After his discussion with his chief engineer that revealed the mole in Ferrari, Max concluded the strategy meeting and left the paddock, making his way anxiously to the hotel. In his thoughts, he envisioned the moment he would finally share the news with Charles when they crossed paths that night. Beyond that, his mind raced over the unsettling idea that perhaps his championships weren't truly his to claim.
Max wrestled with conflicting emotions—a blend of anger, disappointment, and a profound sense of injustice. The very essence of competition, the raw spirit fueling his passion for racing, now seemed compromised. Yet, amid this turmoil, a newfound excitement stirred within him as he looked forward to the intense competition that awaited him and Charles for the remainder of the season. This was what he loved about racing.
However, upon finally arriving at his hotel room, Max was surprised by an unexpected presence. At the door, he found a large luggage bag that wasn't his own. His gaze immediately lifted and landed on the woman sitting on his bed across the end of the room—Kelly.
Noticing his entrance, the older woman offered a faint smile and rose to her feet, walking towards him with a slurred greeting and intending to give him a kiss.
"I thought you were coming tomorrow," Max commented before Kelly could press her lips against his. His remark immediately threw her off, prompting her to take a step away from him, her thick eyebrows furrowing in a frown.
"I decided to come today. Is there a problem?" she questioned him, crossing her arms defensively.
"No, I just had some things to do still, tonight," Max confessed, dropping the room keys and wallet over the entrance counter.
"What things?" she narrowed her eyes, her words dripping with anger.
"Things," Max insisted.
"Why can't you tell me?" she asked again. Sensing her change in behavior, Max paused, the room now consumed by silence as they stared directly at each other.
"Max, what are you hiding from me, you need to—" Kelly began to argue, only to be cut off in the middle of her sentence by Max, who attempted to walk past her to reach the closet. "I'm not hiding anything," he said in a monotone voice.
"Max, you barely talk to me anymore, and it's been almost a month since we've had sex!" she pointed out, observing Max as he reached for one of his rain jackets in the closet. "I needed to come to see if you were seeing anyone else... Where are you going?"
As Max walked past her, Kelly grabbed his arm, stopping the taller man in his tracks to capture his attention. "Max, I know you didn't take Josh to his home that day after the yacht party," she whispered, her eyes beginning to well up as she spoke.
Max's body froze, adrenaline coursing through him as he scrambled to conjure up possible excuses for the situation. Yet, Kelly was faster.
"I don't care what you did that night, Max," she looked down at his chest, allowing her grip to slip away from his arms. "But please tell me it was just one night... tell me you aren't still seeing her."
Without a response from Max, Kelly foresaw the worst, and her tears began flowing down her cheeks. "You can't leave me, tell me you aren't... I love you, Penelope loves you, Max," she whispered, her words engulfed in tears as she leaned her face against the driver's chest.
In the quiet moments of reflection, Max couldn't escape the profound sense of guilt that engulfed him. Penelope—the family they had painstakingly built together, Kelly's daughter whom he had helped raise almost as his own. Even if the love he had begun to feel for Charles was much deeper than what he could ever feel for Kelly, she had given him something for which he would always be grateful—a family.
"I'm... not," Max whispered hesitantly, wrapping his arms around Kelly.
"Don't leave us," she repeated, pleading.
"I won't," Max whispered back.
"Max, promise you're not seeing another woman," she looked up at him, her face red.
"I promise," he mumbled, eliciting a sigh of relief from his girlfriend.
"I know you, Max. Better than you know yourself," she added, laying her head against his chest again. "I know you did something. Just don't do it again," she breathed out. "But tell me... who was she?"
"I wasn't with any other girls. Josh just doesn't remember that night; he was way too drunk," Max confessed, the half-honest truth of his words making him sound more convincing. "I need to go now; I'll be right back," he said, unwrapping himself from her hold.
"Max," she firmly called his name. "Are you going to see her?"
Max halted before he could continue walking. When he turned back to look at Kelly, he saw the redness of her cheeks and the tears that blurred the blue of her eyes. He could barely bring himself to meet her gaze, engulfed in a feeling of guilt.
"No," he furrowed his eyebrows. "I'm not," he surrounded himself, stepping back to meet the girl and kiss her, muffling her sadness into his lips.
"Promise you won't see her again," she whispered, parting from their kiss to look into his eyes. It was almost impossible to convince Kelly of a lie. Max had to settle for convincing her of half of one.
"I promise," he whispered back.
Charles had made it back to his hotel room in what he would consider a record time for a media day. Having opted out of the post-work chit-chat and formalities in exchange for a couple of extra hours on his own, his team found nothing strange in his behavior. He was nicer than even his usual self when he said his goodbyes, with cheerfulness carrying through in every one of his actions. Yet, none of them knew the reason behind it; they chose to simply take it as a good omen that the two days ahead of them would be a well-needed boost for Ferrari.
The young man found himself with three precious hours of solitude before the anticipated return of the Red Bull driver to his hotel room. Despite the seemingly abundant time, Charles was determined not to squander a single moment. Swiftly, he immersed himself in a hasty shower, cleansing away the remnants of the day. Although he acknowledged the impending need for another shower after his dip in the chlorine-infused pool, there was a compelling desire within him to present himself to Max in the most impeccable manner possible. Charles yearned for the other man to feel an insurmountable closeness, an intimacy that transcended any physical distance.
As he stood before the mirror, the mist of his recent shower still clinging to the reflective surface, Charles couldn't shake the sensation of giddiness. Examining his own reflection, he was struck by a peculiar sentiment akin to that of a teenager preparing for a first date. Attempting to dispel the whimsical thoughts that danced through his mind, Charles realized that his recent encounters with Max had ignited something profound within him—something he hadn't fathomed before. Each moment spent with the blond, beginning from that intoxicated night in the bathroom, had unearthed emotions far more profound than the mere lust that had been so unmistakably evident.
Being with Max had evolved into a significant highlight in Charles's life, and though the admission carried a hint of trepidation, it was an undeniable truth. Their initial encounters had been purely physical, with Charles fully intending to adhere to the parameters of their agreement, understanding the potential complications of delving any deeper. However, he found himself unable to stifle the burgeoning emotions within him. The night before, when Max exhibited signs of jealousy, Charles allowed himself a glimmer of hope—perhaps he wasn't the only one with thoughts beyond sex.
Tonight, Charles exercised extra caution while reserving the pool, emphatically insisting that his location be kept confidential under any circumstances. He cited a need for solitude, and the hotel manager, eager to cater to the satisfaction of their high-profile clientele, readily complied with reassurances. Uncertain of the duration of Max's day, Charles hatched a plan to enhance their time together by arranging for room service to be delivered to the pool while on his own. A selection of options adorned one of the tables, accompanied by an assortment of beverages.
To any outside observer, unaware of the plan, it might appear as a romantic rendezvous. However, if Max raised concerns or attempted to clarify their relationship status, Charles was prepared. Even the prospect of being let down wouldn't deter him from continuing their shared nights. For Charles, having some part of Max was preferable to having none at all.
As the clock struck nine, Charles descended to the pool donned in sweatpants and a crewneck, an ensemble that seemed more suited for a lazy night in bed than an aquatic excursion. However, beneath the cozy exterior, he sported swim trunks, anticipating the need for a warm outfit since they planned to indulge in a meal beforehand. Despite the casual appearance, Charles had invested a somewhat embarrassing amount of time in preparation. While his outfit might not overtly showcase his efforts, a discerning eye would notice the meticulously styled and intentionally tousled strands of hair. Additionally, he had trimmed his facial hair and adorned himself with his best cologne, fully aware that these efforts might unravel with a single plunge into the pool. Nevertheless, Charles deemed it worthwhile if it garnered the other man's attention before that inevitable immersion.
Twenty minutes elapsed, and still, there were no signs of Max. The boy ensured his notifications weren't silenced, his ringer was on, and his phone was at full volume, leaving no room for oversight in case Max sent a message instructing him to open the door. Max was typically punctual, and while a twenty-minute delay wasn't immediately worrisome, given the possibility of a prolonged team meeting, Charles began to harbor concerns when forty minutes had passed.
Opening the door and scanning the area outside, Charles considered the chance that Max's phone had died, leaving him without a means to communicate his arrival. However, his hopes were dashed as no one stood on the other side of the door. Charles sent a quick text, inquiring about Max's estimated time of arrival, before settling down and scrolling through his phone, attempting to pass the time as he awaited Max's response.
Ten o'clock came before he knew it and there was still radio silence on the other end.
"Is everything okay? I'm still here, just let me know when you're near :-)" Charles hit send on the text and began to pick at some of the grapes he'd ordered.
Every minute with Max's absence was excruciatingly long and as the clock was nearing an hour since they were supposed to meet, Charles felt something heavy in his chest.
"Ordered some food but it's cold now, do you want me to get you something else while you're on your way?"
Another text.
"I'm really worried. Is everything okay?"
And another.
"It's been two hours, I hope you're okay. Let me know if I should keep waiting, I don't mind as long as you let me know when you're close"
The desperation in the last text was palpable, and tears welled up in Charles's eyes, clouding his ability to think clearly. Despite the emotional turmoil, he staunchly refused to let them fall, at least not yet. By midnight, after enduring three hours of agonizing silence without any signs of Max, Charles's resolve began to wane. With a clenched jaw, he proceeded to discard all the uneaten food, each action accentuating the weight of disappointment and unspoken pain he carried within.
Back in his room, the boy calmed himself with the thought that Max wouldn't have given him radio silence unless something important had happened and instead of feeling sorry for himself, he hoped Max was safe and that everything would be explained tomorrow.
The following day, the moment Charles set foot in the paddock, his eyes desperately scanned the surroundings for any signs of Max. The longer he went without spotting him, the more his worry intensified, fearing that someone might deliver news of harm befalling the Red Bull driver.
While pausing for photos with fans, just before his mind could spiral into worst-case scenarios, Charles glimpsed the unmistakable blond hair and Red Bull merchandise. Without hesitation, he excused himself from the crowd and headed in the direction of the Ferrari garage, coincidentally crossing paths with Max.
Momentarily blinded by the relief of seeing that Max was unharmed, Charles failed to notice that he wasn't alone—his hand was interlocked with Kelly's.
At the sight of them, Charles felt naive and foolish for all the worry he'd felt when the answer as to why Max didn't show up had been the most obvious one; he had simply gotten stood up. The man had a real relationship and Charles was just something to pass the time with, an affair that brought enough excitement to keep coming back to but unimportant enough to leave alone with no explanations if his girlfriend was also an option.
All the thoughts that had consumed Charles the night before evaporated in an instant. He had read into something that never existed. Max didn't desire to build anything substantial; he sought only sex. It was Charles's own projections that had misled him into believing there was more. Though Max had been unequivocal about the nature and limits of their relationship from the outset, self-blame flooded Charles. His heart felt physically crushed, tears welled up in his eyes, prompting him to lower his head and make a beeline towards his room.
He refrained from exchanging pleasantries with anyone, not trusting his voice to conceal the heartbreak threatening to manifest. Charles wanted to shield his vulnerability from prying eyes, retreating into the privacy of his room to confront the emotional fallout in solitude.
Alone in the confines of his room, Charles allowed himself to succumb to the sadness he had brought upon himself. He despised the fact that he had waited three hours for Max, only to discover that Max had been preoccupied with his model girlfriend and couldn't spare even a text in his direction. It became painfully evident that Charles wasn't deemed worthy enough for Max to cancel plans or entertain any relationship beyond the physical.
His once vibrant green eyes now red from crying, and his face undoubtedly swollen, Charles attempted to stifle the little hiccups that echoed in the room. He feared anyone passing by might ask questions he was not prepared to answer, hiding his distress behind closed doors.
With a knock on his door, Charles was fully convinced that the universe had it out for him as he was informed that the team meeting had been pushed up and it was mandatory for everyone to be there in the next ten minutes.
Emergency meetings weren't a rare occurrence at Ferrari but it usually meant that the race ahead would have some struggles, which was the last thing that Charles needed thrown on top of his emotional dilemma.
Charles had no time to process his emotions; the image of Max and Kelly replayed incessantly in his mind, bringing tears to his eyes each time. Yet, he had to suppress these emotions enough to concentrate on the imminent bad news regarding the car his team was likely to present.
Despite the heaviness in his chest, Charles wiped his face and donned his racing suit. With his heart burdened, he entered the meeting, arriving with only a minute to spare, determined to focus on the professional matters at hand despite the personal turmoil within.
Fred Vausser, who was the Ferrari team principal, stood at the front of the room with an expression of someone who wished to be anywhere but there.
"I wish that I could have gathered you all under better circumstances," he started off his speech, "but we have received a resignation that was rather unexpected. Marco has chosen to end his time with us, effective immediately."
Immediate outburst ensued, questions being thrown from every direction but all Charles could hear was ringing in his ears. His head engineer was gone and as Fred continued to talk, the boy could only pick up on vague statements which included that Marco was no longer in the country and that the weekend would go on without him.
"He didn't care enough to wait for the weekend to be over?" Charles exclaimed, his voice louder than usual, earning sympathetic looks from those around him, the last thing he desired. "This is not fair," he practically cried out, frustration evident as he rubbed his face. "It's qualifying, and we find out less than an hour before we have to be out on the track. We don't even have time to find a replacement. I've been struggling enough with a head engineer, and now I don't even have that," he acknowledged the whiny tone in his words, but the frustration stemmed from more than just the lack of an engineer.
"Everyone is just so okay with leaving me, aren't they?" The words he spoke felt unfair to the team that had loved and supported him endlessly, but the silence from them suggested an understanding that, in that moment, Charles felt profoundly alone.