AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As I’m gulping down what feels like a gallon of water, my assistant, Lucas, runs up.
“Holy shit,” he says. “You okay?”
“Fuck, I dunno.” I shake my head.
“C’mon. Let’s go talk.” He puts his hand on my shoulder as we walk into a private back room. Already I’m calmer.
Unlike other drivers’ assistants, who mostly carry water and helmets, Lucas is my everything. He started as my physiotherapist when I was a rookie driver, and soon morphed into my right-hand man. He has a degree and a background in physiotherapy and health science, and before he came to Formula World he worked with the Brazilian Olympic track team. Above all, he makes sure I’m in top shape both mentally and physically.
He’s also my best friend.
Lucas is responsible for everything from my daily routine to my diet to my travel arrangements. Hell, we even have matching tattoos of the wordLoyaltywritten in our native languages on our right biceps. Some tabloids have speculated we’re gay. We’re not—we’re more like twin brothers, even though he’s Brazilian and five years older than me.
We slump onto two hard, plastic chairs.
“It was like the engine ran out of steam. I don’t understand,” I tell him.
He grunts, and I explain what happened on the track. That’s what Lucas is best at: listening. He asks a few questions about the engine, then says, “Your shoulder. How did that hold up?”
“It was fine. No issues there.” I pause, then let out a string of German swear words.
Lucas raises an eyebrow. “Wow. I’ve never seen you this emotional after a DNF.”
I scowl at him. “That’s not true.”
“Something else might be going on here.”
I’m gulping water so hard that a trickle runs down my chin. After I wipe my face, I sigh. “I’m not prepared for a therapy session now, man.”
“I’m just saying, it seems like you’re taking this hard. I know you want to win but something tells me you’re upset for different reasons.”
Lucas knows me too well.
“This doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that we’re in Miami and that’s where—”
“Absolutely not.” I shake my head. “I’m going to hit the shower. I’ll see you in a few, in the debrief room.”
I can tell he doesn’t believe my answer. Nothing gets past him. Aside from my parents, he’s the person I’m closest to in this world.
“I’ll get a recovery drink ready,” he says, hauling himself to his feet.
“Thanks, appreciate it.”
We fist bump. The only silver lining is that I can take a shower without the hassle of the post-race press conference. It’ll be necessary to do a few interviews after my spectacular failure of a last lap, but at least I’ll be clean.
We slip out the back door of the garage and stalk to Team Onassis’s Recharge Station, a massive mobile home made with sustainable Austrian timber. On the way I’m ambushed by a reporter, someone from a German newspaper.
“Max, what happened out there on the track?”
Although I want to yell at her, I’ve never been violent or hostile with the press. It’s not my style, not even when I was a younger driver and in my truly out-of-control days, back when I was on a team with Dante Annunziata—a wild man in his own right, before he got married.
Lucas and I stop and stare at the reporter, a middle-aged woman who knows her racing. She’s been on the Formula World beat for years. “I was headed for a win and something went wrong,” I reply in German. “I lost power, and the team lost points. It’s as simple as that.”
“Thank you for the questions,” Lucas says smoothly. “I’m sorry, but we have to go now.” It’s his role to eliminate all distractions on race weekends, including nosy reporters.
Even though she’s asking a barrage of questions, I clam up and we stalk into the mobile structure, where press isn’t allowed. That’s where Lucas and I part. Him to the kitchen, me to my driver’s room. There, I can shower and seethe in peace.
I wave at the woman behind the front counter—it’s where the team can also get snacks, drinks, and much-needed espresso—and she buzzes me through a triple-locked door and into the back. My room is on the second floor of the behemoth building, which the team constructs and deconstructs for every American race. There’s a second one in Europe for the races there; Onassis has spared no expense with his old family money.
