Chapter 16
Matt
Mexico Grand Prix
Qualifying
She so completely has me wrapped around her finger. And she has no clue.
I watch Chloe walk around the back of the garage, and I have to work hard not to think about her splayed out on that sand. All mine. Almost.
She’s in tight jeans, rolled halfway up her calves, new trainers, and a white dress shirt with a couple of logos signed into the breast. She’s wearing her glasses today, looking so businesslike.
So serious. The team principal. I wonder at the thought of the old Chloe seeing herself as she is today.
She would be so proud, if she ever believed it.
Chloe and I were offered a room to stay at Jasper’s house, but she put an end to that idea quickly.
“I want to go back, Matt,” she said after Jasper had given us his thoughts. “Get our heads in the game and prep for the week.”
As much as I wanted to stay in that room with her, to do things to her and watch her writhe with pleasure, I have to step carefully here. These are her rules, after all. Even if I want to break them every second I can.
We traveled back to Mexico City by car, and Chloe made her excuses and left me alone to fend for myself with the rest of the Arden team. She had shit to do, she told me plainly, in front of everyone. Clear as day she didn’t want me to bother her.
So, I hung out with Archie. I trained hard. I spoke to my therapist. And I focused on the thing I know Chloe really needs from me now: a fast race.
And I’m not just being altruistic; I can’t help but feel that any win on the track will be a win off it too. If I can get some good laps in for Chloe, if not for myself, then maybe she’ll open herself up a little more to me.
I smile to myself at the thought of it as Jasper crouches down beside the car to talk to me.
“I’ve increased the cooling vents, and we’ve maximized the downforce as much as we can.”
“Thanks,” I say, giving him the thumbs-up.
“It’s going to feel like Monza, Matt, despite the altitude.”
“I wish,” I say, grinning. Monza was my very last podium finish for Rossini.
“This car isn’t the shit heap I thought it was,” Jasper says, pulling out his tobacco pouch and looking around to make sure no one is listening.
“The coming upgrades are sound. Team is good. I’ve been through all of it.
Chloe knows her shit. There’s some now stuff we could get wrapped up in, but she wants to look long-term. Smart.”
“She’s a total fucking rock star,” I say, staring into my mirror again to see if I can spot her. “Just really great to have a team principal who is still on the floor.”
I see one of the pit crew smirking as Chloe’s talking to him and feel an almost instant rage at the thought of him undermining her.
“Mate?” I call out. The crew member, a buff twentysomething with an unearned swagger, flicks his hair back, and tries not to look concerned at being caught out.
“What is it, Matt?”
“How about you give Chloe the respect she’s fucking earned?”
Jasper raises an eyebrow at me, and then I hear the crackle in my earpiece and realize my radio has been live.
“I wasn’t laughing at Chloe,” he says, holding both his hands up. “It wasn’t that.”
Jasper leans in and switches off my mic.
“Maybe don’t be so fast, and um, passionate in your defense of the boss,” he says, nodding toward Chloe. “Don’t want the others to get the wrong idea.” Then he winks, putting the rolled-up cigarette between his lips.
I feel suddenly sick. “Shit,” I murmur. I must be careful here, because it’s one thing to fancy Chloe in secret and quite another thing altogether to have anyone find out. That’s what Chloe is most nervous about, and I have to honor that. “Thanks, Jasper.”
He chuckles like he’s seen it all. Then he pushes himself up, using the halo as a brace as he wobbles unsteadily. “I’m too old for this shit.”
I pat him on the forearm with my gloved hand. “Just give us a season, hey?”
“Good fucking luck, Matt. I always liked you. You puffed-up, arrogant piece of shit,” he says, before he walks off cackle-coughing.
I take a deep breath and turn the radio back on.
“Hi, Archie,” I say into my mic.
“Well, that was embarrassing,” he says teasingly.
“Fuck off,” I retort.
“You ready to get to the second qualifying round?” he says.
“I’m going to try,” I reply, watching the two Rossinis slide out of the pit lane ahead of me. I feel the nerves churning inside of me, but then, suddenly, I feel a little spark. Not a heat—not that deep fire—but something. Something coming.
I picture Chloe next to Archie on that pit wall, and I take another deep breath.
“Let’s do this,” I say, rolling out of the garage and joining the queue.
The Autodromo Hermanos Rodriguez is an old track, the original version built in 1959, with the first ever win here by a British Formula 1 driver. I’ve won here before too, a couple of years back.
I’ve always loved this track. The altitude brings with it some serious technical decisions, affecting the downforce and the grip level.
While the track itself has changed a lot over the years, losing some of its most thrilling and dangerous corners, it still has one of the longest straights of any circuit, and with that comes plenty of chances to overtake.
The grandstand is packed, Mexican flags waving in support of Red Bull’s Sergio Perez, racing on his home turf today. Nothing for Arden that I can see.
I drive slowly out of the pit, pushing Chloe to the back of my mind as I try to focus on the lap ahead. One slow warm-up lap and then I need to drive my fucking heart out. Hopefully I can make it on to the second round of qualifying.
The sound from the stands is deafening, and I glance in my rearview to see Perez pulling out of the Red Bull garage just behind me.
I close my eyes briefly.
I’m just racing myself.
It was an accident.
Stavros will come around.
The first lap around and the car feels good—heavy in the turns and fast out into the straights.
“Keep it easy, Matt,” says Archie. “We’ve got a few shots at it. Let’s let the track warm up.”
I launch down the straight, the force of the speed sending me back into the mold of my seat. The first corner comes fast—a tight right-hander. I brake hard, feeling the tires grip beautifully as I turn in, hitting the apex perfectly and powering out smoothly.
I am slightly stunned by the difference in feel.
The car seems balanced, and fast. My mind is clear, fear replaced by focus.
The engine roars as I push toward the Foro Sol stadium section.
I love this stretch of the track; it actually feels like a sports stadium, with the towering grandstands on all sides.
I feel the crowd’s energy surging, but I stay in my zone.
I keep my foot down, the car gripping the best line. As the start/finish straight appears ahead, I floor it, crossing in what I can feel is a good time.
“Fast, Matt. Holding thirteenth place,” Archie’s voice crackles in my ear. “Box.”
He wants me to come into the pit lane. Relief washes over me as I slow round the circuit once more and make my way into the pit. The crew blanket my tires, and we wait to see if I need to go again.
I glance up at the screen showing Sky Sports while I wait, listening to the commentary over the radio.
“That’s Arden through Q1 and into the second round of qualifying with both cars.
Noah Blacklock moving through in fourteenth and Matt Warner placing thirteenth with an aggressive drive and some serious pace in places.
It’s truly a surprise achievement this late in the season for a team all but written off.
Can they get through the second round of qualifying and make it into the top ten?
You’d have to think that’s a hope a bit too far for the struggling team. ”
I grimace. A “hope too far” that we might finish in the top ten is something I’m simply not used to hearing, but it fires me up.
I have a seven-minute wait now until the next round.
Time to collect our thoughts and prepare.
With just fifteen cars left, the goal now is to finish in the top ten.
An impossible task for Arden three weeks ago, but is it still?
A finish in the top ten would give us our first points of the season.
I try to calm my nerves, but I really want those points for us.
“Four minutes,” says Archie, as I crane my neck to see if I can spot Chloe.
“Keep your focus, Matt,” he says now, as if sensing my distraction.
“Good luck, my little puppy,” another voice says. Barry. Jesus Christ, who gave him access to a microphone?
This time, the car feels perfect as I navigate the first few corners, but as I approach the tight right-hander, the fucking flashes return.
Stavros. I see him, and my stomach turns.
No. Focus.
My grip tightens, and I hesitate, braking a fraction too early. The car skids slightly, but I quickly regain control, pushing past the fear and refocusing.
It was a racing accident.
He’ll come around.
My mind barely clears, but just enough for me to finish the rest of the lap. The car responds flawlessly as I power through the final corners and across the line.
My time. What is my time? Where am I placed?
Archie’s voice crackles in my ear. “You didn’t quite make it into Q3. But you got eleventh place, Matt!”
Damn it. I just missed out on getting through. Still, when we start on the grid tomorrow, I’ll be in place eleven and breathing down the neck of the top ten. I’m actually in points contention for the first time for Arden.
“Well, that’s something. Car felt great.”
“You looked great, bro.”
Relief, but also a long-forgotten sense of achievement washes over me. I haven’t made it to the final round of qualifying in a while. I have a long way back to peak performance, but I’ve delivered a season best.
Archie chuckles. “Not bad for a . . . what did they call you? A lame dog?”