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MADDEN

T he roaring sound of my car’s engine echoes through the stadium as the final lap begins. My adrenaline is at an all time high as I grip the steering wheel tight ready to take this win.

The final race of the season is being held in S?o Paulo at Interlagos .

I’ve won the most races and accumulated the most points. That’s a fact.

I’m the favorite and the one that is set to win this season.

Outside, the Circuit stretches out beneath the night sky, illuminated by a constellation of track lights and the flashlights of the fan’s phones.

The narrow, winding streets that form the circuit never cease to amaze me. It’s a masterpiece carved into the heart of this beautiful country.

The crowd cheers and roars in excitement, blending with the throaty growl of engines and the whoosh of tires gripping the asphalt.

In the crowd, I catch sight of Lincoln, my bodyguard, wearing my car’s colors as he cheers along with the crowd.

Here we go.

This is the moment when all my hard work pays off. This is where I show everyone who doubted me and ridiculed me that I am someone— and they were fucking wrong.

I see my father’s disappointed face and my brother’s angry one when I close my eyes.

All the struggles I’ve faced throughout my life flash through my mind fueling me with the need to make something out of myself. To reach for all the fucking stars that were so out of my reach once.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes once again and let the loud growl of the car fill me with adrenaline and ground me. The past fades into the back of my mind as I focus on the race ahead instead and nothing else matters but that title.

Winner.

World Champion.

Nothing else.

The countdown begins and red lights turn on one by one.

I glance around at the design of my car’s cockpit, where my team arranged every component meticulously for the best functionality. The red and black steering wheel is packed with buttons, switches, and dials. Each control allows me to make crucial adjustments without taking my hands off the wheel.

I keep looking around the inside of the car. My team made sure the cockpit is surrounded by a protective device— a transparent shield offering a clear view of the track while ensuring my safety. The view is slightly distorted by the glass, but it’s nothing compared to the rush of adrenaline I feel every time I look out.

There’s a sea of colors as spectators wear the colors of their favorite racer.

The color that stands out the most is red.

Rosso Corsa.

My color.

“This is it, boy. Give yourself up to speed and watch as it leads you to greatness.” The voice of the wisest man I know, Danny, plays through my mind as my anthem. “Atta, champ.”

The memory of him brings me comfort as I adjust my gloves and tighten the straps of my harness. The roar of the engine warming up and the distant cheers of the crowd filter through my helmet.

“You’re going to be somebody, boy.”

With everything in place, I take a deep breath, ready to finish this and take home my first big win and the title.

I grip the steering wheel with a determination born of years of heartbreaking sacrifice and hard training. The finish line is close, just a few hundred meters away, but as I maneuver through a curve, dark memories from my past begin to surface trying to take over. Memories of things I buried long ago begin to cloud my mind. Every fucked up shit that was done to me flashes through my mind. I remember the mocking words from those who said I would never make something of myself, the loneliness and darkness that once consumed me, and the bitter taste of a life without dreams. I remember the nights I spent hidden in a closet not knowing if that would be the night my brother would take it too far. The nights I walked the streets of Philadelphia alone looking for a warm place to rest for the night and digging through other people’s trash to relieve the pain in my stomach. The times I stole food from the foster homes I was placed in just so I didn’t go without.

Then as I take the last turn, their voices hit me at full force.

“You killed her.”

“You ruined papa.”

“We’re fucked because of you.”

“You should be dead, Madden.”

“YOUU.”

The unyielding thoughts punish me, making my hands tremble slightly, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, I feel as though I might fuck this up. I might lose this one. I can’t let that happen. I’ve sacrificed too fucking much for this.

Since I started racing I hadn’t lost a single race.

This one couldn’t be the first. Fuck, no. This one will give me the title of champion.

The past and the present seem to drag me back, threatening to pull me down and keep me below water, unable to breathe surrounded by shadowy abyss of hopelessness and loss.

But I fight through it.

I don’t let that shit conquer me.

Then, out of nowhere, something shifts. Through the agonizing darkness a fleeting image flashes before my eyes—a soft, warm and kind smile. The smile that once made me believe this world wasn’t all bad. The smile that belonged to the girl with wild curls that reminded me of sun-kissed honey and eyes the same shade as the clear sky.

The fairy girl, who believed in me when no one ever did. Her smile even now had the power to light up my darkest moments and remind me of the person I used to be when it was just me and her in a magical garden.

The hardened boy who didn’t believe in anyone or anything let alone himself and his sweet as can be fairy who believed in him more than she ever believed in magic.

The memory of her smile is like a sudden burst of light and clarity amidst the darkness of my past.

I take a deep breath, shaking off the ugly memories when I hear her soft and beautiful voice urging me forward, telling me I’m stronger than I know and calling me her favorite person.

Shit.

There’s a tightness in my chest that blindsides me when I think of her but I push through it and refocus on the track and the race. I turn to look at my opponents and then I push the accelerator to the limit, my car surging ahead with a fierce burst of speed leaving them behind. The growl of the engine roars louder, yet it doesn’t seem to drown her.

You can do anything…

One day… you’ll see.

You’ll do great things. How could you not, my favorite person.

Her soft voice plays through my mind like the loveliest melody I’ve ever and will ever hear guiding me forward.

As I hurtle toward the finish line, all that has kept me down all these years dissipates, replaced by a powerful surge of confidence and determination. Like always the final few meters are a blur of motion and noise. The car’s tires screech as they grip the track, and with a final, triumphant push, I cross the finish line crowning myself the winner.

The crowd erupts into a thunderous cheer as my car skids to a stop, victory assured. Through the haze of adrenaline, I allow myself a moment to savor this feeling in my chest. I won. I’m the fucking best and no one can take this from me. No one.

As I step out of the car, the cheers of the crowd wash over me, but it’s her smile, warm and encouraging, that remains the brightest image in my mind even after so many years have passed. Facing the crowd, I take off the helmet and take everything in. I did it.

I’m not that angry kid who was shipped from home to home because no one ever wanted him. I’m also not my brother. I’m not my father.

I not only conquered the Grand Prix, but I also made the dream this country promised my father a reality.

I did it.

I’m Madden fucking Hunt.

Formula One World Champion.