Page 130 of Downforce

I take in what he’s saying. Harry might not understand it completely, but his father was a big name on the business side of motorsport, who also passed away tragically. He probably understands me a lot better now than when we were kids.

“I think it would be amazing for you and your fans to see you step into your own by taking them up on their offer … and by winning a championship this season,” he adds, grinning.

“Constructor’s Championship?”

“That one, too.”

We chuckle and slap palms.

Harry tilts his head to look up at me. “I’ve fucking missed you.”

“Me too. After the accident …” I pause as he blows out a heavy sigh.

“I didn’t want to see anyone,” he says, eyes not meeting mine. “I pushed you away, Max. Not the other way around.”

“That’s not an excuse for why I stayed away. You were hurting. You’d lost your father and …” My eyes drop to the wheels of his chair. “So much.”

“My mind,” he adds, chuckling. “After the accident, I fell into a depression and felt sorry for myself. I spent too much time drinking and angry at the world. I pushed you and everyone who cared about me, even my mum, away. That’s not on you, mate. It’s on me.”

His comments ease some of the guilt but not all of it. I could’ve tried harder to be there for him, but I was too concerned with my own career.

“Let’s head to the track,” he suggests. “Do you still love it?”

“I grew up on these tracks,” I tell Harry as we approach the track where a group of kids probably ages eight to ten years old laugh around their go-karts at the starting line. Among them, I make out Annalise and the employee from earlier talking with the children.

“They raised me,” I continue. “Few places I’d rather be on a Sunday afternoon than at the starting line.”

“Maybe the finish line?”

I chuckle. “No, the start of a race will always be my favorite. The roar of the engine, tension in the air, and the only thing louder than the silence is the thunder of my heartbeat.”

Harry makes a noise, drawing my attention to him.

“You’ve become a poet.”

“Been reading Shakespeare.”

Harry lets out a guffaw. “No way, mate.”

I roll my eyes and without thought my attention goes back to Annalise.

“You failed Mr. Whitlaw’s unit on Shakespeare.”

“I didn’t fail,” I retort.

“Barely passed,” he grumbles.

“Whitlaw was as entertaining as watching paint dry.”

He snorts. “True. I gander you’ve found more entertaining methods to keep you interested in literature.”

I look down at Harry, who’s staring at me while I watch Annalise.

“The children will be starting soon. Care to watch?”

I follow him to the seating area where a few parents and some coaching staff are seated. Today’s not a real race or anything, just a few practice sessions, Harry tells me.

“You’ve always loved this,” he says a few minutes after the first group of children take off in their karts.