the most, and Travis is right there with him.
They have the same car and …” She looks me up and down, shrugging.
I brace myself, knowing her dressing down is about to turn from dull to razor sharp.
“Travis is the better driver.”
I want to say that her words don’t sting, that they no longer have the ability to pierce the kevlar I carefully constructed over that soft tissue in my chest, but the flinch I have to suppress when she says this, says otherwise.
I turn away from my mother, who’s staring at me, awaiting my reaction. I have learned that not giving her a reaction is my best play. For some reason, she’s always taken pleasure in being able to manipulate me like pulling the strings on a marionette.
Though I refuse to outwardly react, her words do have the power to take me back to the moments throughout my career where I’ve been compared to my now teammate.
It began early in my career. The comparison was natural since we both had been champions in our respective regional races. By the time Travis started competing in the European races, he’d made a name for himself. As had I.
When a teenage Travis mentioned my father in an interview as one of his main inspirations, the comparisons between him and me increased exponentially. It was also around that time that my mother started to tell me that I wasn’t and never would be as good as Severino.
I ball my hand into a fist.
“That’s not fair,” Edwin says, coming up beside me and clapping me on the shoulder. “I was just on the line with Eluxis,” he says of the century-old luxury watch brand. “They are ready to sign him.”
Edwin puffs out his chest as he says this, since he’s likely prouder of himself for brokering this potential deal than he is of me for earning it.
“Eluxis?” My mother pitches forward from her reclined position. “They sponsored Severino.”
She sounds offended.
“Exactly,” Edwin says, not picking up on my mother’s irritation.
“It’s a match made in heaven. They love that he’s performing so well this season and doing it in Amato red.
They want to be associated with luxury, naturally, so once Max secures the points for the championship, they’re ready to sign him on the dotted line. ”
“No pressure.” I glance over at Edwin.
He holds up his hands as if to say it’s no big deal.
“Yes, well,” my mother continues, “they sponsored my husband back when racing was real. Before all of the technology and gadgets your engineers have today. Back then you had to use grit and the sort of mechanical intelligence you can’t simply buy.”
She looks at me. “Unlike today’s drivers.” She shrugs. “And with the European races coming up, we’ll see who the true racers are anyway.”
I school my features to display an unfazed expression but inside is a different story.
My mother, in her own bitchy manner, is correct.
We’re only approaching midway through the season.
The European races kick off this weekend with the Monaco Grand Prix.
Historically, these have been my weakest races of the season.
I tend to get into my head during this portion of the season. My gaze drifts over to my mother who’s carefully watching me. She’s usually in attendance at every one of my European races, playing the doting mother and reminding everyone of her status as Severino Ferreiro’s long-suffering widow.
It’s not the first time that I’ve pieced two and two together.
“None at all,” Edwin replies, a gleam in his eyes. He sees dollar signs. Which, if he secures this sponsorship, he’ll earn. The Eluxis deal was very lucrative for my father.
My mother could’ve comfortably lived on that income and the interest from it for the rest of her life if she didn’t go through money like a bullet through flesh.
Much like the bullet, the aftermath of her ventures can be destructive.
“It will never happen,” she says with a wave of her hand, rising to her feet. “I’m staying in a suite at the Riviera with Marianne.”
One of the most expensive hotels in the country. No doubt they’ve raised their prices for this weekend, and I know my mother insisted on paying for the entire suite. After all, she has an image to maintain.
“I probably won’t see you before qualifying. I would wish you luck, but …” She trails off.
Her luck is like a death wish.
I don’t need it.
I turn away from her before she completes her thought, whatever it is.
“I have a team meeting,” I tell Edwin. I’d come back to my flat for a little bit of downtime in between interviews with my team, sponsors, and sports journalists.
All of that coupled with only catching glimpses of Annalise here and there, all became too much.
Not only is she busy working but all of her family is in town.
Her younger sister has been staying with her for the past couple of nights. I recall the look in her eyes when she told me her sister would be there. There was an apology in her gaze, as if she felt as torn up about not sharing our movie nights as I was.
But I can’t hide out for too long.
I have a job to do, which means I have to push everything out of my mind and focus on taking on my next race.
“Right,” Edwin says. “Afterwards, Nick and Jake want us to swing by. Nick brought his family’s yacht and—”
“I have qualifying tomorrow,” I tell him, impatience lacing my voice.
“Come on, mate. It won’t be long, and I’ll have you back by this new bedtime you’re abiding by.”
“I’m not going,” I say, tersely.
Edwin’s eyes widen as he holds up his hands. “Alright. I’ll let them know. You need to focus on the race anyway. With this deal with Eloxus looming, it’s for the best.”
I don’t reply to that because this isn’t about Eloxus or any other potential or current sponsor. This is about me. I can’t rid myself of the caged lion feeling mounting inside of my chest.
Which is why I throw on a baseball cap over my head to disguise myself as I make my way down to the Amato paddock where the rest of my team is ready to meet. We go over race day strategy, how our cars were looking and feeling during today’s practice, and even the weather forecast.
We aim to leave as little as possible to chance. There’s always an element of chance taking over, which is part of what makes racing so damn mesmerizing to watch.
And to be a part of.
I do my best to focus on the team around me and the importance of what they’re telling me, but it’s difficult.
The Monaco Grand Prix is one of the more technical races of the season, given the tight corners and narrow straightaways of the roads.
It’s imperative to have my head on straight for this race, but it’s hard to shake my mother’s words from earlier.
She often does this before big races. Uses snide comments and remarks to get under my skin. At every opportunity she’ll bring up my father to remind me that I’ll always come up short in comparison.