Page 59 of Downforce

“What did you just say?”

I don’t have time to decipher his tone and the words at the same time.

I wrinkle my forehead, confused by the question.

“I wished you luck.” Maybe he misheard me and thought I said something else. Or, more likely, he probably thinks I’m being condescending. I try to recall my tone. I’d said it as politely as I could.

In the time it takes me to process my previous comment, Max has crossed the room, standing less than a foot in front of me.

“Good luck,” he repeats, arms folded across his chest.

“Yes, I didn’t mean it as an insu⁠—”

“No,” he cuts me off with the shake of his head.

I jut my head back. “What?”

“No. You don’t wish me good luck.”

I know my face reveals the utter confusion racing through my body now.

“Bahrain two years ago directly before qualifying you wished me to have a slow pit stop.”

My mouth falls open. “I⁠—”

“Shanghai last year, the night before the Grand Prix, you wished for me to have a bird strike that would take my car out without injury but take me out of the race.”

“That was⁠—”

“Three years ago, Miami, you wished that I would pit at the wrong garage.”

“What are you⁠—”

“You don’t wish me luck,” he says, cutting my question off. “Not once have you ever wished me luck. And not in that tone,” he says like I spit the words at him, which I’m pretty certain I did not.

“Don’t start now,” he tells me. “Not now. Not just because …” His nostrils flare as his words taper off. “Don’t start now.”

A lump forms in my throat, constricting any reply I might give.

I nod.

It’s a pathetic reply in the face of everything that’s gone unsaid, but it’s all I can give. Though it feels like not enough of a reply to me, it must satisfy Max because he dips his head before turning away from me and heading to the door again.

“Hey,” I call out before I can stop myself.

When he turns to me, I say, “I hope you get caught in someone’s dirty air.”

Nothing prepares me for the way my chest blooms when the corner of Max’s mouth kicks up into a smirk. The expression matches the spark that ignites in his hazel eyes. I hadn’t noticed how dull they appeared until his smile burned the dullness away.

“Thank you,” he replies before vanishing behind the door.

I can’t explain the smile on my own face, or the fireworks popping off in my chest from whatever the hell that exchange was, but it’s flipped my entire mood around.

I carry this feeling all throughout my watching of the race. Through all of the twists and turns, the multiple lead changes. It’s not until later that I realize that I kept searching out the wrong Amato driver.

I cheer at all of the right moments. Like when Travis lost the third place position but made a bold move to gain it back.

However, it’s when Max made an absolute beast of a move to first create a hole and then uses it to slip past the Krämer driver who was in the lead. The entire garage went up in applause when he pulled it off.