Chapter Matt Hernandez #3
Matt looks up at the front door, at Robert holding it open. He’s with a girl—probably that girlfriend he’s rumored to have—and Javier, who has a hand around this week’s groupie.
Both men look at the bar, their expressions falling when their eyes travel over Matt, then Laurent, who waves at them with barely contained glee. Instead of turning around and leaving, the men direct their dates over to one of the booths.
Unlike Matt and Laurent, who’ve had enough run-ins with people mocking them to last a lifetime, Robert and Javier have put absolutely no effort into hiding who they are. They saunter into the building with the grace and ease of well-loved individuals.
Matt, on the other hand, has tucked all of his dark curly hair into a plain cap. Laurent is even wearing fake glasses, so they’re seriously undercover.
“You okay?” Laurent asks, suddenly serious.
Matt huffs. “Yeah, I’m fine. We can be in the same room, it’s fine.”
The other drivers are a whole like, ten feet away. That’s fine. They’re more than welcome to witness Matt’s one point celebration.
“Hey,” the bartender says, sliding up to Laurent. He nods over to the booth. “I think those guys are Formation 1 drivers. You two here for the race?”
“Yeah,” Laurent replies with a hush. “Could you close my tab? We gotta get going.”
“It’s fine,” Matt repeats. His totally blasé expression is met head-on with Laurent’s disbelieving look.
“Sure thing.” The bartender seems disappointed to see them go, which is new. Laurent’s tab must be outrageous. “Want another round of tequila shots? On the house.”
“Non,” Laurent says, quickly. “No, thank you.”
“Actually—” Matt’s feeling a little dangerous tonight.
Possibly drunk. What’s the point of being in the same room with his sworn enemy if he doesn’t have a little fun?
“Could you send those shots to the drivers over there? The blondish, big one on the right? His team just scored a point today. It’s a big deal—he should celebrate. ”
Laurent has already signed the receipt, so he slaps a few more bills on the counter before he and Matt scurry out the door.
As soon as they’re in the clear, they lean on each other and laugh out loud. With their disguises on, they're just two tipsy nobodies, stumbling about on a Sunday evening.
Laurent almost staggers straight into a bush when he says, “Well, I guess you finally have your answer, at least.”
“What answer?”
“For the attractive question.”
Matt studies Laurent as his brain tries to catch up. Is he speaking French again? Where did their conversation go?
Laurent gasps and it sounds almost mocking. “C’mon. You didn’t notice? How could you not notice?”
“Notice what?”
“Robert’s girl looks just like you! Fuck, is she your sister or something?”
“Really?” Matt wants to go back and see. His attention wasn’t exactly on the girls when the group came in.
“Oh, that is so embarrassing for him!” Laurent cackles.
“Embarrassing?” Was Matt really so ugly?
“No, like—imagine hating your teammate so much and everybody knows, but then you go home and like, fuck him!”
“Yeah.” Matt gulps. “That’s—” What’s a good word? “Weird.”
“Jesus.” Laurent is still laughing. “You might not be my type, but you’re certainly his.”
Matt met Robert when he was five—back when Matt was still called Mateo and Robert was just Bobby.
Mateo’s father was a mechanic and a big fan of racing. So, naturally, Mateo was a big fan of cars and racing, even as a child.
Every morning, after his mother left for work, Mateo followed his father to the garage. He spent his days playing with his Cool Wheels cars on the waiting room floor, designing tracks and racing through them.
“One of my clients is a race car driver,” Mateo’s mother announced one night. She only freely spoke Spanish inside their house. Their small town wasn’t exactly steeped in southern charm for the residents with darker skin. “They have a little boy around your age.”
“For Formation 1?” Mateo had asked, excited. “Or IndieCar? Or FASCAR?”
“I’m sorry, mijo, I don’t know.” His mother pet his hair, scratching at his scalp with her longer nails. “They have a lot of trophies, and a lot of helmets, and a lot of newspaper articles on the walls. Keeps Mama busy all day.”
They would only have trophies if they were really good. Maybe they were even good enough to know Antonio Montoya. “Can I see?”
“I can ask, but I can’t promise anything. You would have to be on your very best behavior.”
“I can even help you!”
“No, no. You definitely can’t do that.”
It was a testament to how much she loved him that she even asked at all. Soon enough, Mateo was walking right beside her, up the sidewalk of the biggest house he’d ever seen in his life. In one hand, he clenched the fabric of his mother’s long skirt. In the other, his fastest toy car.
The lady who answered the door was really tall and really skinny. She welcomed them in with a, “And who is this young man?”
“Teo,” Mateo answered quietly, towards the ground.
“Mateo,” his mother repeated, louder.
“And how old are you, Mateo?”
“Cinco.”
“Five,” his mother translated.
Mateo nodded but continued staring at the ground. The lady wore shoes, even inside her own home. They made her look even taller, the sticks propping her up.
“My son, Bobby, is four. Qua-trow.” The woman turned suddenly and yelled out, “Bobby!” No one came, but the hallway echoed, repeating the name back to them. “I think he’s in the playroom. Would you like to meet him?”
Bobby had bright blond hair, just like his mother. It would darken over time, but in that moment, he looked almost angelic.
“Wanna play cars?”
“What is your favorite…” The announcer looks down at his card like it’s difficult to remember the most important part of a single sentence. “...Alcoholic drink?”
The crowd murmurs with anticipation and the Red Boar drivers smile at each other with a glint in their eyes.
“Beer,” Lucas says. Straight to the point and exactly what’s expected from a German driver with beer sponsors.
“Personally, I like myself a lil Vodka Red Boar.” Sam commands the fan stage like it was erected for him, and the crowd goes fucking ballistic.
Does he even drink Red Boar? Or is there something in his contract that demands utmost loyalty to the horrible substance?
The Red Boar drivers and the announcer look to Matt, because he's the one who stupidly decided to stand next in line.
“Azulve Tequila.” Matt tries to ignore the decibel difference between Sam’s answer and his own, but it’s like a golf course out there.
Some guy coughs about a hundred yards away.
“And you, Robert?”
There are more cheers at the mention of Robert’s name than there were to Matt’s answer. Matt doesn’t notice.
“I like a shot of tequila.” Robert waves at the crowd as they scream for him. “If it’s free, even better.”
A fan in the crowd shrieks, “I’ll buy you a shot!” which starts a group chant of “Shot! Shot! Shot! Shot!”
Matt can literally feel Robert's stare on him, that smug, arrogant fucker. He’s just waiting for a reaction—waiting for him to flounder—but Matt won’t give him the satisfaction.
For Bobby’s fifth birthday party, his family rented out a karting facility.
Most of the kids were from Bobby’s preschool. Mateo didn’t know a lot of other children, so he was quickly overwhelmed by the number of screaming kids gathered in such a small space.
Bobby must have sensed his unease. He stuck close to Mateo the entire afternoon and tried to introduce him to the other kids who also liked cars.
By the time the group decided to go racing, Mateo was nearly shaking—vibrating with excitement to get outside and drive his own car.
He watched enough Formation 1 and played enough Cool Wheels to know where to drive. He cut the corners, followed the race line, allowed for a wide swing around the hairpin turn—exactly like they did on the TV.
He just couldn’t figure out when to brake. Mateo kept his foot on the gas and bounced off the tire-lined barriers and other cars more than a few times.
Still, every jolt—every corner that some acne-prone teenager had to dig him out of—was exhilarating, and he continued to barrel forward.
When it started drizzling—just a light sprinkle of water, really—the adults took it as a sign for the group to retreat inside and eat pizza and cake.
Mateo sat next to the window that overlooked the track and frequently checked between the group and the empty pavement. Would it be obvious if he snuck away? Would the attendants let him drive in the rain? Professionals drove in the rain.
“You like karting, huh?” a man asked.
Mateo looked up and recognized Bobby’s dad from the pictures around his house. Mateo didn’t care about FASCAR, but he was willing to listen while Bobby talked about it in too-fast English. From what he gathered, Bobby's father was a champion.
Mateo nodded.
“You’re Maria’s son? The car lover?”
Mateo nodded again.
“Who is your favorite driver?”
“Antonio Montoya.”
Bobby’s dad looked momentarily surprised, then almost impressed. “He’s in Formation 1, right? Drives for… Mexico?”
“Team Wilhelms. Número cuarenta y ocho.” Mateo thought for a moment, counting up in English. “Four eight.”
Bobby’s dad smiled. “Y’know, this place has a summer camp for kids who like karting. We’ve signed Bobby up for it. Would you like to do it as well?”
Mateo’s eyes widened.
“You’d get to drive every day, learn how to go faster, how to brake. Every race car driver starts just like this, in karts. Does that sound like fun to you?”
Mateo nodded eagerly.
“I thought so.” Bobby’s dad stood back up with a smile. “I’ll talk to your mother about it. I’m sure Bobby would like having someone there he knows.”
“I’ve got a bit of good news for y’all.” Sylvain looks down the meeting table at Robert with a smile.
How good could the news be if it’s directed at Robert?
“The upgrades we’ve been working on are finally ready.”
Matt shoots upright, sitting taller in his chair. “They are?”