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Miami exhaled heat, humid and heavy, as if the city were embracing too tightly. Max sat on the edge of the hotel bed, the phone’s glow cutting into his eyes, pulling his face from the dimness. The room was pristine but cold: glass walls, snow-white sheets, a panorama of skyscrapers twinkling beyond the window like someone else’s dream. A Red Bull cap lay discarded on the floor, his team jacket, still carrying the scent of asphalt, hung over the chair’s back, as if reminding him of his triumph. He’d taken pole, again. The world shouted his name, celebrated his daughter’s birth, his unbeatable streak. But inside, it was quiet — so quiet that the silence sliced like glass.
Max stared at the message that had arrived two hours ago.
«Congrats, Max. Heard about your daughter. And pole — you’re still tearing it up, huh? Proud of you, mate»
The words were simple, the kind Daniel always knew how to find — warm, genuine, with a faint smile Max could see even through the text. But they hit his chest like a hammer, cracking open something he’d long tried to bury. Max gripped the phone, his knuckles whitening. He hated this feeling — how a single message, a few lines, could yank him from his perfect life and hurl him into the past. He saw Daniel behind those words: his brown eyes, crinkled slightly with laughter, dark curls falling over his forehead, that smile that once made the world feel lighter. Max swallowed, his throat dry. He didn’t want Daniel to still hold this power over him. But he did, and that hurt the most.
Max leaned back against the headboard, his damp blond hair, still wet from the shower, falling into his eyes. He was 27, a father, a champion, a man the world saw as a god of speed. He had Kelly, Lily, a team that looked at him with awe. His life was everything he’d fought for, everything he’d dreamed of. But now, in this sterile room, he felt lost. Not because of the race, not because of pole, not because of Lily. Because of Daniel, who had once been his compass, his laughter, his home, even if they’d never called it that. Because Daniel was still a part of him, and that felt wrong, almost like a betrayal.
They were more than teammates. It started in 2017, 2018, those years when Max was still a kid with fire in his eyes and a chip on his shoulder, and Daniel was the sun, capable of chasing away any storm. They never talked about it, never gave it a name. But it lived in their late-night talks after races, in fleeting touches in the garage, in the quiet moments when they just sat side by side, the world dissolving around them. Daniel saw Max — not the champion, not the winning machine, but just Max, with all his fears, his dreams, his fragility. And Max found in Daniel peace, laughter, the feeling that he could be himself, no armor, no masks. It ended when Daniel left Red Bull, when their paths diverged, but Max never learned how to let go. Every time Daniel reappeared — a message, a call, a chance encounter in the paddock — his heart clenched, as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed.
Max stared at the phone, his fingers trembling. Calling would be a mistake. What would he say? How could he explain what he didn’t fully understand himself? But his fingers had already pressed call, and the ringing pounded in his ears like a pulse. He hunched forward, elbows digging into his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor as if it held the answer.
Daniel picked up on the fourth ring, his voice soft, with a slight rasp, as if he’d just woken up or had been silent too long.
— Max? — There was so much in that word: surprise, warmth, a trace of their old closeness. — Hell, I didn’t think you’d… Hey.
Max swallowed, his throat tightening. He straightened up, but his shoulders remained tense, as if bracing for a blow.
— Hey. — he forced out, his voice sounding foreign, too quiet, too vulnerable. — I… saw your message. Thought I’d call.
Daniel let out a breath, and Max could hear him shift, as if sitting up straighter.
— Well, that’s cool. — Daniel said, his voice carrying a hint of lightness, but it didn’t mask the caution. — Seriously, Max, congrats. A daughter, pole… You’re probably flying high, yeah? Lily’s a beautiful name. Suits her.
Max closed his eyes, his fingers gripping the phone so tightly the plastic creaked. Daniel sounded so genuine, so quintessentially Daniel, but it only sharpened the ache. He wanted to say something simple, but the words stuck in his throat like stones.
— Thanks. — he said finally, but his voice wavered. — It’s… yeah, it’s good. It’s supposed to be good.
Daniel went quiet, and Max could almost see him frowning, his brows knitting together, trying to catch what was wrong.
— Supposed to be? — Daniel echoed, a soft but insistent worry creeping into his voice. — Max, you… is something off? You don’t sound like yourself.
Max laughed, but it was bitter, almost painful. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if it held an escape from this conversation.
— Not like myself? — he repeated, a flicker of sarcasm in his tone. — I don’t know, what Danny. Maybe I’m just tired. Or… — He trailed off, feeling the words clawing their way out despite his resistance. — I have everything, you know? Kelly, Lily, titles. I just took pole, and the whole world’s clapping for me. But I’m sitting here, and… — His voice broke, and he clenched his jaw, trying to hold himself together. — And I miss you. So much I don’t know how to live with it. I shouldn’t be calling you, shouldn’t be feeling this, but you… you’ve always been a part of me. And without you, it all feels… like it’s not mine.
The silence on the other end was heavy, almost tangible. Max could only hear his own breathing, uneven, too loud. He waited for Daniel to crack a joke, like always, to say something to defuse the moment. But when Daniel spoke, his voice was quiet, almost broken.
— Max... — he said, and that single word carried so much pain, so much warmth, that Max felt something inside him crack. — God, you can’t say stuff like that. Not now. — He paused, and Max heard him exhale, as if trying to pull himself together. — I… I miss you too. Every damn day. But you’ve got a life, Max. A family. I shouldn’t be… the one you need.
Max shook his head, though Daniel couldn’t see it.
— Don’t say that. — he snapped, his voice sharp, almost angry, but trembling with emotion. — You’re not just someone, Danny. You… you’re the one who made me me. You saw me when I was nobody, when I was just a kid pissing everyone off. You were there, and with you, everything felt… right. — He stopped, feeling tears burn his eyes, and clenched his fist to keep them from spilling. — And now I’m here, I have everything, but without you, it’s like… like I’m pretending. I don’t know how to let you go. I tried, Danny. I tried. But I can’t.
Daniel let out a breath, and the sound was almost a sob.
— Max. — Daniel said, his voice soft but trembling with longing. — You don’t have to let go. But you have to live. Lily, Kelly — they’re yours. And me… I can’t be who I was. Not now. — He paused, and Max heard him swallow, as if the words came with effort. — But, damn it, how I wish things were different. That we could… I don’t know, just be together. Like before.
Max pressed his lips together, feeling his throat tighten.
— Like before... — he echoed, his voice a mix of bitterness and yearning. — I think about it all the time, Danny. Those nights when we just talked, laughed. The way you looked at me, and I felt… alive. And now I’m sitting in this hotel, I have a daughter, I should be happy, but all I can think about is you. It’s wrong, I know. But I can’t switch it off.
Daniel gave a quiet laugh, but it was sad, almost broken.
— You’ve always been like that. — he said, his voice laced with a tenderness that cut Max like a knife. — Always felt everything too deeply. And I… I loved that about you. Loved how you burned. — He paused, and Max heard him sigh. — I still do, Max. And that’s probably the worst part. Because I can’t do anything about it.
Max felt the tears break free, hot and stinging, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand, angry at himself.
— Then why are we here? — he asked, his voice hoarse, almost desperate. — Why can’t we… I don’t know, just talk? Be around each other? I’m not asking to go back, Danny. I just… I want you in my life. Somehow.
Daniel went silent, and the pause was agonizing. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but there was a weariness in it, as if he were fighting himself.
— I want that too. — he said. — But you know why it doesn’t work. You’re Max Verstappen, you’ve got a daughter, a family, the whole world at your feet. And I’m… I’m just a guy who used to be there. If I stay too close, it’ll ruin everything. For both of us.
Max shook his head, his fingers trembling.
— You’re not just a guy. — he said, his voice firm despite the tears. — You’re Danny. My Danny. And I don’t want you to be out there, in the past. I want… — He trailed off, unsure how to finish. What did he want? To reclaim those years? To have Daniel near, even if it was impossible? The truth was too heavy, too painful.
— I know. — Daniel said, his voice so soft, so warm, that Max felt his heart clench. — I want it too. But we can’t, Max. Not now. Maybe someday… I don’t know. But I’ll always be here if you call. Always.
Max nodded, though Daniel couldn’t see. He stared at the Miami lights beyond the window, but they seemed blurred, distant.
— I’m glad you answered. — he said finally, his voice quiet but sincere. — Thanks, Danny. For… for everything.
Daniel gave a soft laugh, and the sound was like an echo of their old days.
— Always, Max. — he said. — And… hey, be a good dad, yeah? Lily’s lucky to have you.
Max smiled, for the first time in the conversation, but it was a sad smile.
— I’m trying. — he said. — Though I think I almost broke Lily’s arm when I tried to pick her up.
Daniel laughed, a real laugh, and the sound was so familiar, so dear, that Max felt something inside him warm.
— That’s my Max. — Daniel said, his voice carrying a love they’d never spoken aloud. — Call me if you need me. I’m always here.
They didn’t say goodbye. They just stayed silent, listening to each other’s breathing, until Max ended the call. The room’s silence enveloped him, but it was different now — not so empty, not so cold. He looked at the phone, at Daniel’s name, and felt the ache blend with warmth. Daniel was right — he had to live. But how do you live when a part of you is forever tied to someone you can never let go?