ʀᴇᴅ sᴛʀɪɴɢ ᴏғ ғᴀᴛᴇ; ᴍᴀx ᴠᴇʀsᴛᴀᴘᴘᴇɴ

.16

Last chapter here we go-
—
After having an awful start to his race, Max's car refused to corporate with him. The Dutch felt like ditching his car in the middle of the circuit and making a run for it , and to his dismay he had only completed 4 laps out of 59.

His position in fourth place , after dropping down from 2nd , heckled him repeatedly. He felt like he was handling a midfield car- it wasn't the same car he had hoped to win a championship with at the very same circuit just a few months back at the start of the season.

"Gap to Lewis. 13.9."
He could see the Mercedes in the distance, just swooping out of corners while he tried to get past the two Ferraris. Even with repeated complains about the handling of the car, the team were hell bent that there was nothing wrong with it.

Max could hear the comments of the world about his team radios, all laughing at him for choking on the last race. His disappointed team that worked hard all year long to give him the best of the best. His dad, although he was nothing but a negative influence- Max still felt the need to prove to him that he was capable enough.

Yet his fucking car didn't want to follow through with his plans.

"Okay, Max. Box, Box."

Sweat trickled down Grace's back as she sped through the crowds of the Abu Dhabi International Airport. Her badly packed suitcase jittered with each thud against the tiled floor.

Grace needed to find a taxi. And she needed to find it quickly.

The Abu Dhabi Grand Prix was minutes away from starting. Although she had gotten lucky with the tickets at the courtesy of the ever encouraging Red Bull crew , she had struggled to find a flight. Hence ending up with a flight with a shitty airlines that got delayed thrice!

When she had left the house in a hurry in Heathrow , her parents hadn't even asked one question. Even they knew she had to make things right and do it quickly.

49 laps to go- she sighed reading the stats on her phone as the taxi haphazardly parked itself outside the venue. Grace hurried through the security check points with her VIP pass.

When she burst in the garage , she realised she didn't really have a plan. All the faces gaped at her- slightly waving and smiling.
She wished she could feel the familiar warmth she felt when she had first entered through here but right now the atmosphere was tense as Max had dropped down to 10th after pitting for mediums to get the better grip he wanted.

"So it's you." She jumped , snapping her eyes away from the screen.
A rugged face, hollow blue eyes and greying hair- not even close to Max's fluffy hair.
Jos verstappen , by the looks of it , only shared a surname with his son.
"Grace Anderson." She put her hand forward, still wanting to be kind.
Jos's eyes fall on her hand, he pockets his own wrinkled ones- making Grace awkwardly stand back.
"He's losing because of you. You messed with him."
She rolls her eyes, she had a better grasp on reality than this man did. And in no damn way she was going to let him waver her.
"It's best if you leave now rather than running away later." He follows his statement with a jab Grace already felt vulnerable about.
She had left Max. She had ran away.
Her hands unfold, smugness shying away.
The man infront of her smirks , before;
"The media talks."
With that he turns away, leaving Grace alone with her thoughts.

She feels a tug on her arm, it was Michael.
"Thank god! SHES BACK EVERYONE!" He screams across to the pit wall and several chairs turn to looks at her.
Before she has a chance to question him , she's already being dragged into his seat.
A headset is put on her as she makes eye contact with the team principal.
He leans forward, putting his headset aside.
"Stop his brain. Only you can do it."
"I- can't."
"Yes you can. I've seen you do it. Do it for him."
Michael leans in pressing an orange button.