Page 51 of Downforce

“Get to it. And, Max …” He stops behind his desk again, tossing the pen on a stack of folders.

I’ve reached the door by this point, but I pause with my hand on the knob.

“I never said which Townsend I was referring to,” he says, not even looking up from his desk.

I’m paralyzed for an indeterminate amount of time. The conversations Drake and I had one on one and with our lawyers and team to sort out the details, roll through my mind.

You lack the heart.

Annalise’s wors which repeated in my head like a mantra all morning, sounded again.

A different Townsend.

I looked at Drake but his eyes were on a stack of papers in front of him. He’d dismissed me with those parting words. As if he knew something about me that I had yet to discover.

I exit his office without another word.

On my drive home, a myriad of emotions war for dominance in my mind, creating a mess inside of me. I barely hear my phone ring over the noise in my head.

An audible groan escapes me when I see who the caller is. The last person I want to speak to right now.

“Mum,” I answer, not bothering to disguise the solemnness in my voice.

Not that she notices.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

My own thoughts are so dark that I barely register the scathing nature of her words. They don’t sting like they normally would.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I goad, feeling drained as I plop my body onto the couch.

“That mess in Suzuka. You rammed your car into your teammate’s. What the bloody hell?” she screeches.

The volume of her voice tells me that wherever she is, she’s alone. My mum doesn’t yell or talk like this when there are other people around.

“It was an accident. An unfortunate accident, but they tend to happen in races.” My voice is as dry as the martinis she orders because she won’t dare lose her figure by consuming too much sugar.

“Don’t sass me, Max. I know you did that stunt on purpose. You’re bloody jealous of Townsend because he’s the better driver.”

Thank you for the vote of confidence, Mum.

“The least you can do is to be a good teammate and help put bloody points on the board since we all know you have no chance at a real championship.” She emphasizes the word ‘real’ as if a Constructor’s Championship isn’t worth the trophy that’s created for it. The Driver’s Championship, the one who separates the drivers from the teams and highlights who’s who on the track.

One season at a time.

“I’ve already been dressed down by Drake and received a fine for what happened. Are you happy?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. I rarely give her this much attitude back but I’m bloody tired of talking.

“I’m coming to Bahrain.”

Now I sit up. “What?”

“You heard me. If you can’t be trusted not to embarrass your father’s legacy on your own, then it’s up to me to come and supervise to ensure you stay in line. I’ll need you to get Edwin to book my ticket.”

“That’s not Edwin’s job.”

“Then make it his job. And I expect you will cover the cost of my flight and accommodations?” She phrases it as a question but it’s not one.