"Let's get back to our argument. What do you think are the chances that I'll win the race? Vi, don't give her any hints, be a friend," he smirks, as if it's nothing more than a joke, but in his eyes I notice determination.
Remembering how we once drove together at the amusement park, I suddenly realize that Max drives much worse than I do. I've always been more confident behind the wheel, and here I know the guys competing drive way better. Max's chances are minimal, but I'm not going to say that out loud. Still, inside me, some strange feeling of unease begins to grow.
"I don't believe in your victory," I answer honestly, without hiding my doubts.
"That's exactly what we bet on. I win this race, and you fulfill my wish." His words make me burst out laughing, as if I've just heard the most ridiculous thing in the world.
"Yeah, sure. I don't think you've become a great racer over the years. What do you think, Grandpa Vi?" I need to hear his opinion. His words might help me see the situation from another angle.
"Maxim wins," the man answers with confidence, as if there isn't the slightest doubt. His words hang in the air, and I feel something twitch inside me. Too confident. Why believe in his victory so easily?
"Where does that confidence in him come from?" I can't hold back, asking the question that instantly comes to my mind.
"He's been competing for years, so I know what he's capable of." His voice is firm, without a hint of hesitation. He speaks like someone who has seen Max's victories, and that calms me a little, while at the same time making me uneasy.
"We'll see," I answer with a smile, though deep down I still can't shake the feeling of anxiety.
The question isn't who wins, but what happens afterward. For Max, this may not be just a race, but a whole battle with himself—and with me.
"You will have the first-place seat."
"And what does that mean?" I ask, not understanding what he means. My mind goes blank, while the tension inside me grows.
"You'll be my partner. So you're in for a fun ride with me." His voice is playful, but in those words I feel something that makes me instantly tense up. He speaks like someone who knows exactly what he's doing.
"Hey, we didn't agree on that." I can barely hold back my irritation.
I don't want to ride with him. I've long since gotten used to a quiet life, away from extremes, away from that crazy adrenaline rush we once loved so much. To dive into it again… no, I'm not ready.
"I don't care. Today you ride with me." His voice grows harder, and I feel anger rising in my chest.
"Goat," I answer him, unable to hold back my emotions. My tone is sharp and irritated.
"You're the goat yourself," he says in the same tone, not giving in.
Between us, the familiar wordplay once again hangs in the air, but this time I don't like it.
"Stop it. You already have a daughter, yet you act like kids yourselves," Vi steps in, and I notice the smile he tries to hide in his eyes. But his words make me relax a little. At some point I realize that my relationship with Maxim has turned into something resembling a childish game.
"She started it. Katrin always starts everything first." He sighs lightly, stepping away from me as if to end the conversation. He is ready to move forward without looking back.
"I see, love is back between you two," Vi interrupts again, his voice soft but with a hint of irony. Once again he puts us in an uncomfortable spot, as always, as if he knows exactly how to stir our fire.
We both glare at him, eyes threatening. Without words it's clear we don't like others interfering in our matters. He only raises his hands in a gesture of peace.
"All right, the race starts in twenty minutes. Get ready, and meanwhile I'll talk with Katrin."
The guy nods to that and, opening the hood, starts checking his "beauty." I can't help but notice how carefully and tenderly he touches the car. His hands glide across its surface with such ease and attention, as if he is caressing not just a machine, but something more. In his eyes there is something I can't quite grasp, but it's clearly not an ordinary attitude toward a car. It's something deeper, almost like attachment or even love, and it seems to me that he perceives it as a part of himself, as something that gives him strength and confidence. I feel a light surprise, and also a strange warmth in my chest, watching how focused and loving he is while fussing over the car. I used to feel the same toward my own car, the one I haven't driven for years, the one I now see only in Vi's photos.
We step aside to talk while my beloved decides to play the cool racer. He smiles, narrowing his eyes slightly, confident and a bit deliberate—as if this role is familiar to him and he gladly steps into it. I see his confidence, leaving no room for doubt. This mixture of acted boldness and genuine passion for speed, which I sense in his words, makes me chuckle softly. He is absolutely charming in his play, and I feel the excitement and a light thrill inside me becoming part of the moment.
"How are you? I mean, about your relationship with Max?" the man asks me, his gaze soft, as if he truly wants to understand what's happening inside me.
"A strange feeling. Like he's mine, but at the same time so foreign," I answer honestly, feeling my words echo inside my chest.
I can't fully explain what I feel. But the emptiness, the estrangement is so strong that I don't know how to deal with it.
"You two need time. I'm sure that after a while you'll be together again. You both can't live without each other." His words sound like certainty, like hope, but I can't believe it. Still, there's something in his voice that makes me at least consider it.
"You think so? I don't think I believe in anything anymore." I shake my head, my words coming out with a touch of fatigue and disappointment. The fear that we might lose each other again is too great to trust in a simple "time."
My friend lays his hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. His touch is warm and supportive, and at the same time I feel his gaze piercing right into my soul. He doesn't say anything unnecessary, but I know his support is exactly what I need right now.
"He has the right to act this way."
"I agree."
But at the same time, I cannot help but feel a sting in my chest. As if his behavior is justified, and I remain on the sidelines with my own feelings.
"He just wants to show you his pain, and after that, he will open his heart to you again," the man says with such confidence that I almost believe everything will be exactly that way. But the thought that I am also hurt does not leave me. Very deeply.
"You speak as if he is the only one who suffered, while I happily lived all these years," I say, offended, and I feel the pain rising inside me. I stay silent, but the resentment does not leave me.
"You both suffered. But you must understand him too." His voice is soft, yet firm, as if pointing out that I must put myself in Max's place.
And although I understand his words, I cannot help but feel that my own experience is also important. Something rises inside me — a mix of resentment and confusion, as if I am standing before a wall of misunderstanding. Yes, I see how Max suffers, but my own feelings do not disappear just because I understand. My heart pulls in two opposite directions, and I cannot find balance.
I do not have time to answer, because the signal sounds, meaning the cars must gather at the starting line. We quickly go back. I hug Victor, trying to collect my thoughts into one whole. My body feels a cold anxiety, but I cannot let it break out. Habit keeps me within bounds, but inside, emotions rage.
I sit in the car, trying not to think about what lies ahead. My hands tremble slightly, but I try to hide it. I do not want to be here, but I also cannot abandon Max. My heart is against it, but my feelings leave me no choice, as if it is a force I cannot stop. This inner conflict drains me.
Maxim drives to the starting line, and after the next signal we rush forward. The race begins instantly, and adrenaline fills my veins like fire burning inside me. My hands clutch the seat, my eyes fix forward. I silently watch the guy skillfully handle the car. I do not expect him to drive like this, and suddenly something inside me changes. I inhale, and suddenly I feel my muscles tighten, and in my chest appears something like pride. I begin to realize that I will lose to him. But instead of disappointment, I feel admiration, almost reverence. He is not just a racer — he is a master of driving. The way he turns the wheel, the precision with which he maneuvers between cars — it is like art. I cannot help but notice how each of his movements radiates confidence, something you can feel even in the air. He is clearly on many levels above me. And, I admit, this makes me want to know him even more closely. Everything I do not know about him suddenly feels like a key to something greater. I begin to feel that each gesture, each movement is another little secret I want to uncover. I want to be beside him in these moments when he is his new self, without unnecessary words, only actions.
"Come on, go faster!" Excitement overwhelms me, and I cheer him on, forgetting all my doubts. It is a strange feeling: fear and delight at the same time, like in a dark but alluring cave where there is no exit unless you go all the way through. This moment feels more alive than ever, and I cannot miss it.
"Max, they are close," I say, seeing the opponents in the side mirror, not hiding my tension. My body tenses, as if every muscle is ready to fight. Anxiety comes again, and I feel my heart racing wildly.
"I know, Rebel Girl, I know. We will break away now." His confidence is contagious, like a hot summer, and I feel the tension in my body melt, giving way to a bright sense of unity. He is not only a racer, but a true master. And I am here to witness his victory.
Max turns the wheel, taking another curve between the streets. Several cars follow him, trying to overtake. But my beloved gives them no chance. His fingers touch the wheel lightly, his eyes stay focused on the road. Adding more speed, he leaves them behind, as if showing his uncompromising strength. With every moment, I feel more and more how his professionalism passes on to me, and I start to believe that we will win. Not just because he is the best, but because we are together, and his confidence gives me strength.
After some time, the finish line appears, and adrenaline, like a powerful wave, overwhelms me, filling every cell of my body.
"I told you I would win." His words sound like a confident victory, like a reward for the effort. It is a victory not only on the track, but also within ourselves. I do not have time to answer, because at that moment I hear the sound of a siren.
It is law enforcement. In the blink of an eye everything changes, and I feel how the tension in the air becomes even stronger. We both know we must act fast, but I cannot get rid of the thought that this moment — everything we have — can disappear in a second.