#catch myself doing it trying to fall asleep……..in the car……..

[formulafanfics13]

the cracks don’t ask permission - MV1

masterlist || Part 1

Summary: After years apart and a child kept secret, you let Max Verstappen meet his daughter, Aurora, for the first time. The reunion is raw, emotional, and quietly devastating — but it cracks something open. As Max proves he’s changed, and Aurora calls him a “safe dream,” old feelings resurface. You kiss him. And it feels like coming home.

Warnings: Emotional intensity, references to past heartbreak and single motherhood, heavy themes of secrecy and regret, child involved, complicated family dynamics, subtle reconciliation, mentions of long-term relationship with another man, brief mention of lying. Bittersweet, then hopeful.

You keep your eyes on the floor. Think about nothing. Think about everything. About Monaco. The hallway. The words you never meant to say. The look in Max’s eyes. He didn’t cry. He didn’t beg. He just looked at you like you ripped the heart out of his chest and walked away with it. Because you did.

And the worst part? He was right. You do still love him.

You feel it, underneath your skin, the fracture you tried to seal cracking again. Because you can’t unsee it now. Max’s eyes. Her eyes. The way she moves. The way she scrunches her nose when she’s annoyed, his nose, his exact frown, the one you used to mock when he missed pole.

You’d convinced yourself she didn’t look like him. You were wrong.

You tuck her into bed that night, forehead kiss, lullaby hum. But she asks, “Mama, why are you sad?” and it hits you in the chest like a sniper shot.

“I’m not, baby.”

“You’re lying.”

You blink. “Why do you say that?”

She shrugs. Innocent. Honest. “Your face is loud.”

You cry in the kitchen after Matteo falls asleep on the sofa. You think it’s the end of it. You pray it is. It isn’t.

Max texts you a week later. You don’t know how he got your number. You’re not even surprised.

Unknown Number I don’t want to fight. I just want to know her name.

You stare at the screen for thirty-three minutes. Then reply.

You It’s Aurora.

You close the app. Turn off your phone. But when you wake up the next morning, he’s sent another one.

Max That’s perfect. Of course it is. You always picked the best names.

He doesn’t message again after that. But something inside you won’t settle.

The next time you see Max is not planned. It’s Barcelona. Another sponsor event. Matteo can’t make it. You go alone. Half-day. Smile and wave. But you see the Red Bull logo the second you step out of the car and your stomach sinks. You try to stay in the back. Quiet. Off-radar. But Max sees you anyway. Of course he does.

He corners you in a side room. Not aggressive. Not dramatic. Just there. “I don’t want to start anything,” he says. “I know you’ve moved on.”

You say nothing.

“But I can’t stop thinking about her. I can’t stop seeing her in my head. I see her in you. And I’m not asking for custody or visitation or to fuck up your life. I just… I need to know her.”

“Max.”

“I’ll stay away. If that’s what you need. I just want to meet her. Once. Five minutes. I’ll never ask again.”

Your breath hitches. “You don't get to pop in and out of her life,” you whisper. “You don’t get to disappear and reappear and expect access.”

“I didn’t disappear,” he snaps. “You did.”

The silence turns sharp. You look away. He exhales. Softer now. “I’d be good to her.”

You don’t mean to, you really don’t, but you say it before you can stop yourself. “She’d love you.”

It breaks him. You see it. The hit. The devastation. The inhale he can’t catch. And when he speaks next, it’s like he’s barely holding it together. “You kept her from me. For years. And I get why. I do. But if I walk away now, I’ll never forgive myself. Not again. I let you go once. I didn’t fight. Because I thought you’d come back.”

He steps closer. You don’t move. “I never stopped loving you. Not one fucking day. And I know it’s too late. I know you’ve got him, and a life, and she calls someone else Papa. But let me meet her. Let me see her, just once. That’s all I’m asking.”

You whisper, “Why now?”

He laughs. Broken. “Because now I know she exists.”

You should say no. You do say no. But that night, you watch Aurora sleep, little fists curled, lashes long and dark like his, and something inside you buckles. The next morning, you text him.

You We’ll be at the park on Sunday. 10 a.m. If you come, you come as a friend. No explanations. No claims. If she doesn’t like you, it ends there. No second try.

He replies instantly.

Max I’ll be there.

It’s cold for June. Not enough to cancel plans, but enough to pull a cardigan around your shoulders and worry whether Aurora will ask to leave early. You don’t tell her who you’re meeting. You just say a friend. You pack juice boxes and tissues and two granola bars. She wears the yellow sundress Matteo picked out, the one with tiny sunflowers stitched along the hem.

You keep checking your phone. You don’t know why. Max didn’t need a reminder. You know he’ll come. You just don’t know what it’ll feel like.

Aurora chatters beside you, holding your hand, pointing out clouds shaped like bears and balloons caught in trees. She’s everything good you’ve ever touched. Everything innocent. Everything Max never got to see.

Until now. Because there he is. Sitting on the same bench where you always take your coffee. Black hoodie. Jeans. Cap low. Nothing fancy. But the second Aurora sees him, she stops walking. Your heart stutters.

She blinks up at you. “Who’s that?”

You swallow. “An old friend.”

Max stands. His hands are in his pockets. He looks nervous. Not in the way you’ve seen before, not race-start pressure or PR exhaustion. This is different. Raw. Human.

Aurora tilts her head. “He looks like me.”

You inhale. Hard. Max steps closer. Slowly. Like he’s not sure the ground will hold. “Hi,” he says, voice soft. “I’m Max.”

Aurora stares. Then, with that signature tilt of her head, the one you’ve always known came from him, she asks: “Are you my daddy?”

Your stomach drops. Max’s face goes blank. His mouth opens. Closes. Then he kneels, right there, on the pavement, crouched to her level.

“I’m a friend of your mama,” he says gently. “I didn’t get to meet you when you were born. But I’m really happy I get to meet you now.”

Aurora thinks. Frowns. Then shrugs. “Okay.”

You exhale so hard it feels like your ribs crack. Max glances up at you. Just for a second. Just enough to silently ask: Can I? You nod. And then she walks right into his arms.

Max doesn’t cry. Not out loud. But you see it. The way his whole body trembles when her little hands wrap around his neck. The way his eyes shut like this hurts just as much as it heals.

She says, “Your face is loud.”

He laughs, wrecked. “Yours too.”

They sit on the bench together. Talk about squirrels. Favourite colours. She tells him her teddy bear is named Pistachio and hates bananas. He listens like she’s the only person on Earth. You sit on the grass. Watch them. And when Aurora runs off to the jungle gym, Max stays quiet. Then says, “Thank you.”

You blink. “For what?”

“For letting me see her.”

You nod. Don’t speak.

He swallows. “She’s perfect.”

“She’s her own person.”

“I know.” He hesitates. “But she’s… she’s also us.”

Your throat closes.

“She has your laugh,” he adds, eyes still on her. “And your hands. And my frown. Poor girl.”

You laugh wetly. He looks at you for the first time in weeks. And it’s all there. The pain. The love. The fucking ache of what could’ve been.

“She asked if you were her dad,” you whisper.

He nods. “I heard.”

“She’s never said that before. Not once.”

“She’s smart,” he says. “She knows.”

You pick at the edge of your sleeve. “She calls Matteo Papa.”

“I know.”

“He loves her.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Silence. Then “She can love more than one person,” he says, voice barely there. “So can you.”

You look at him. Really look. He looks older. Tired. But steady. Real. You say, “You’re not who you used to be.”

He smiles. “Neither are you.”

“Doesn’t mean we’re better.”

“No,” he says. “But maybe we’re braver.”

Aurora runs back over, demanding snacks. Max pulls one from the bag and hands it to her. She beams. He beams back. And then, she rests her head on his shoulder. Like it’s always been his. You feel something crack wide open.

Later, walking home, she asks, “Will I see Max again?”

You hesitate. “Do you want to?”

“Yes,” she says instantly. “He feels like a safe dream.”

You can’t speak. Not until she’s asleep in bed, soft breaths and tangled curls. Not until you step outside and find Max still waiting on the corner. You don’t say anything. You just walk to him. And kiss him. Quiet. Soft. Familiar. He kisses you back like he never stopped. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s been waiting years. And maybe he has.

When you finally pull back, breathless, he says, “I never asked you to leave him.”

You nod. “I know.”

“I just wanted to be enough.”

“You always were.”

He cups your cheek. “So what now?”

You don’t have the answer. But you have this. Him. Her. Here. The rest, you’ll figure out. Together.

[madaqueue]

if you guys see me going through something with aventurine………look the other way