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ON THE AFTERNOON OF NIKOLAAS'S FIRST GO-KART PRACTICE, ONE THOUGHT DOMINATED MAX'S MIND: BEING SUCCESSFUL AND BEING HAPPY ARE NOT THE SAME. He has known that from an early age, of course. The realization struck him somewhere somewhere between all the unreturned smiles from his father and the silent car rides back home regardless of the trophies and records he broke; it was hidden someplace beneath the four quarters of Monaco illustrated on a map his mother had gifted him and the quiet wish to see his sister some time soon. He could be successful or he could be happy, but he could not be both at the same time, and whatever nonsense people throw around online about his childhood, Max will always appreciate that Jos made sure he learned that lesson young.

Still, he just hopes Nikolaas will take his time to learn it for himself.

"With my first championship win, I'll get you a big house, Miss Honey." The boy's words were spoken as facts, not dreams, as he nestled more comfortably in the car seat Max had to purchase last minute from Bumpstart Babyshop, a store he never envisioned he would set foot in. "With my second championship win, I'll hire Max so he can drive you wherever you want, Miss Honey. That way, he'll have a job too."

Max tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, a smile creeping onto his face at the boy's sheer innocence. "Good to know you've got my future covered," he joked, his words barely registered as his gaze drifted to the passenger seat. Honey's laughter filled the car, soft and unguarded, with her eyes wrinkling at the corners in a way that made something tighten in his chest. The light caught her just right, and before he could push it away, the thought slid in quietly: Is this what it would be like if he ever chose to be happy instead?

Sunrise Muffins and candied ginger served in the morning, strolling through children's stores with idiotically charming names, listening to songs he would've never chosen himself but found himself loving because it made her hum quietly under her breath. The unsure tilt to every child's word, the way he instinctively reached out to hold his hand when crossing the street, and the warmth of her smile as she looked at him with eyes full of trust—all these things Max has never allowed himself to consider before.

There were relationships along the way, sure; some he needed more than he admitted, some he didn't value enough, a few that were just about keeping up appearances. No matter what, they always ended the same way: racing above all. No amount of love could be worth a lost win. He could either be successful or happy, but never both, and he has always gone with the same choice because the World Drivers' Championship isn't a title given to the loser who grins the widest.

The way Nikolaas's stare held his in the rearview mirror made him rethink it all, though.

Usually so sharp and unfaltering, his light blue eyes looked nearly gentle as he continued to dream aloud. He spoke of accolades, of holidays enjoyed with Honey, springs and winters spent happily since they could just be together; the teacher beamed at every word, wholeheartedly agreeing with his aspirations of record-breaking sweeps and an endless streak of victories. "If you put in the effort," she said, "anything can happen."

Max kept smiling and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, but he was silent. How could he say anything? Jos always shut him down whenever he brought up winning. His dad would cut him off the moment he mentioned a championship, saying he'd be lucky to end up a truck driver—just some idiot that wasted his life. Max didn't know how to be supportive or encouraging when he'd only learned through jeering and taunting. He didn't know how to change that next to two people who couldn't grasp that victory isn't just a moment to celebrate, either.

Vacations blurred into one another, overshadowed by the next race. Time off is devoted to training; the rare family luncheon is spoiled by the obligation to count macros and calories. Evenings are consumed by international meetings, strategy sessions, marketing strategies, sponsor obligations—late nights focus on reviewing race footage and sim practice. There is no balance, no pause, no chance to slow down without losing it all.

For Nikolaas, who's entering the racing world later than most, it will be even more challenging.

Max can only hope he has what it takes to support him through it all.

He switched off the engine. "Ready?" Max asked, huffing a laugh at the sight of Honey stepping out of the car with the same eagerness he had noticed on three previous occasions, smoothing out her long skirt with a sigh of relief as she planted her feet on solid ground. At least she seemed far more relaxed in the rental SUV he had chosen than she ever had in his sleek Aston Martin.

She attempted to reach for the duffle bags in the backseat, but he grabbed them first, smirking at her failed attempt; she helped Nikolaas unbuckle his seatbelt instead. MMax didn't allow himself the luxury of lingering on how domestic the moment felt.

"I rented the place out for five hours," he said as they made their way toward the entrance of Daytona's North Circuit, Nikolaas' glacier-blue eyes sweeping across the empty track. "You do not need to drive at all today, of course. We'll start with the go-kart, get you comfortable, and then head out for some practice laps."

"Thanks again for being here," Honey said, her lemon-patterned skirt swishing as she fell into step beside him. Max noticed the matching hair clip—an orange slice, perfectly paired with the glittering eyeshadow dusting her eyelids. It was cute enough to make his last-minute flight to England feel worthwhile.

"Not much of a mentor if I skipped Nikolaas' first day on the track, right?" he replied, a grin teasing at the corner of his mouth. He had a few days to spare before flying to Melbourne regardless.

"Not my mentor," Nikolaas denied. "Rival. Early start."

"Rival, right," Max corrected himself, setting the duffle bag down on an empty picnic table. "I hope my rival doesn't mind that I got him a gift for his first day."

He held the helmet in his hand, a custom piece, bright and covered in childhood sketches Nikolaas had drawn—scanned with care and sent by Honey. At the back, beneath Max's signature lion emblem, Nikolaas's initials gleamed in engraved letters.

The boy stared at the helmet with something close to awe.

Behind the ancient-looking recorder she had taken out to film, Honey grinned ear to ear, zooming in as Nikolaas accepted the gift. Inch by inch, he ran his fingers over the intricate details of the helmet. "2008 Italian Grand Prix," he whispered, staring at a drawing of Vettel's first race win. "2005 Japanese Grand Prix. 1993 European Grand Prix. 1984 Monaco Grand Prix. 1976 Germany Grand Prix."

Honey chimed in, her voice teasing. "2021 Abu Dhabi," she said, and Nikolaas's cheeks burned like the tail lights of a car braking too late, hugging the helmet like it could make him disappear.

Max let out a laugh, trying to ease the tension. He got it if Nikolaas wasn't a fan of how that race turned out—he really did. But when Nikolaas flipped the helmet around at Honey's urging, it was Max who felt a rush of heat creeping up his neck.

Staring at the crayon drawing of himself kneeling next to his RB16B, fireworks exploding in the background, he suddenly found himself at a loss for words.

"I didn't see that one when you sent the files," Max admitted.

Honey smiled, as stunning as the day he first saw her, the stray strands of her brown hair dancing in the sunlight like golden threads. "I switched the design files you sent for revision," she told him, dimples appearing on her cheeks. "I told you—Nikolaas is a fan,"

"I'm not," the six-year-old insisted, his face grave. "Good driver is hard to find. We're rivals"

"Rivals," Honey corrected with an indulgent smile, stopping the recording. She stroked his inky hair in passing, making her way to the reception desk to sign the safety waiver.

Nikolaas turned to him.

"I'm not your fan," he repeated firmly, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Max's smile didn't waver. "I'd be worried if you were," he agreed, reaching for the folded suit inside the bag, stifling a laugh as he handed it to Nikolaas. "Better gear up first. You'll need every advantage you can get to beat me."

Nikolaas snatched the suit, fire in his eyes. "I will beat you!"

Max wanted to see it happen.

Would he still be in F1 by the time Nikolaas was old enough to compete? No, he figured—Max wasn't going to drag it out like Alonso or Hamilton, always chasing one more season. He'd rather be happy by then—watching from the outside with a drink in hand, a few kilos heavier if Honey continued to bake like she did, content with knowing he'd passed the torch to someone who could carry it even further than he ever had the ambitions to. And if that someone turned out to be Nikolaas? That would be a legacy worth leaving behind.

"I'm so nervous I misspelled my name, and here you are chuckling to yourself," Honey remarked with a playful lilt as she settled beside him on the weathered picnic table. She was holding a clipboard, ink smuched on the side of her hand; she had a freckle near her wristbone, Max noted, and not a single ring has adorned her fingers in the few times they've met in person. He couldn't help but grin.

"Miss Honey," he said, "ever think about legacies?"

With the at ease demeanor of someone who had dealt with countless odd questions from students, the teacher answered without refrain. "From time to time," she responded. "My mothers are quite renowned in their fields. I figured I could never quite live up to their accomplishments, so I chose a different path for myself all together. What about you, Mr. Verstappen?"

It wasn't quite what he was referring to. "My dad raced in F1 as well," Max replied regardless, certain Nikolaas wouldn't waste a breath on Jos' lackluster career. "But karting was his real passion. He managed my career from the start. He wanted me to be better than he ever was—and, well, that part wasn't too difficult."

Honey had a slight tilt to her lips as she looked at him. "Look at us," she said, a wrinkle appearing at her nose as she grinned. "You've outshined your father's legacy, and I've done a little sprint from mine."

"You just started a new one," Max corrected her, glancing over as Nikolaas emerged from the main building of the track, clad in his racing gear, his helmet already in place. "And when he gets those championships, your name will be right there near his. That's a pretty amazing legacy to leave behind."

Honey's smile softened, her eyes glowing with affection.

"Yours will be there too," she told him. Max could only return her smile.

"Miss Honey!" Nikolaas called out, carefully tiptoeing across the uneven gravel. His dark blue suit was clean without the typical sponsers plastered all over it, well-made with thick padding and the assurance of CIK-FIA safety certification somewhere along the velcro straps of the neck. He walked oddly with the new suit, though, clearly not used to the weight and bulkiness of the protective gear, but it was so endearing the way his head seemed to bobble slightly with each step, the helmet weighing him down but not dampening his enthusiasm.

"You look like a professional already," Honey said, her voice filled with pride; she was already filming again, form cast aside. Max chuckled, crouching to double-check the helmet strap before rising to adjust the visor with a grin.

Honey's camera flash went off.

"I'm handing in the forms!" she said, her excitement bubbling over. "I'll be back soon! Don't start without me!"

"Let's go get ready. Good to go?" Max asked, his hand landing lightly on the boy's helmet. He remembered how his parents used to do the same to him when he had started out. It wasn't much, just a quick check-in, but it always felt reassuring, like a voiceless way of saying, 'I've got you.'

The silence as they walked to the garage felt familiar. Nikolaas was quiet in the same way Max used to be at that age. But the boy leaned into him, his small fingers clutching the fabric of Max's pants—a gesture Max would never have dared with Jos. The comparison felt foolish, almost obsessive, yet unavoidable. Was this happiness? Gently guiding Nikolaas' tiny hands to fasten the car seat buckles. Or was it pride—watching the boy give small, knowing nods as Max explained the importance of staying safe in the car? Teaching him how to release the brake, how much pressure to apply to the gas?

"I know," Nikolaas said, and Max believed him—of course he did. Nikolaas was brilliant like that. But something in the way the boy looked at him through the visor made Max wish he could pause time, sit down, and talk forever. About chassis, carburetors, and every intricate detail that turned cold metal into something alive—and for once, feel truly understood. Because this kid, who hung on every word and even corrected him on the finer points of engine maintenance, was the first person to really get it.

Checo had God. Vettel had his bees. Charles had his music, his boats, and the whole damn Monégasque sea. But Max? All he had was racing. Daniel had tried, but he loved dirt bikes just a bit more on their days off, and he had thought that maybe Lewis would be just a bit like him, with that endless hunger of his—but his world seemed impossibly vast, filled with fashion shows, galas, and things Max couldn't stand. So, he had grown used to it—the loneliness of being the only driver content with just that. Just being a driver. Ten years was a long time; no ache could last forever. Slowly, he was learning to be okay with it. Okay with the models who didn't quite understand what he was saying but smiled too widely anyway. Okay with the co-workers who laughed at his love for the sport, as if caring so deeply about it was somehow strange. It was becoming alright. Not perfect. Not painless. Just alright.

Max wasn't happy, but he was successful, and that was enough for him. He won Bahrain. Saudi Arabia. He'd take Australia, too. And when April came, Japan and the Chinese Grand Prix would be his—because who was going to stop him? Max had never slowed down for anyone. Not for his father. Not for friends. Not for teammates. Not even for the legends greater than him and everything he would ever achieve. Success would always be enough. The thought of it not being enough never crossed his mind. Not once.

Except now—except for Nikolaas.

Nikolaas sat motionless in his kart, even though Max had signaled for him to press the gas. His gloved hands gripped the steering wheel, his gaze locked blankly ahead. It had been enough—until Nikolaas. Quiet, cold, distant Nikolaas, who insisted on only being rivals and absolutely nothing more, turned to him. And in a soft, innocent voice, whispered, "I think I'm scared. Why am I scared?"

You could be successful, Max reminded himself—just like his dad drilled into him—or you could be happy. But not both. That's how it worked, right? As he tried to summon that same hunger, the one his dad had, the one that made Jos grab his shoulders so hard it hurt and push him past every tear, all Max could wonder was—had he really been that small once, too?

How the hell had he been that tiny, like Nikolaas? And how had Jos told him those things without breaking inside? Without just picking him up and saying, Forget it—everything's gonna be fine. You don't have to do anything but be happy.

"We can wait until you're ready," Max reassured him. "We've got all the time in the world." If he had to, he'd buy the track—probably. He'd figure it out later. For now, though, he sat down on the oil-stained floor beside the go-kart, resting his hand gently on its nose. He let his shoulders relax, offering a small, easy smile to show it wasn't a trick or some kind of game.

Nikolaas didn't have to pretend everything was okay when it wasn't. "Why am I scared?" he asked, looking down at his hands as if they held the answer.

Max thought for a moment before answering. "Because this is something new, and new things are always a bit scary."

"It's not new!" Nikolaas's voice wobbled, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. "I watch it all the time. Formula One. Le Mans. On YouTube. I know everything about go-karting. FIA. I know the rules. Why am I scared?"

Max gave a slight nod. "It's different when you're in it. Knowing how something works and actually doing it aren't the same," he said. "Feelings can mess with you, even when your head says it's all under control. Just give it time—your body'll catch up soon enough."

"Were you scared?" Nikolaas asked him.

Max wasn't quite sure how to respond. Sometimes, he believed racing was in his blood—that he hadn't flinched at the first engine roar and the initial taste of speed hadn't scared him at all. In reality, he just couldn't remember. His father had made him a go-kart for their backyard before he could walk confidently; he'd been racing ever since. Had he ever even had the chance to be afraid? "Oh, I was terrified," he lied regardless.

Nikolaas didn't buy it. "Does Hamilton get scared?" He asked.

Max grinned. "Of course!"

Nikolaas lifted his visor; his glacier blue eyes were narrowed with disbelief. "Does Alonso?" He asked quietly, as if afraid of being overheard.

With a grin tugging at his lips, Max leaned closer. "Come summer, when Honey gives the green light, I'll take you to a race. You can ask him then."

Nikolaas blinked, his expression blank for a moment, as if processing the words one by one. Then, suddenly, his whole body jolted with excitement. His voice shot up a little too loud. "Yes! That will be... Great!"

"It will be," Max nodded, pushing himself upright. His knees hurt a bit, stiff from sitting on the ground like that. Funny, he mused—only twenty-six, already aching, and somehow excited for summer like a kid.

At least Nikolaas seemed to feel the same way, fidgeting with his hands and speaking quickly. "Hamilton won the British Grand Prix eight times! He's got wins in Hungary too, but Schumacher holds the Belgian record. There's also the Belgian Grand Prix, the Dutch Grand Prix, and Monza! Did Miss Honey say which one I can go to? I need to know so I can get ready."

Max really hoped Honey wouldn't be too mad. "How about we do them all?" he offered casually. "I've got my own plane—I could fly you to every single race if you wanted."

His nose scrunched—not quite a smile, but it mirrored a certain teacher's expression. The fondness hit Max hard. "Don't tell Miss Honey," Nikolaas advised, lowering his voice to emphasize the importance. "She says it's bad. Taylor Swift too. She said she's not good for the air. Not good for the air or the earth. But we keep it a secret. No problem."

"Of course," Max said with a grin. Honey would hate the idea of a private jet—it just made sense. He'll have to call Seb and become a donor to Race without Trace before she finds out about this little indulgence, then. She might be more open to giving in when he takes them on vacations in the future. "So, want to head out now? If you kick things off today, who knows? You could be racking up wins by July. The grid's way more fun when you've got something to brag about."

Nikolaas's hands rested on the steering wheel, fingers tapping lightly as if working through a plan in his mind. "Okay," he agreed thoughtfully. "Wins will come fast if I start today."

Max still had to wheel the go-kart outside the garage, pushing it into the bright sunlight. "Let's make today the start of your winning streak," he said with a grin, and by the time they hit the track, Nikolaas looked more at ease, shoulders loosened in a way that only fast wheels and open air could achieve.

Nearby, Honey stood behind the barricades, waving both hands like a one-person cheering squad. Max knew better than to suggest she step over—she treated rules the way a cat treats a sunny spot on the carpet: with absolute, unwavering dedication. "Everything alright?" she called, practically buzzing. He responded with an easy thumbs-up.

Max tested the wheel, gave the seatbelt a solid pull—twice to be certain. Tires were good, his neck brace secure, and the engine purred to life with a satisfying rumble when Nikolaas turned it on. Max made sure the helmet buckle was fastened tight before backing up. "Follow me, yeah?" he instructed, and Nikolaas nodded.

The kart jolted forward, then stopped just as abruptly.

On the second attempt, it moved smoother, inching along as Max walked alongside Nikolaas. "That's good," Max told him, though they weren't even close to halfway yet. Jos would've slapped his helmet hard by now for going this slow; he could almost hear the phantom ringing in his ears. But Dad wasn't here, and Max was nothing like Jos—he took after his mother when it came to patience. "Just keep your eyes on the track and ease up on the brakes."

Nikolaas maintained a cautious pace, taking each curve of the track slowly and deliberately. Max would be content to support him at this speed all day, yet Honey's enthusiastic shouts at the barricade inspired Nikolaas to push himself just a little harder each lap, a little bit faster each time until Max had to step out of the way entirely, breathless and exhilarated as if he were the one racing.

Honey filmed Nikolaas as he raced around the track, the camera faithfully following his every turn. "He spent the whole night memorizing the track," she beamed at Max, her dimples deepening in pride.

Max glanced at the dull gray skies of Milton Keynes and thought they were all wrong for her; Honey would look gorgeous with a tan from lounging under the sun in the Maldives. But maybe it was better for him this way—she'd be too radiant and alluring with that sun-kissed glow.

"We should go out for dinner," Max suggested casually.

Honey nodded eagerly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Absolutely! There's this fantastic Mediterranean restaurant that Nikolaas adores! We should try it out before you leave for your next race," she suggested, already imagining the delicious dishes they would enjoy together. Max chuckled, knowing she had missed the deeper meaning behind his words, but that was perfectly alright. Like Nikolaas with his kart, a slow beginning wouldn't dim the excitement waiting just around the corner.

To his father, Max had reached the pinnacle of success.
And now, for himself, it was time to pursue happiness instead.

Honey could take all of the time she needed to catch up.
He isn't on a hurry anymore

ACCOUNT ALERT!

Max Verstappen's Jet 🛩 @VerstappenJet
Automated by @MicHighClub 🛩 Tracking Max Verstappen's private jet!

NEW TWEET!
Max Verstappen's Jet 🛩 @VerstappenJet
Verstappen's jet just took off!

🛫Alpes-Maritimes, France

NEW TWEET!
Max Verstappen's Jet 🛩 @ VerstappenJet
Verstappen's jet just touched ground!
🛬England, United Kingdom

Views replies...

username1 HELP this is this third flight to england this month helmut marko free my man

username2 on his way to fix this.

↳ username3 calling the RB20 a tractor when max won  Bahrain with a 23sec lead is insanity
↳ username2 Pérez should not be getting gapped that badly in equal machinery. its a bad car.
↳ username1 blah blah blah anyway can't wait to see my babygirl continue his domination from last year

username4 but seriously, why is Max in Milton Keynes when Australia is so soon?

NEW TWEET!
nini @SCUDERIAFEMBOY
selfemployed max verstappen pr manager

A fan met Max outside the daytona outdoor go-karting venue!

username5 he looks so good 😩😩
username6 imagine karting against THE max verstappen
↳ username7 according to the fan, he rented out the entire track for the day!! she talked about it on her tiktok
↳ username8 yeah apparently it was for a little kid she posted some pictures theyre really blurry tho
↳ username7 OMGGG was it with victoria and her kids? that would be so cute
↳ username8 it wasn't her. maybe a favor to a family friend?

ACCOUNT ALERT!

Formula 1 @F1
The home of risk takers, late brakers and history makers

The first ever F1 broadcast for kids will feature avatars of all 20 drivers alongside very special broadcasters! We will be live on @SkySportsF1 and @skysportformel each Race Sunday!

Can't wait? Check out the first F1 Kids video on our website for a taste of what's to come. Get ready for a fun and exciting new way to experience Formula 1 with the whole family!

Views replies...

username8 no one asked for this

username9 Hamilton fans rejoice!

username10 I mean fair enough, maybe there's an audience for it out there somewhere, but my kids have always watched normal F1 with me without issue.
↳ username11 "Yea!  How dare they make a thing I didn't ask for"
↳ username10 Lol you ok?

username7 wait a minute..... @username8 isn't that woman at 7:12 the same woman from the tiktok?
↳ username8 OMG IS THAT HER??
↳ username7 OH MY GOD THEY ARE SO CUTE THERES TEARS IN MY EYES
↳ username12 max took that little kid karting im going to throw up
↳ username13 wait where can i watch the video😭😭😭 they are so cute
↳ username14 they went out to eat afterwards!! oomf lives in milton keynes and said she saw max and that woman at a restaurant with the kid :3 she didn't take any pictures tho

username15 watching the video rn he charmed miss honey so hard my driver has got that nerd rizz

username16 LETS GO CHAT @f1 KEEP THE F1 KIDS CONTENT COMING WE NEED MORE MISS HONEY

username17 WE DEMAND MORE MISS HONEY

Views more replies...

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! ! !

honey and max with each other: blablabla first name place name backstory stuff
the internet: We Know Everything About You Now

honey is gonna FREAK i can't wait to be evil LOL