Page 36 of Downforce

She was born to walk on runways.

And to be a main feature of the F1 paddock, apparently. Ever since the death of her husband, she’s continued to be a mainstay in the motorsport world, ostensibly keeping Severino’s memory alive.

Not that his name needed her help. Severino Ferreira was a king among princes during his life. His death on the track elevated his name to god-like status among the sports’ admirers. Many of whom believe it a shame that he only had three Driver’s Championship and Two Constructor’s Championship to his credit. I don’t doubt that had he lived longer, the list of accolades would be longer.

I peer back at the screen in time to see Max’s red Amato car peeling out of the pit to do his lap in order to get into position for the start of the race.

What’s it like to be the son of a god?

The question knocks at my consciousness as I watch the screen pull up Max’s career statistics alongside his most recent profile photo. It’s difficult not to recognize that red fits him.

Like he was born to wear the color his father represented.

I might have a small understanding of it given my father’s NFL career. Yet, I’m not a man trying to compete in the same sport my father helped to revolutionize and literally bring an entire continent’s attention to.

Severino Ferreira differed from many of the early drivers since he came from Brazil in what had been a mostly European dominated sport.

“Such a bore, isn’t it?”

The question drags me out of my head. I turn to see Mrs. Ferreira standing next to me, looking up at the screen that’s now showing another driver from a different team.

She glances down at Lucky, who’s lost interest in the screen and instead has decided to start playing with the tear-shaped emerald pendant that hangs from my necklace.

“And who is this little cutie?” Mrs. Ferreira coos.

Lucky looks up, gives her a curious glance, and as if dismissing her goes back to figuring out the shiny green stone around my neck. I hike him up a little higher on my chest for easier access.

“This is Lucky,” I say to not be rude as I’m sure she already knows who he is. Everyone in motorsport is aware that Travis has gotten married and become a father over the past few months. Alyssia has done the paddock walk with Travis this weekend.

That and the cameras taking photos and video clips of the behind the scenes are the extent that Alyssia has chosen to be in the spotlight.

That includes Lucky, too.

“What a precious name.” She leans in, trying to get Lucky to take her finger, but he ignores her and I have to hide my smile.

This isn’t the first time Mrs. Ferreira and I have met.

“These things are such a bore, aren’t they?” I tug my attention back to her to realize she is talking to me.

“These things?” Clarification is needed.

She nods at the screen before gesturing to the main garage area where tension builds among the Amato employees.

Tense, anticipatory, enough nervous energy to chew my fingernails down to the quick. These are all of the words I would use to describe these moments at the start of a race.

Boring is nowhere near that list.

“I mean, all of this standing around to watch them go round and round in loops.” She laughs to soften the sharp edge of her words, but it still leaves an uneasy feeling worming around inside of me.

Both of my parents have been to countless of Travis’ races since he first took up go-karting. Yet, I doubt they would ever describe his chosen career path in such … almost derogatory terms. They were both torn that they couldn’t be here this weekend.

“If that’s how you view it.” The words slip out before I can stop them.

Mrs. Ferreira’s smile drops for a beat before she affixes it again with practiced ease.

“Oh, come on. I’m certain your parents have complained a time or two over how boring this whole thing is.”

“Maybe they have, but they’ve never said anything to me or Travis, I’m sure.”