Page 58 of Downforce

At this point, I don’t even know if he’s asking me or my mom.

“No one called her a bitch. Not that I know of,” I hear my mom say.

In the beat of silence, I hope my father accepts this explanation.

“Because I’ll book a flight to Bahrain right now,” he says.

“Daddy, by the time you arrive the race will be over, and I’ll be on my way back to Monaco,” I reason.

“Yeah, and where will the person who called you a bitch be? Because that’s who’s ass I need to speak to, and by speak I mean have my knuckles separate his teeth from his gums.”

“Daddy, no one called me a bitch. I promise. I’d tell you if they did,” I lie.

“You’re lying,” he calls me out. “Like when that little boy was harassing you in the third grade, and you didn’t tell any of us. Your brother had to find out and handle it himself.”

I groan at the memory. As a kid, I was a little more sensitive which left me more susceptible to classroom bullies. Travis, Tristan, and I were in different classes at the time because our parents wanted to ensure the three of us were given the opportunities to develop a social circle and friendships outside of one another.

Well, one boy in my class thought I was an easy mark. Every day he’d pick on me about one thing or another. One day during recess Tristan saw him try to trip me as I came out of the bathroom.

That day was the first time I watched my brother dunk a boy’s head in the toilet and flush it. Needless to say, that little boy never called me another name. But once my dad found out what happened, he confronted the boy’s father and … well, let’s just say his exit from our school was swift.

“I’m not …” I sigh. “I was the only one to call me a bitch. No one else. I promise.”

He’s quiet but I don’t trust it. He confirms my suspicion when the next thing he says is, “Yeah, don’t think I won’t find out if someone’s out there calling my daughter a bitch.”

“Give me this phone,” my mom says, her impatience finally reached. “If Annalise says no one called her a bitch, then it’s true. We can trust our daughter.”

“Thank you, Mom,” I reply, feeling a little less in danger of having my father fly across the world under the mere suspicion someone verbally assaulted me.

I move from the hallway to one of the paddock rooms with multiple screens that will allow me to watch the race from a distance. I’m surprised to find the room empty but grateful for the solitude.

“Race is starting soon,” I tell my mom as I stand with my back to the door.

Before she can reply, a noise signals someone entering. My body goes rigid as Max enters and comes to a complete stop when he sees me. Something inside of me ignites. It rivals the guilt that’s been a part of me for the past two days.

“Mom, I have to go,” I tell her mid-sentence.

“Okay, tell Travis we said good luck and we love him so much. And give Lucky and Alyssia a kiss for us and⁠—”

“Okay, I will. I promise.” I never cut my mom off while she’s talking. But standing here with Max’s unwavering gaze on me makes it feel imperative to get off of the phone as quickly as possible.

He watches me lower my hand with my phone down to my waist.

Wordlessly, he points at something on the far table before walking over to grab it. It’s his racing gloves. I hadn’t noticed they were there before.

I watch him as he moves toward the door after putting the gloves on.

“Good luck today,” I blurt out before he can leave.

Max pauses, one hand on the doorknob, head tucked, frozen.

Did I wish him luck or did I say something else? Maybe I called him a jackass but just think I said good luck. Was it my tone?

The intrusive thoughts begin to pile up in the ensuing silence. I don’t allow myself to follow them though.

Don’t feed the beast. As my therapist used to say.

But that doesn’t mean that I don’t acknowledge them as they come and go in the time that Max stands there with his face turned to the door, not exiting but not turning toward me. Until he does.