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First we found Miami’s best sports injury clinic and got him into physical therapy. I won’t lie: those initial couple of months were difficult. Although he recovered from his concussion quickly and without any lingering memory issues, his shoulder was another problem altogether.
Max was in a ton of pain, and we both worried he’d never regain use of his right arm again.
But because of Max’s fierce determination, he persevered with his therapy. Now he has almost full range of motion in the arm, although sometimes he still is in some pain if he overtrains. He made the decision to retire from the sport, and insists that he has no regrets about the timing of his exit. Lucas also left, and remains Max’s full-time employee and trusted confidant.
Max and I also learned what it would be like to live together after years of him being on the road as a driver. He annoys me when he doesn’t put the toilet seat down, and I annoy him when I leave mail stacked on the kitchen counter.
But other than minor issues like those, we’re like peanut butter and chocolate: meant to be together. During the weekdays we’re busy with our respective projects. He and Lucas are working on launching the new electric race-car circuit that’s going to have a season opener next year in Miami.
I thought he’d miss driving more, but surprisingly, he doesn’t. When he wants a fix, he takes his Porsche to a local track and drives like a bat out of hell for an hour. That seems to satisfy him. I also expect that we’ll fly to see a few races this coming season and hang out with my father’s team. As Max told the media during his official retirement press conference:
“My entire identity since I was a teenager has been as a race-car driver. It’s time for me to step into a new identity. Several, even. A partner to my beautiful Lily. Perhaps, if she agrees, an identity as a father. Eventually.”
He’d looked at me when he spoke those words, and I was so surprised—and charmed—that all I could do was press my hands to my heart. We’re a ways away from children, because we’re enjoying our life right now.
I’m also doing something racing related. Not long after Max’s crash, a publisher contacted me and asked if I’d like to work with a top racing photographer on a coffee table book, writing profiles about pioneering women in motorsport. I’ve interviewed everyone from drivers to pit crew team members to my friend Savannah Jenkins, who owns a team. It’s been inspiring listening to such incredible women, and it’s making me wonder if I should truly be more involved in the Onassis team.
Papa and Max are giving me the space to work that out on my own. I’ll reach a decision sometime this year, but for now, I’m ecstatic with the life Max and I have built in Miami. We’re talking about adopting a dog, and we’ve found a circle of friends, people with ties to the racing world.
Anh is getting married to her longtime boyfriend, the motocross racer. I’m going to be her maid of honor. Thankfully, she’s bought a beach condo in Miami and we’re seeing each other more than ever, and spend a lot of time planning her wedding.
Another couple getting along is my parents. Although they’re still their weird, bickering selves, they’ve been under the same roof since my father’s heart attack. They even invited Max and me up to their home for Christmas. A few days after we flew to Germany to be with his family for New Year’s. Papa’s let go of the team, a little, and this upcoming race season, Jack will be more in charge.
Once I’m finished with the plants, I go into the kitchen. It’s Valentine’s Day, and I’ve been planning to make Max’s favorite:Apfelpfannkuchen.
His mum taught me her recipe when we visited Germany, and I thought today would be an excellent day to surprise him with his favorite dish. We have reservations for dinner tonight on the beach, but romance can’t start too early, can it?
I assemble my ingredients and am almost finished arranging the apple slices when Max comes out of the bedroom. He looks yummier than breakfast, wearing a black hoodie and gray sweatpants. Now that we’re living together, I can be a little more open in my ogling of his body in those sweatpants, something he’s always teasing me about.
He gives me a little grin as I pour him a cup of coffee, then asks if I need any help with cooking.
“Nope. You relax.”
It takes me a little while to fry several pancakes, and while I’m doing that, Max streams some jazz music on the wireless speaker. The soothing strains of a bass and a piano waft through the morning silence, giving the atmosphere a perfect lazy Sunday vibe. This is exactly what I’ve wanted my entire adult life.
We eat at the kitchen island, talking about where we’re going to adopt the dog, then we shift to the sofa. This is our weekend routine, snuggling and reading on our phones, sipping coffee, taking it easy in ways we weren’t able to in our previous lives.
Max is still fitter than many athletes—old habits die hard—and now that his shoulder is better, he’s training for a half-marathon. He wanted to run a whole, but his doctor and I convinced him to scale it back.
“You going for a run today?” I ask.
“Mmm, I think I’ll take the day off. I’d like to go back to bed.” He slides a glance at me and grins while waggling his eyebrows, and my face heats into a blush. His obvious lust for me still thrills me to my core.
The sun is almost entirely over the water now, a sherbet-colored ball that makes the blue water shimmer. I’m reading my emails on my iPad and Max is staring out at the ocean. We’re sitting close enough on the sofa that I can feel the heat of his body on mine.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful sunrise,” he says.
I set my iPad down and look out the window, straightening my glasses. It really is a gorgeous sunrise, and I smile and rest my head on his shoulder.
Max takes a sip of his coffee and sets it on an end table. He kisses my temple and shifts off the sofa. “I’ll be right back.”
His absence means the cool air hits my bare legs, and I pull a warm, pale-green throw over my lap. I love Sunday mornings like this, quiet and peaceful. Romantic in the best way to describe these moments, and they’re everything I’d hoped for when we decided to live together.
I zone out for a few minutes, watching the ocean waves ebb and flow while sipping my coffee. Max has been gone a little while, and I’m wondering what he’s doing. Finally, the slap of his bare feet against the wood floor echoes in the hallway, and he comes into view.
He shifts the coffee table a little to the left and stands over me while clearing his throat. I look up, confused.
“Did you want to rearrange the furniture today? Maybe go look at some new stuff? We probably should replace this fluffy rug if we’re going to get a dog.” We’d also talked about getting new living room decor recently.
