Page 55 of Downforce

A throbbing ache spreads in my chest. The idea of a mother regularly berating her son is a concept I can’t wrap my head around.

“Annalise,” Mrs. Ferreira says, obviously attempting to mask the scorn in her tone with a cheeriness that turns my stomach.

Giving my head a little shake, I force my eyes to move away from Max’s toward his mother’s. Her blue eyes glitter with malice before she blinks and replaces it with that signature smile she was known for in her modeling career. If it weren’t for the continued flush in her cheeks and the minute amount of lingering rancor in those eyes, I would think my mind had been playing tricks on me.

And while my mind loves to play tricks on me, making me question things I should know aren’t real, this one isn’t on my broken brain.

This is reality.

“What a surprise to see you,” his mother exclaims into the continued silence. “Max and I were catching up after his practice drive.” She takes a step in my direction, but stops when I visibly stiffen.

Her comment gets my brain in motion again. I remember where I am and why I’m here. It’s race weekend. Max completed his practice laps not too long ago.

Tomorrow he’ll have to qualify, followed by race day on Sunday along with the rest of the drivers. All of that after having such ugly insults hurled at him by his own mother.

My gaze goes back to meet his. He’s silently watching me, not saying anything. But that same cold, distant mask he wore to keep his mother’s words at bay continues to overlay his expression.

“I’m certain Travis will do well this weekend,” Mrs. Ferreira is saying. “The Amato team is lucky to have him.” She lets out a laugh and claps her hands in front of her. “Lucky. That must be why he chose to name his son that, right?”

My nephew’s name coming out of this vile woman’s mouth brings out a scowl on my face. She doesn’t notice as she’s gone into full-on save face mode.

“Actually, Alyssia chose the name,” I say, my voice wrapped in icicles.

Mrs. Ferreira blinks, eyebrows spiking slightly before she covers the shock with another phony smile.

“Yes, well, all the same,” she responds. “How about we go out and find a place to have lunch, shall we?”

She has the audacity to reach out her arm as if she’s about to wrap it around mine. I’m not subtle when I pull out of her reach.

The fake wounded look she gives me doesn’t do shit to soften my expression or reaction.

“I’m working,” I tell her without looking in her direction.

“Well,” she says, quickly recovering, “I’m certain Linda is somewhere waiting for me.” She pauses as if I’ll change my mind and choose to exit with her.

There’s not a chance in hell of that happening.

“Max, I believe you have a meeting with your team …” The tone of her voice comes across as if she expects him to follow her out like a puppy dog, and it takes everything inside of me not to tell her to go to hell.

“I’m aware of my schedule,” Max says, his voice devoid of the usual lightness and joking nature. There’s only been a handful of other times that I’ve heard his voice full of something other than charm or teasing.

The most recent being weeks ago in Japan. The night he ran off that group of guys who were harassing me and then practically dragged me back to my hotel. Anger had filled his voice that evening. No, not anger.

Max’s voice had bordered on irate.

First with the losers who’d been bothering me, then he turned that energy in my direction. Right up until the point I found his lips on mine.

I push that memory out of my mind at the same time Mrs. Ferreira passes me with a sharp nod at Max and another phony smile in my direction before exiting the room.

Ironically, the tension doubles as Max and I stand there, alone, watching … gauging one another. His narrowed eyes examine me, but I can’t discern what he’s thinking.

I assume he’s also trying to ascertain my thoughts as well.

That would make two of us.

I’m torn between going after his mother and trying to rip her blonde locks from her scalp or remaining here with Max to find out if he’s okay.

It’s difficult to choose which route to take. All I know is that the knowledge of any mother verbally annihilating her child in any way paints the color red across my vision.