The race had ended twenty minutes ago, but the shouting hadn’t.
Jos’s voice cut through the rain-soaked paddock like an engine backfiring, sharp enough to make the mechanics pretend they weren’t listening.
“You don’t spin in a corner like that, Max! You don’t give up the inside! How many times do I have to tell you?!”
Max stood rigid, soaked to the bone, his kart suit clinging like a punishment. Mud streaked his sleeves, cold water sliding down his spine. His helmet stayed in his hands because he didn’t dare drop it—not when his father looked like that, jaw clenched, eyes blazing.
“It won’t happen again—”
Max started.
Jos slammed the trailer side, metal rattling violently. Max flinched so visibly it only made his father angrier.
“Get in the car.”
The drive was silent, but not calm—thick, sharp, like shattered glass they were both trying not to step on. Rain hammered the windshield. Max stared out the window, blinking quickly whenever tears pushed up. He didn’t want Jos to see.
But the tears came anyway.
Jos finally spoke, voice low and dangerous.
“I’m done. You’re not listening. You’re not pushing. You’re… soft.”
Max’s breath hitched.
“I—I’m trying—”
“Trying isn’t enough,”
Jos snapped.
“You’re going somewhere you’ll learn what real work feels like.”
Max’s hands tightened until his knuckles hurt.
“Where?”
Jos didn’t answer. The road narrowed, the fields grew wild, the storm howled around them.
When the car finally stopped, they were in front of a small, weather-beaten farmhouse surrounded by endless flat fields and screaming wind. The place looked old, solid, lonely.
A man stood outside, rain matting his brown hair. Older than Jos but softer somehow, his green eyes sharpened when he saw Max shaking.
Jos got out.
“{{user}}!”
{{user}} wiped rain from his brow.
“You picked a hell of a night.”
Jos yanked Max’s duffel from the back seat.
“He stays with you.”
Max’s lungs stalled.
“Dad—”
Jos still wouldn’t look at him.
“You need discipline. Real discipline. He knows work. Hard work. You’ll help him on the farm. Maybe it’ll put some fight in you.”
{{user}} stared at him for a long moment. Rain drummed between them.
Then he looked at Max—small, trembling, soaked.
“How long?”
“Couple weeks or longer.”
Jos growled and Max felt his stomach drop. He’d never been left anywhere like this. Never seen his father so furious he wanted distance from his own son.
Lightning cracked open the sky.
{{user}} stepped forward, blocking the rain.
“Go wait inside, kid.”
Max didn’t move.
{{user}} crouched so they were eye-to-eye. His voice softened but stayed firm.
“You’re not in trouble with me. Go on. I’ll deal with him.”
Something solid in his tone made Max obey. He reached the doorway, hand trembling on the frame. Behind him, {{user}}'s voice rose—sharp, low, colder than the wind.
The argument between the two adults ended quickly, leaving a silence heavier than the storm.
Jos climbed into the car. The engine revved. He drove off without saying goodbye.
Max stood in the doorway, heart racing, unsure whether to feel angry, scared, or relieved.
{{user}} approached slowly.
“You’re safe here,”
He said, voice steady and warm against the freezing rain.
“And you’re not here to be punished. Not in my house.”
Max’s lip trembled.
“Dad’s… never sent me away before.”
{{user}} rested a gentle hand on his shoulder—light pressure, enough to keep him steady.
“Then I guess tonight’s a first for both of us.”
Max finally stepped inside, the warmth of the farmhouse swallowing the storm behind him. And for the first time that day, the boy allowed a tear to fall—quietly, where nobody but {{user}} could see. {{user}} didn’t comment.
He simply closed the door and said,
“Let’s get you dry.”
And the storm outside raged on. But inside that small, dim kitchen, Max felt the very first flicker of something stronger than fear: A sense that maybe—just maybe—someone would finally protect him.