Wrath & Protest [Max Verstappen]

[s e v e n.]

Max had do be honest with himself. As much as he enjoyed Pierre as a teammate, no one could ever replace the brotherly aura Daniel offered during his time at Red Bull. Aside from all the ridiculous grins and bad jokes, that guy had the ability to bring out the best of anyone around him, and Max himself was no exception. Over the past few years the Dutchman discovered a more extroverted side to himself that he never knew existed before. It was a side that Jos sought to control - a tactic to keep Max's public image neat and clean.

The feeling Max got when Daniel announced his separation from the team was almost indescribable. Like a piece of a whole suddenly gone forever. So, hearing the Aussie talk to him like nothing had changed since the end of the 2018 season nearly struck confusion into Max's head.

“Didja need something?” Daniel asked.

“Not really. I was just bored,” Max lied.

“How then shall I entertain you?”

That right there was what was missing in his relationship with Pierre. The comfortable sarcasm, the knowledge that no ill-meaning could ever exist in whatever they did or said to each other. Max treasured this friendship over any other, although he could never admit it.

Daniel continued, “So how's that Honda engine treating you?”

“Well, without giving too much away,” the younger man frowned, “I placed fourth in Melbourne. Take that as you will.”

“Not bad, not bad.”

“What about Renault? How are they treating you?”

“Honestly, Max, this was the greatest decision I've ever made. Like, don't get me wrong, R.B. gave me lots of great memories, but I feel really good here. I dunno how else to describe it. It's just good.”

“Good vibes, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“No pressure?”

“Well there's always gonna be pressure. But at least I know I can finish a race in my car. How about you?”

“There's actually a lot going on. I have no idea how you dealt with it.”

Max explained, “Setting an example for Pierre, being a title contender… There are a lot of new standards to meet now.”

“My god, you're turning into me! Listen. You're gonna be fine. Just trust in your car, man, trust yourself. If you want any of those record-breaking titles, you gotta be serious. You gotta really want it, understand?” the Aussie quipped, “You got this.”

Max moved from his bed to the coffee table by the window. Holding his phone against his ear, he looked out onto the city streets of L.A., and suddenly he felt energy where there once was lethargy. The words Daniel gave him caused him to want to go out, to train as planned, and for whatever reason Max couldn't say no to that feeling. “Thanks Daniel,” he said as he grabbed his gym bag, “For a rival, you're a pretty cool guy.”

“We're hardly rivals. And I've always been cool. Anyway, since we're sharing our concerns, I wanna talk about something that's been worrying me.”

Max was out the door and earnestly he listened, “Hm?”

“You know the girl from Toro Rosso?”

“Rosalie.”

“Yeah, her. What do you know about Rosalie?”

“Why…?”

“I think she's cute. Also because she was chasing my goddamn tail the entire race last weekend before she let Daniil pass her.”

“You're joking,” Max said as he entered the elevator, “There's no way a Toro Rosso can keep up like that. Generally, they're…”

“Back markers. Toro Rosso went through some serious developments over the break and I have no idea if I can expect them to keep at biting my rear on track for the entire season.”

“Sorry, Daniel, I really don't know anything.”

“Ugh, that's the case for everyone. No one knows anything, especially when it comes to that Rosalie. You know, from what I've heard, she didn't even compete any of the feeder series.”

“None of them?”

“No! Apparently her first time she ever sat in a Formula car was during winter testing. Winter testing! And you know what's even crazier? From what rumors I've heard around the paddocks, Red Bull’s actually been keeping her around for years, away from everyone.”

“You're crazy. We've never seen anyone like her around before, and because you were here longer you should have known this kinds of stuff beforehand.”

“It's a conspiracy!” Daniel exclaimed, more out of excitement than seriousness this time, “A team picks up a random person, secretly molds them into the perfect driver for years, and then immediately puts her in a car when they think she's ready. Can you bloody imagine?”

“Listen, mate, I gotta go,” Max sighed. He exited the elevator once he was down in the ground floor, “Keep me updated about her if you can. I think we can both benefit from that kind of information.”

“Sure thing. See ya.”

“Bye, Daniel.”

Max only acted like he didn't care, but in his thoughts, ideas were popping up at lightning speed. Daniel and Jos had a point: with no proper race history (at least, European racing history), how could a girl get into a respectable Formula One team? Because Toro Rosso was part of the Red Bull F1 legacy, all drivers had to be involved in the Red Bull Program, so how was it that Burnouf participated in it without racing in any publicly known events? What did her Super Licence even look like?

And if she had never competed before, how could she overtake three cars and manage to earn points in her first Grand Prix? Max chewed on the inside of his cheek as he walked to Red Bull HQ. Was it by luck of an improved car that she could keep up with Daniel's Renault, or could it be that she, a rookie with a face no one can recognize, was a legitimately talented driver? None of it made sense, none of it connected.

And if that conspiracy theory Daniel proposed turned out to be true, wouldn't that mean Red Bull would have had fabricated talent? What then would the difference be between a young drivers’ programme and a corporate scheme?

He sighed deeply through his nose. Whatever, none of it really mattered, anyway. All that he should care about is beating everyone else, right? He just needed to concentrate on what was important. That being himself.

Max’s fitness instructor waited inside when he arrived, and the young driver prepared yet again for another series of excruciating workouts. Anything for the prize, he thought, and entered the building without even trying to hide his reluctance.