#dad max

At first, everyone assumes it’s some European fashion thing. Maybe a sponsorship. Maybe superstition. But then he walks into the paddock, cool and collected in his Red Bull uniform, and the ring is still there.

Plain. Silver. No-nonsense. A wedding band.

“Is that real?” Lando whispers under his breath, leaning over to Charles as they wait in the drivers’ meeting.

Charles shrugs, watching Max take a seat across the room, perfectly unfazed. “He looks… smug.”

And he does. There’s something different about him today—calm, confident, like he’s in on a secret the rest of the world doesn’t deserve to know.

“Max,” a reporter calls later during the media pen scramble, voice rising over the usual noise. “We noticed the ring—are you—uh—”

Max raises an eyebrow, lips twitching. He doesn’t stop walking. “Observant today, huh?”

That’s all he says.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, you curl deeper under the hotel duvet, still in one of his oversized Red Bull shirts, watching the chaos unfold from your phone. The group chat is in flames. The headlines are a mess. The fans are speculating everything from secret baby to PR stunt.

You can’t help it. You laugh.

Because it was your idea, really.

No soft launches. No Instagram hints. Just one silent, defiant little band on his finger.

Let them guess.

⸻

Messages flew in constantly:

Lando: If I see that man I’m throwing hands. Carlos: I will stand in front of her like a wall. Charles: I can distract him with Ferrari drama. It always works. Lewis: I’ll simply out-dress him until he goes blind. Daniel: Knife emojis. Oscar: Wait are we being serious?? Alex: Deadly serious. George: I’m building a schedule so we can rotate who’s on guard duty.

Max hadn’t said anything in the chat. But when he saw you giggling again — even just a little — he knew the others were doing what he couldn’t always do: give you the space to just be.

The Human Wall

It started in Monza.

Jos appeared in the paddock like a storm cloud, striding towards the Red Bull garage with his usual scowl.

You were sitting just outside with Kelly, happily painting little flowers on her nails, completely unaware.

And then, suddenly—

Wall of Drivers.

Lewis and George flanked one side of the entrance. Charles, Carlos, and Oscar filled in the middle. Daniel somehow appeared with a tray of espressos, “accidentally” spilling one to block the path. Lando and Alex dragged a folding chair right in front of Jos’s feet.

“Sorry, hospitality’s full,” Daniel said brightly, dabbing at his spilled coffee. “Try again never.”

Jos glared. “Move.”

Carlos crossed his arms. “No.”

“Out of my way.”

“Non.” Charles smiled politely, which only made it worse.

Lewis leaned in, voice calm but cutting. “She doesn’t need you. And you don’t get to hurt her again.”

Jos sputtered, but before he could bark back, Max himself appeared, putting one hand on your shoulder protectively.

“Go home, Dad.”

And for once, Jos actually did.

Creative Defenses

After Monza, it became a sport.

Every time Jos showed up, someone new took a turn keeping him away.

Singapore: Yuki and Pierre physically dragged you into AlphaTauri hospitality, declaring you their “emotional support mascot” while Pierre gave Jos the most Parisian side-eye ever recorded.

Japan: Logan literally handed Jos a fake paddock pass that redirected him to the wrong entrance. (“Oh, sorry, this is the media shuttle, sir.”)

Austin: The rookies — Ollie Bearman and Kimi Antonelli — linked arms around you like knights protecting a princess. Ollie even hissed at Jos like a cat.

Mexico: Checo’s family simply absorbed you into their clan. His mom kissed your forehead, shoved tamales into your hands, and said in Spanish loud enough for Jos to hear: “This one is ours now.”

The Intervention, Paddock Style

By Brazil, everyone was fed up.

You were happier now — lighter, brighter — but Jos kept trying. Lurking near the garages, glaring across hospitality, muttering under his breath.

So the drivers staged an “accidental” confrontation.

It happened in the pit lane after FP3. Jos was standing near the barriers, waiting, when suddenly… twelve drivers appeared at once.

Lando, arms wide: “Hey, mate, you lost? The exit’s that way.” Daniel, grinning: “Or we can escort you out! Five-star Uber service.” Carlos, glaring: “Except you don’t get five stars.” Charles: “Or any stars.” Lewis, calm as ever: “Listen. She’s a child. She’s not responsible for results, for careers, for anything other than being herself. If you can’t accept that, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

Jos tried to push past, but George blocked him cleanly. “Respectfully, sir, you’re not welcome. Not near her. Not anymore.”

And then Max appeared, helmet still in hand, fire in his eyes.

“You heard them. Stay away from my daughter.”

The pit lane went silent.

Jos opened his mouth — then shut it. For once, he had no fight left.

He turned and walked away.

And that was the last time you saw him in the paddock.

Sunshine Protected

You didn’t know all the details. You just knew that somehow, magically, Jos stopped appearing at races.

Instead, you were free again.

You bounced between garages, teasing Lando, braiding George’s hair (badly), stealing Checo’s snacks, doodling race cars in Charles’s notebook, letting Daniel convince you to do TikToks you’d regret later.

And every time you laughed, the paddock felt lighter.

Max would catch sight of you — radiant, alive, unburdened again — and his chest would ache with relief.

The drivers never told you about Operation Solar Eclipse. They didn’t need to.

Because you knew, in the way you felt safest whenever they were around, that they’d never let anyone take your sunshine away again.

And for Max? That was worth more than any championship.

The Group Chat Lives On

Daniel: Mission accomplished. Sunshine protected. 🌞 Lando: Can we still use the group chat tho Charles: Oui. For memes. Carlos: No, for strategy. Lewis: Both. Oscar: Guys she’s literally reading over my shoulder right now You: …what group chat George: DELETE DELETE DELETE

✨ End✨

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Max crossed the finish line, and the team erupted in cheers. He'd done it—another victory, another triumph. As his car came to a halt, you saw him leap out, still vibrating with the energy of the race. He hugged his team over the barricades, receiving a bunch of helmet pats in return. With a quick motion, he took off his helmet and balaclava, his eyes searching for you and Noor.

Your heart swelled with pride as he turned and spotted you and your daughter. He hurried over, his grin widening. Reaching the barricade, he planted a brief but sweet kiss on your lips. "I love you," he mumbled, his breath warm against your cheek.

"I love you too," you replied, your smile matching his.

Max then turned to Noor, who was practically bouncing with excitement. "Papa!" she squealed, her eyes wide with admiration.

Max scooped her up into his arms, hugging her tightly. Noor's small hands found their way to her father's head, ruffling his hair. He pulled back just enough to plant a kiss on her cheek. But to his surprise, Noor wiped it off with a little giggle.

"Woah, did you just wipe off my kiss?" Max asked, pretending to be shocked.

"Yeah," Noor giggled again, "because you're sweaty!"

Max laughed too, a deep, joyful sound. “Oh, you think you can get away that easily?” he teased. He began planting a flurry of kisses all over her face. “Go on, try to wipe all that off!”

Noor giggled uncontrollably, her small hands trying to fend off the kisses but failing miserably. Max turned to you with a mock-serious expression. “Look at this monkey wiping off my kisses,” he said, pointing at Noor.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Well, you are sweaty.”

“Oh, you think so too?” Max smirked, turning his attention to you. Before you could react, he covered you in kisses as well, making you laugh and playfully push him away.

Wiping your face in mock horror. “Oh no, now I’m all sweaty too!”

Finally, Max pulled back, his eyes softening as he looked at you and Noor. “Thank you for bringing Noor. This was the best win ever.”

You smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “We’re so proud of you, Max.”