Page 23 of Downforce

“Trav, we don’t have time.” I go over to my brother. “Don’t let him get under your skin,” I tell him under my breath. The men in my family aren’t known for their long tempers, and given the contention between Travis and Max already, the last thing I want is for this to turn ugly before the season has even started.

Which, given how uncomfortable he seems with people bringing up his father and knowing Travis is already Amato’s number one driver, begs the question, why would Max even decide to sign with Amato?

CHAPTER 7

Max

“Alright, gentleman,” Drake starts, arms folded, glancing between Travis and me.

We’re on day one of our three-day pre-season test in Bahrain. I arrived last night, and Drake insisted that Travis and I be at the track first thing in the morning to have a discussion, just the three of us, before we drive our cars for the first time.

I barely slept last night, which is always the case for me when it comes to pre-season testing. The excitement and fervor to finally get to sit in the car I’ll drive over the next ten months was doubled by the fact that it’s my first car with a new team.

After months of anticipation, drives in the simulator, and weighing and measuring to ensure the correct fit of my seat, I often am like a child the night before Christmas, preparing to open my most anticipated gift.

Now, however, I’m standing in front of my team principal, next to my teammate who continues to throw side glares my way.

“Thought it was a good idea to bring you together before testing so that the two of you can get whatever you need off of your respective chests.”

Travis, who’d been leaning against the windowsill, unfolds and stands to his full height, which is an inch shorter than me. A fact that brings me pleasure.

“Drake, what is this?” Travis asks, sounding as disbelieving as I feel.

“Is something wrong with your hearing?” Drake tosses back. He looks over at me. “It’s this sport’s worst kept secret that you two aren’t exactly friends. Even when you try to fake it for the cameras.”

“I don’t fake anything,” Travis says.

I sniff. “It’s true. Some of us are simply better media trained than others,” I toss out casually.

Travis immediately comes back at me with, “You’re better than me at complaining about losing. I wouldn’t know what that’s like … the losing, I mean.” He gives me a smile that’s full of venom.

“Oh, right … like the time at this track two years ago where you lost the lead position and ultimately lost the race and lost the championship trophy.” I strongly emphasize the word ‘lost’ every time I use it.

He drops the smile, his face taking on a mask of unfiltered anger. “Fuck you,” he lobs my way. “Made up for it last year. Maybe you noticed the championship trophy with my name on it at Amato’s headquarters. It’s the one right next to your father’s winning trophy.”

“You fucker,” I growl, lunging at him before I can control myself.

Drake jumps between the two of us, using considerable effort to stop me from bulldozing through him to get to Travis.

“This is what I’m talking about,” our team principal says while holding his arms out on either side of his body to keep the two of us apart. “We cannot go through the season with you guys ready to rip each other’s faces off.”

“Tell him to stay out of my way then,” Travis says.

“Stay the hell out of mine.” Travis thinks because he won last year and has been the top driver at Amato for a few years it’ll always be that way, but things can change in an instant.

I’m going to be the impetus for that change this season.

“You have to have a way first,” Travis says. “You don’t even have your own direction. All you do is ride coattails and live off of a legacy you didn’t build.”

A noise I don’t recognize comes out of my throat. Never in my ten plus year career in racing, from go-karting to Formula 1, have I ever gone after a teammate like this. All I see is a red haze of anger in front of me.

“Stop it, dammit!” Drake bellows. “Cut this shit out,” he seethes.

Travis and I cease trying to rip through our team principal to get to one another, but we continue to glare dangerously at each other. If looks could kill, I’d be Jack the Ripper right now.

“This is the first and last time that you two will let out this type of aggression toward one another,” Drake insists, his voice just shy of yelling. “We’ll get this bullshit settled right now because we will not be going into the rest of this season at each other’s throats.”

“Bullshit,” Travis shoots back. He takes a couple of steps without taking his eyes off of me. “What did you expect when you signed him? You knew I didn’t like him and never would.”