Chapter Fifty-Two
Dylan was sat in the McLaren plane, having once again hitched a ride with Lando. Max Fewtrell was with them after deciding to follow Lando around for this series of European races and Danny was also on the plane but had understandably kept himself down the other end with his team; he was still struggling with accepting everything that had happened and it had definitely strained his friendship with Lando.
The other Max, Dylan's Max, was sat by the window, headphones on and staring out at the clouds.
Dylan left Max F and Lando to their bickering over some sort of editing thing and headed over to her boyfriend, taking the seat next to him. They were on their way to the Zandvoort track in the Netherlands. It was Max's home race and the pressure on him to deliver would be absolutely monumental, unlike any other race in the season.
She'd seen it in photos before: the sea of orange, the hazy smoke, the screaming crowds. It was an unmissable experience but potentially not what Max needed when he was already under a lot of strain.
Gently, she tapped him on the wrist and he turned, slipping off his headphones.
"Yeah?" He asked.
"Hey, I just wanted to see how you were feeling. I know your home race brings a lot of added pressure and I want to reassure yo-"
"It's fine." He cut her off, shaking his head dismissively, "I don't want to talk about the race."
She frowned, "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure. We'll talk later, okay?"
With that, his headphones were back over his ears and he was lost to her again, stuck in that far-away place where she couldn't reach him. Her attempts to pull him back to their world had so far been unsuccessful.
Dylan looked around, hoping nobody had seen Max brush her off again. Luckily, everyone was in their own world and she went unnoticed. With a sigh, she headed back over to Lando and Max F, who had barely noticed that she'd left through the heat of their argument.
"I am not wearing a princess costume, get that out your head!"
"I just think tha-"
"And why do you get to be Mario when I'm Princess Peach? I am not being saved by you, I'd be better off just getting on with Bowser! And another thing-"
Dylan interrupted them as she took her seat, "Genuinely, what the hell are you two talking about?"
Lando closed his laptop lid, "Just ideas for Quadrant videos in the future but someone is being difficult!"
"I want to be the Shy Guy!"
"They can't find the Shy Guy costume, mate, I've told you this. It's Princess Peach or nothing and you better wear the crown as well."
"I'm gonna shove that red Mario hat right up your-"
"Okay!" Dylan swiftly intercepted the growing argument, "This sounds like something you can fight out in the future."
They both shrugged and nodded, pushing their laptops away. Lando glanced over at Max by the window before looking back at Dylan, "He all good?"
She tried to exude confidence in her answer, "Yeah, you know what he's like. Just super focused with the home race and all. I don't think he was happy with the Belgium result."
Lando rolled his eyes, "Typical. I'd die for P4 right about now with this bloody tractor I'm driving. I can't wait for the next upgrades."
"When are they coming?"
"Hmm, probably not until Japan or COTA, I dunno."
The topic moved away from the race as their minds wandered and they chatted easily for the rest of the flight. It was an incredibly short journey anyway - less than an hour - and before they knew it, they had touched down at the Dutch airport and were on their way to the track.
The days then flew by ridiculously quickly. With it being Max's home race, the media around him was more insane than ever and when Dylan wasn't filming him for DTS, she was coordinating him between a range of Dutch media or sorting out social media with Andy.
Her evenings were filled with press releases, photo downloads, video edits and trying to find a spare five minutes to actually get some food inside her. She was so busy that she almost didn't notice that Max hadn't really said much to her. Unfortunately, in the rare second she did have to breathe, that was all that consumed her mind.
What was going on?
Why was he so distant?
No matter how much she tried to convince herself that this was a temporary distance and everything was fine, that lingering thought remained in her mind that there was something wrong with her. Max didn't have any issue talking to Brad or to Christian. Yet, whenever she tried to get even a moment of his time, he seemed to have a long list of excuses why he couldn't speak to her.
She just didn't understand.
The only thing she could use to rationalise it was that it was his home race; of course it was going to amplify the stress he'd been feeling recently. Next week, when they were in Singapore, would be miles better, she was sure of it.
Well, fairly sure anyway.
"Hey, chiquita." Carlos said, waving her in as she opened his hotel room door, "No Max?"
"On the SIM." She shrugged, flopping down on the sofa next to Charles who instantly put his arm around her for a hug.
Dylan sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, feeling grateful that her friends were at least continuing to talk to her. They'd all been busy in the last few days and she yearned for the days of lying around on yachts together.
"You know," Lando said through a big mouthful of food, "He really puts us all to shame. It's quite annoying actually."
"Yeah, maybe if you threw in a couple extra hours, you would've made it into Q3." Max Fewtrell snorted from across the room.
Lando promptly threw a pillow over at his head.
"He's on pole tomorrow, is he not happy?" Charles asked, looking down at Dylan.
She didn't want to reveal that Max had already left the garage by the time she finished up with Andy after qualifying today. It was embarrassing that her own boyfriend hadn't waited around for her, especially as she'd been expecting to celebrate his pole position with him. It was Brad who had messaged to say they were heading back to the hotel for a gym session and a SIM run.
"No, he is." She lied, "He just doesn't want to disappoint the home fans."
The boys all shrugged, recognising that stress as something they all faced in their own lives and the conversation moved away from Max, much to Dylan's relief. She enjoyed the rest of the evening, chilling with her cousin and friends, watching TV, and cracking jokes until they all finally went back to their own hotel rooms for a good night's sleep.
When Dylan woke up on race day, she felt rejuvenated and her thoughts were altogether more positive.
Max was on pole at his home race!
If they followed the strategy as planned, she knew everything would go well today. He had won here before and he was more than capable of doing it again. The Red Bull was looking strong around the Zandvoort track and Max was the most focused he had ever been.
She knew he was booked up with Brad all morning so she decided to race down to the track and get her comms work out the way early. That way, she could catch him in his driver's room before the race.
Hunter was already set up at a table when Dylan got to the paddock and she flew in with a big grin, squeezing him into a hug.
"Well good mornin', doll! What's got you so bright?"
"I feel like it's going to be a really good race." She smiled, sitting down next to him, "And we definitely need it, the last few have not been ideal."
"On pole for his home race at a track he's won at before - it's gonna be great." He agreed, looking back down at his laptop, "Hey, did you get the stuff I sent over last night?"
"Checo's Twitter stuff?"
"No, no, it's a sponsor file. Get your laptop out, I'll show you."
They fell into an easy pattern of working and Dylan raced through all her tasks for the morning, ticking off every objective with a growing excitement that it was almost time for the race. Andy and Greg both popped their heads in throughout the morning and checked in on their progress. When it was almost time, she shut her laptop down and promised to meet Hunter in the garage.
"No sex while you're on the clock!" He jokingly yelled after her.
The corridors were busy but Dylan weaved her way through, finally arriving at Max's driver room. She knocked twice before opening the door and letting herself in.
Max was sat on the sofa on his phone and he looked up in surprise as she walked in. He got to his feet and there was suddenly a beat of awkwardness as both of them looked at each other, aware that everything was not okay, but unsure of the right thing to say.
In the end, Dylan broke the ice, shaking off her uncertainty, "You got pole! I didn't get to congratulate you, well done."
She reached to hug him and his arms came around her, but not with the same tight grip she'd grown used to. Max had always hugged her like he was afraid she would disappear but this felt more like a hug you give to a friend out of politeness.
"Thank you." He said, stepping away first and scratching his chin, "Dylan, look, I know things haven't been...maybe the way they were before but- let me just get this win and then we'll talk, okay?"
"...Okay." Dylan replied, biting her lip.
She was grateful that he had acknowledged what she'd been worrying about. It was understandable that he needed to get this race out of the way before they could properly talk and she could absolutely appreciate that. It would be just a few more hours of standing back and silently supporting him in the stress and then everything could go back to normal.
"I should head down to the garage." He broke her thoughts, reaching for his gloves and heading towards the door.
"Right, yeah, me too."
Dylan followed him out the door and the two of them walked silently towards the garage, each lost in their own thoughts. As they were hit by the hubbub of engineers and team-members, they went their separate ways, Max to the car and Dylan to watch from the side.
She turned to wish him good luck but he was gone.
"Well your hair's intact and you're back sooner than expected so I'd say you followed my advice." Hunter smirked as she sat down next to him.
"Ha. Ha. You're so funny." Dylan rolled her eyes, "Do you have a spare headset?"
"Yeah, Hugh gave me this one for you." He reached over to a nearby table and handed her a black headset, which she slipped on.
"How's Checo?"
"Not bad, P3 isn't a bad place to start on this track so think he's just gonna try get Leclerc and then see what team orders say. He knows Max will get preferment here unless there's a drastic difference in race pace."
"Makes sense, I think we had the edge in the Free Practice data but I haven't seen the outputs from quali."
"Yeah, the Ferraris clearly had the second fastest car but we topped the page so should be a nice 1-2 today. I think everyone could do with it, I mean Checo's had a great few last races but he's not in the championship fight. Everyone wants to get behind Max."
"Fingers crossed." Dylan breathed out, watching the drivers climb into their cars.
Max had a specialty helmet design this week. It showed a lion down each side streaked with the blue and orange associated with the Netherlands. It stood out and he looked powerful in it. She knew as he climbed into the car that he was entirely locked in and ready to win.
The cars went out and the lights counted down and then they were away! Max's car had a flying start off the line and he clearly was holding P1 as they went into the first corner. As they went around for the first lap and shuffled into their order, Perez and Carlos were battling it out for P3 and Charles pulled up close behind Max.
The tension in the garage was unbearable as they watched lap after lap.
Dylan noticed Jos Verstappen across the other side of the garage, closely glued to the screens. She wasn't surprised to see him considering they were in the Netherlands but that didn't mean she was happy about it. Something about the man didn't sit right with her.
Max maintained his lead after the pit stops and they settled back into a steady rhythm. There were plenty of interesting mid-field battles happening but all eyes were on Max Verstappen to bring home the win at his home track.
"That Ferrari's getting closer..." Hunter mumbled warningly.
Dylan looked over at the screen with the lap time differentials and, sure enough, Charles was taking a tenth off Max's time each lap around. The Red Bull would have to defend against the impending attack but she wasn't worried. It was something that Max was remarkably skilled at; he drove ruthlessly and intelligently.
Yet, as Charles got closer and closer, Max didn't seem to have the maneuverability that he needed and there was a huge groan through the garage as DRS saw the Ferrari fly straight past the Red Bull on the straight.
"We have a new race leader! Charles Leclerc has finally got past the Red Bull and is up into P1!"
Dylan expected Max to come right back at Charles for the position but he seemed unable to make the move stick. He dove around the corners a couple of times but Charles navigated the track expertly, getting the perfect exit from each corner and zooming down the straights.
Eventually, the final lap came around and the team shook their heads and settled for P2.
"Podium at least?" Hunter offered and Dylan mumbled an unconvincing sound of agreement.
They obediently travelled down to where the cars would pull up but the morale was low. They all knew it should've been a win but for some reason, Max just hadn't been able to hold onto the lead. It was what happened in races; it was an unpredictable sport and Charles was the better driver and had the better car today.
Despite being happy for Charles, Dylan was gutted for her boyfriend.
However, when they got there, the Ferrari wasn't parked in the P1 position and, instead, Max's car was there. None of the drivers were to be seen and in the end, Dylan tapped on a Sky Sports cameraman and asked what was going on.
"Apparently Leclerc had a track limits violation and they've given him a post-race time penalty which will give Max the win. They've delayed the podium ceremony while Ferrari query it with the stewards."
Dylan thanked him and looked back at Hunter, her eyes wide at the implications.
The victory could be Max's!
She wondered how he'd be feeling about it. It wasn't the same as crossing the line and knowing you had finished at the front of the race but if Charles had violated the track limits, then Max had technically earned the win. That was how she saw it anyway.
Then, they could celebrate a P1 in his home race and have a huge celebration!
It was just what she needed to make everything feel like it was alright again.
Dylan's mind was already running with outfit ideas and jewellery combinations when an announcement blasted out across the speakers just as Max walked back out from the building before them.
"Due to a track limits violation, Charles Leclerc will serve a five-second post-race penalty. He forfeits P1 and the winner of the Dutch Grand Prix in 2022 is Max Verstappen!"
Their team erupted in a huge cheer and the engineers all started clamouring for Max, arms out for hugs like they usually did after a race victory. The journalists instantly started flashing cameras and shouting their questions, asking how Max was feeling and whether he thought it was a fair decision.
Dylan squeezed to the front of the barrier and waved excitedly to Max, hoping he'd come over and scoop her into a hug like he had done before.
However, Max took one discerning look at the cheering crowd and inquisitive journalists before him and then turned and walked away.
His mind was racing and raging as he pushed past people, desperate to get back to his own garage and not go through the ridiculous charade of pretending he won this race.
Winner on a technicality?
It made him feel sick with himself.
The Red Bull garage was almost empty and as he stormed back into his driver's room, almost sending the door flying off his hinges, there was already someone in their waiting for him.
His dad was lounging on the sofa, one arm stretched across the back and the other lazily scrolling on his phone. He looked up as Max walked in and raised an eyebrow. The Red Bull driver knew exactly what that one eyebrow meant: disappointment.
"Dad." He greeted, closing the door behind him.
"Well, that was a fucking shit-show. Winning by default? I'm not sure there's anything more embarrassing."
"I kn-"
"You're really going to go stand on that podium in front of your home crowd and raise a trophy you don't deserve? We have friends out there, we have sponsors who put their hard-earned money into a pathetic little ten-year-old driving around in a kart and they expect to see a champion, not whatever the fuck that just was."
"Dad, I know. I'm not happy with what just happened either, but it's happened. I'm gonna deal with it."
"You should've dealt with it when I told you to in Monaco. Perhaps now you can see that I'm right about your little girlfriend? She's cost you races and now she's going to cost you a championship. A technicality is the only reason that Ferrari haven't taken the lead today, you did absolutely nothing to fight off Leclerc."
Max took a breath.
He had nothing to say in return.
When his Dad had shown up a few weeks ago and told him to break things off with Dylan, he'd vehemently refused, insisting he was the happiest he had ever been. He swore that his relationship with Dylan had absolutely no impact on his racing career at all. But he couldn't deny that he'd had an awful string of races recently and the doubt had been creeping into his mind about whether he'd allowed himself to lose focus.
His mind had once again been at war for the past few weeks.
Dylan or the championship?
Once again, it somehow felt like he needed to choose.
He'd managed to convince himself that he could have both but had he just been in denial, blinded by his immature feelings?
Maybe it had all been okay when they were in the early days of figuring each other out but as she'd become an integral part of his life and his heart had started screaming out that word, he couldn't help but wonder whether he'd lost his edge. He had to admit that no longer was he the steely, win-at-all-cost driver he had been.
No, instead of putting his life on the line for a risky overtake, he knew now that he would hold back, all too aware of the person back in the garage, counting on him to return.
Was he a worse driver for that?
Had caring about someone, maybe even lovi- no, he couldn't say that word. But had it made him weak? Would the rest of his season just crumble before him?
Everything he'd come back to prove this year would disappear.
Maybe those journalists had been right. Maybe he had won on a technicality last year and maybe he didn't have the raw talent it took to repeat that win.
"You need to fix this." Jos warned, his cold eyes fixed on his son, "Or I will."
Max nodded slowly, starting to see how his father was correct.
Of course, he couldn't have both Dylan and a championship.
He'd only climbed to such success by shutting off his feelings and living and breathing racing every day for years. He couldn't reach the peak of his career and just give that up. He'd been an idiot to even try and have it all.
Something had to give.
This was the championship they were talking about and it seemed he'd been deluded into believing she wasn't taking his focus away from what mattered. She'd filled his head with silly gentleness and kindness; all the while, he'd been losing his toughness. He'd been losing what made him great...and she was to blame.
It was the decision he'd been battling for a couple of weeks but he knew now what the correct thing was to do.
He closed his eyes, slowly compartmentalising all his emotions and letting the cool numbness of emptiness wash over him. When he opened them, it was almost unfamiliar to feel like this. Since Dylan had burst onto the scene in his life, he'd been flooded with endless emotions: passion, frustration, protectiveness and happiness. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to shut it all down.
Jos watched on approvingly and then stood to leave.
"I'll send her your way." He smirked, closing the door behind him.
Max paced around the room, thinking through the last couple of weeks and the race today. This was not going to be an easy thing to do by any means but it was the right thing, and that's what counted. When you're on a journey to greatness, you have to make sacrifices and this was his sacrifice to make.
He thought about his poor qualifications, his loss in Silverstone, his failure in Hungary, his pathetic result in Belgium, and his inability to overtake Charles today. They should've been easy wins for him. Previously, he'd have secured those points like it was nothing.
She had gotten in the way. She'd filled his mind with distractions and pulled him away from what mattered. She was to blame and she had to go.
He'd been bred for greatness. This was his legacy and his destiny.
All those years of driving in the rain, of broken bones from crashes, of cold, numb fingers trying to fiddle with car parts, of screaming and criticising and trying and failing and finally, finally winning...it couldn't all be for nothing.
He wouldn't allow it to all be for nothing.
The door closed and he turned around.
"Max?" Dylan was stood there, her bright eyes blinking up at him, "Well don-"
"We're done, Dylan."
She almost physically recoiled at the words and he watched as her brain ticked over and the smallest of frowns appeared in her forehead. He knew she was thinking she'd misheard or misunderstood him. He knew how her brain worked like the back of his hand.
He needed to get the message through.
Before she could say anything, he continued, "I don't want to see you. I don't want to speak to you. I want absolutely nothing to do with you. Do you understand?"
Her mouth fell open and she shook her head, "What...no, I don't understand at all! What are you talking about? What have I done?"
He laughed bitterly, the desperate thought of his failure at the front of his mind, "You know exactly what you've done. I let myself be convinced this could work but I should've trusted my judgement from the start. Being with you is ruining everything for me and I'm not going to let you stand in the way any longer."
"But, I-"
"This isn't a fucking debate, I said we're done so we're done! Get out."
He turned away before he could see the tears that he knew would be coming and he heard the click of the door as she left.
So it was done.
Even through the shield of numbness he had put on, something was now aching in his chest. It felt like his body was physically rejecting the decision he made but he pushed it away. He was the master of his body and soul and he had made the right decision. It hadn't been easy.
But it was done.