Adrenaline: A Lestappen Story

𝟐𝟐 - 𝐢 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭

"Wat een schokkende dag voor Red Bull, Max Verstappen had een amateurcrash met Carlos Sainz. Verliest onze thuisheld zijn vonk?" The TV echoed loudly within the room, the news reporting the public disappointment at the Red Bull driver's performance at his home race. Unfazed with the media critics, Max took a sip of whiskey that his father had picked out for the two of them — being hated by crowds wasn't a first.

After leaving the circuit, Max had headed to his father's place upon his request. Even if overwhelmed with feelings of anger and frustration he listened like an inbuilt response — his father always had the final say.

"Max, do you understand what I'm saying?" His father insisted, in Dutch. "What's going on? This is not like you."

Max took another sip of his drink, choosing to remain silent, akin to a scolded child avoiding further confrontation. He had learned from a young age the art of withholding words if they weren't a contribution to peace, a strategy to evade unnecessary conflicts.

In the hushed moments, Max sensed a subtle vibration against his side, prompting him to glance at his phone. Swiftly, he turned the screen to face him, absorbing the contents of a message sent by Charles.

"I saw what happened. Can we talk? Send me your location, and I'll come around at midnight, please"

"I'm gonna go take a drive, I need to clear my head," the blond declared abruptly to his father, setting the glass down on the side table. His father didn't debate it.

Casting a final glance at the older man before leaving, Max felt like he was peering into a mirror when he looked directly into his eyes. The same stern blue eyes he had inherited. When he looked at himself in a reflection, his father was always there.

On his way out, Max texted Charles as he twirled his keys around his finger. "I'm at my father's house, I can't meet you here. But I can meet you at this lakeside cottage my family has for summer breaks, see you there?"

The buzzing of a notification pierced through the sound of running water, grabbing Charles' attention. Without hesitation, he checked the message, the urgency for a response from Max palpable in his actions. Armed with the directions to the other man's location, he swiftly sent a brief follow-up text, confirming their meeting at the designated lakeside cottage.

As he closed his eyes, the events of the race replayed in Charles' mind like an unending loop. The crash and Max's confrontation with his father lingered, refusing to be washed away with the shampoo. The calculated nature of the collision struck Charles as intentional, Max's competitive drive pushing boundaries that left Charles questioning the depths to which Max might go. If such intensity and lack of restraint were displayed for a mere race position, what lengths would Max be willing to reach when challenged for first place in the championship? Charles desperately wanted to believe in an alternative explanation, hoping that Max wouldn't compromise his integrity for a position, especially when it concerned him. Though Charles held a higher standing than Carlos in Max's hierarchy, learning that the Red Bull driver didn't reciprocate the same feelings added a layer of complexity.

Fresh out of the shower, the young man dressed warmly, pulling a hoodie over his head before discreetly slipping out of the hotel through the back door, seeking some privacy. En route to Max's cottage, Charles mentally rehearsed possible outcomes for the impending conversation, contemplating what he would say to the man. If he asserted that the crash had been intentional, would Max confess, and even if he did, would he provide an explanation? Charles remained uncertain. Nevertheless, that topic wasn't his primary concern; it merely served as a filler for the overwhelming thoughts that had been haunting him since the televised argument between Max and his father.