I greet their cheers and high fives with high fives of my own.
The next hour passes in a blur of post-race interviews, a celebration with champagne on the Grand Prix stage, and me lifting my new trophy above my head.
There are some reporters who ask about last year’s loss and if today’s win feels like redemption. I ignore those questions.
They’re trying to get me to say something that’ll feed their next headline. It’s too early in the season to dredge up bullshit.
“I guess congratulations are in order,” Ferreira’s voice comes in behind me as I enter the main paddock area.
“Keep your congratulations,” I tell him. “You’ll need all of the good words you can get if you dream of ever getting a podium this season.”
His grin drops to a frown.
He and I both know he has a shitty car this year. His team, Krämer, a luxury car brand, may have an esteemed history in F1 but they’ve been shit over the past decade.
“Max!” someone shouts, catching his attention. It’s another person from his entourage. “Excellent job as usual!”
I roll my eyes right before I’m tackled from behind by Annalise.
“Amazing,” she says, making me chuckle.
“Did you have any doubts?”
“Not one. Tristan, on the other hand …” She waves her cell phone.
I take it from her and grin at the message from our third. He often gets up in the middle of the night to watch the ending of my races.
“Thank you for not wasting my missed sleep with a loss,” he says. “He’s such an ass.”
“Hey.” Annalise snatches her phone out of my hands. “That’s my brother you’re talking about.”
“I’m your favorite,” I remind her.
“I don’t have favorites,” she retorts.
“If you say so.” I go to noogie her, but she slaps my hand away.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Language, sis.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever.” She nods toward the table. “Grab your stuff so we can head out. Your workday isn’t over yet. I’m going to run to the bathroom.”
I go to retrieve my belongings, but as I lift the clothing I wore earlier, a piece of paper slips out, falling to the floor.
I unfold the paper thinking Annalise must’ve written something down for me to see. It’s not her handwriting.
Nice win today. Hope your season doesn’t end like last year.
I stiffen as something ugly and dark rolls down my spine. The ending of last year’s season comes back full force, squeezing the air out of my lungs.
Red, the color of my car, flashes in front of me.
One look around the room and my eyes land on Max who’s in the corner chuckling with two other guys.
“What the fuck is this?” I ask, getting in between him and the other guys.
A stunned look passes over his expression before his eyes narrow in confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.
