Wrath & Protest [Max Verstappen]

[f i f t e e n.]

"Is it okay if we go somewhere else to spend time?” Rosalie stuttered. Max had no reason to decline, but it would be a lie if he said he wasn’t a little disappointed. He just didn’t know why.

The elevator ride was awkward to say the least. She kept her hands protectively to herself and looked to her feet while he watched the display above the button panel count down the floors until they reached the lobby. He glanced at her a couple of times to see her rock her weight between her heels and toes. She was pushing back hair that didn’t even need to be pushed back, occasionally playing with her thumbs, biting her lip… If he paid close attention, he could notice the way her neck was soft in some places, still unpolluted by training and without much muscle definition. Max remembered how all of her felt against him when the fell together back in her room. Her small stature, while ideal for her career, also proved to be a perfect fit in his arms. Maybe if he could focus hard enough, he could imagine her looking up to him again, a fond, almost expectant smile gracing him with--

He shook his head. To say that he was only glancing would have probably been an understatement.

They arrived soon enough and he lead her to the garden the establishment had in the back. As he could have imagined, she gawked at everything from the flower bushes to the grape vines growing against the walls, and gasped whenever she saw a squirrel run by.

“Look, Max, there are seats,” she pointed out. He followed her to the small table situated in one of the gazebos. Once they were settled, Max chuckled at her.

“Are you really not used to things like this?”

“I should, huh? I've already stayed at hotels the last two race weekends, but I can never not get amazed.”

The way she worded that amused him. He wasn't even sure if that was proper English. “So what are you used to? I heard from Christian that you competed throughout the Americas before.”

“Oh, yeah,” she swung her legs, “My dad and I always used the motorhome, no matter how close or far the event was. We'd drive it ourselves, too! Well, I'd do most of the driving, but it was really fun! We'd only use motels or other hotels if we had the money or were forced to fly.”

“But… You should have had the money, right? You were successful during your career in America.”

“Yeah, but my dad,” she sulked only for a moment before taking on a more peppy attitude, “I'll just tell it like a cool story. You know my dad, right?”

“He’s-- Complicated, I guess?”

“Do you want to know about him?”

“Yes!” Max replied, leaning forward and resting his hands on the table. Finally, he would get some answers. The mystery surrounding her had been pulling at him since the pre-season, and with her willing to spill everything onto him, it was impossible to refuse. He'd be the first one to know her completely!

She nodded, “He isn't a good man, but in his younger days he was a racing legend among his peers. Racing gang members, earning money off of that, spending it all on girls and every other vice you can think of! It lasted a long time until he screwed it all up and got arrested the first time.”

“Jesus.” Her father sounded like a fucked up version of James Hunt.

“I know! He lost it all. He even lived in his precious racecar for a few years after being released until he had, according to him, the greatest idea ever.”

“Which was…?”

“Creating a legacy. The Burnouf name would be solidified in history, he decided, even if not in illegal street racing history. He wanted to start anew. So, he bought a girl off the streets, waited nine months, and was disappointed to discover that the baby was a girl. It didn't stop him from enacting his dream, though.”

Max's stomach lurched. How could she tell him all this without cracking? Why the hell was she smiling like that? “Rosalie, I'm so sorry.”

Her expression changed when she saw his face. Rosalie resigned to a more cautious focus, searching his eyes like she did on the track of Bahrain. Could she trust him?

Of course she could. “Hey,” he said, “All this doesn't change the fact that we're…” Max took a moment to decide.

He finalized his choice, “That we're friends. I'd like to know everything about you, and if it's okay, I'd like you to finish your story.”

She broke out into a weak laugh, genuine this time, and nodded, “I was racing karts ever since I could use my legs. Dad would borrow money from people he knew from the mob, and that's how he supported my career until Helmut Marko reached out to me. All the money we won from those local stock car races would go to the loan sharks. That's why I have to do my best. He always told me that ‘losing isn't an option, unless you want those guys to come for your ass.’”

She laughed again, but Max could see on her face that this time, she didn't find it funny at all. It was clear to him now that when she was offered a place in the Red Bull Programme, it really was impossible for her to refuse. If she wanted to pay off that lifetime of debt, ensure the safety of her father, she had no choice but to move upward. She was driving out of necessity, and with her father in prison, he couldn't imagine how heavy the burden of losing could be for her. God, why even try to protect him? Noah Burnouf was human garbage, he didn't deserve such a wonderful daughter like her. “Rosalie,” he began.

“Yes?”

His hands balled into fists, “Do you even like racing?”

The girl in front of him continued smiling, but all Max could see now was pain.