Chapter Matt Hernandez #11
He expects to see a flash of pink and blue but it never comes. Did Robert get in an accident? Matt checks his mirrors, but Robert is still behind him, off the race line.
“Why isn’t he passing?” Matt radios in. There's an undercurrent of fear that he might get punished for Robert’s refusal.
“We’re finding out.” After too long, Darian radios again with, “New orders—the team wants you to race.”
“Race?!” Matt checks his mirrors again. Robert’s back on the race line and closing the gap. “Fuck! Okay, yeah, I can race.”
Matt had been bracing himself for the overtake for the first fifteen laps, expecting the inevitable, but as soon as he is given the all clear, he’s flying.
He has a full eight seconds of clean air ahead of him and Robert’s just eating shit from sticking close in the corners. Still, the second car stays within DRS, inching forward on the straights, and Matt’s adrenaline pumps so hard he takes the corners a little faster than he’s used to.
He’s cutting time to the VFIbr ahead of him, and he can only pray it’s not the fucking wunderkind.
“Car in front?”
“3.5 seconds.”
“Who is it?”
“Richardson.”
Okay, great. He can cut through on the inside, shove William back to defend against Robert, and lose them both on the straight.
Matt pushes, his gaze flicking to check the mirrors, to make sure Robert is still where he left him. He slowly closes in on the VFIbr, inching closer to DRS range. He has to be close enough when they pass the detection spot.
He is. Matt opens his DRS, overtaking William, and holds him off before they enter the fast corner.
—except, there’s a car already on the inside, braking late. The other Andes passes both Matt and William in one fell swoop.
“Fuck, Bobby, you weren’t supposed to pull it on ME!”
There’s nothing left for Matt to do but chase after him. He can feel Robert’s laughter echoing in his bones. That stupid, smug, sexy—
Oops, not that word.
They break away from William and approach a McLean. Robert overtakes it, pulling the same trick on the fast corner, and Matt can’t help the exasperation that bubbles up.
He was given the greenlight to race, but all he has is a front row seat to watch his good advice play out in real time.
The McLean holds Matt off for a few more turns before he finally gets the jump on it, his irritation building now that he has to play catch up again.
“How long to Robert?”
“4.2 seconds.”
Matt curses, but he’s closed that gap before.
“Box this lap.”
“My tires are fine.” They’ve got another two laps in them, maybe three. It might be enough to catch up.
“We’re going to double stack you.”
“What?!” Matt snaps. “Why?!”
“Your lap times are faster when you’re fighting each other.” Darian actually sounds excited for this batshit plan. “We don’t want to lose this momentum. Box box.”
Matt curses as he pulls into the pit lane, Robert ahead. He prays that they keep the other car’s stop to under four seconds, that he won’t have to wait. Before he dives into the bay, Matt’s relieved to watch Robert speed off.
When Matt parks, everything feels wrong.
Why don’t the mechanics have tires? Why do they look surprised to see him?
“Was anybody going to tell the team about this fuckin’ shit fuck plan?!” Matt yells into his mic as the pit crew runs to retrieve his tires.
“I’m so sorry.” For as calm and collected as he always tries to be, Darian sounds honestly upset.
Matt watches as the VFIbr he passed pits and leaves.
“Why do you hate me?” he asks, close to tears. “I gave you four years of my life. What happened?”
“We’ll talk after,” is the solemn reply.
When his tires are finally changed, Matt peels out of the pit, his confidence on the ground. Still, he asks, “Where are we?”
There’s a pause, so it must be bad. “P17.”
“Virtually or practically?”
“Virtually, you’re P14.”
“Okay.” Matt takes a shuddering breath. “Okay, I can work with that.”
Matt finishes twelfth. No points.
Robert manages eighth and, for the first time in Matt’s Formation 1 career, he’s happy for him.
“You must have been devastated by the team's decision to double-stack you,” the reporter says with an upbeat candor.
Devastation is just another Sunday for Mathew Hernandez.
“Yeah. I felt like we were doing really well—thought we had a chance for some good points—and it was all thrown away.” He shrugs, sweat still dripping from his curls. “Live and learn, I guess.”
“Before that nightmare, we saw some pretty amazing racing between you and your teammate.”
Matthew manages a weak smile. “Yeah, it was fun for a bit there. Wish we could have kept fighting a little longer.”
“We have a quote here, from your radio. ‘Expletive, Bobby, you weren’t supposed to pull it on me.’ What exactly were you referring to?”
“Y’all heard that?”
“Yes, it was on the broadcast. What is the ‘it’ that Robert pulled? How long have you called him Bobby?”
“Um…”
“What the fuck was that strategy?!”
“Robert, please calm down.” Sylvain cowers behind the barrier of his desk, his hands raised in a placating gesture.
For someone who couldn’t care less about Matt’s black eye and broken nose, he suddenly seems much more concerned about physical violence now.
“I’m not going to calm down until you explain to me why you nuked one of your drivers!”
The three of them are tucked inside the team principal’s office, away from prying eyes, but Matt can tell just by looking that the walls are definitely not sound-proofed.
It’s nice, however, to be on the same side as Robert in this particular argument.
“It was a strategic decision based on our available race data.” Sylvain sounds so gentle when he's talking to Robert. Usually with Matt there’s an undercurrent of ‘Just shut up, I’m the boss.’
“Did the available race data tell you our team was prepared to handle a double stack?”
“Your tires were degrading, but your fight with Matthew pushed you to be faster. It seemed like the smartest idea to keep you together.”
“Then box him a lap or two later! I just don’t understand how—”
“Robert, let it go.” It’s cute to see him so upset, but after seventeen races, Matt’s used to terrible Andes team orders. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fuckin’ fine, you idiot!” Robert turns to point his accusatory finger towards his teammate, and Sylvain relaxes. “They should be supporting you!”
“It’s just politics.”
“It’s not just politics,” Sylvain cuts in. He always needs the final word when it comes to Matt. “It was an honest mistake.”
Robert ignores the team principal, his attention solely on Matt. “What politics?”
“Because I was fired.”
“You were fired because you were talking to Kaas.”
Is that what he was told? “I only talked to Kaas after Andes told me my contract wouldn’t be renewed.”
“If that was really the case, they signed you suspiciously quick,” Sylvain grumbles.
“Yeah, it’s almost like I’m a good driver.” If he wants a fight, Matt can give him a fight. He’s not as explosive as his teammate, but he’s been much more frustrated for far longer. “I tested better than both Dimitriou and Khoza, and they were grateful to have my knowledge and insight.”
Robert interrupts, “but how does all of this fit in with what happened today?”
“Well, you’re the future of this team.” Matt fidgets in place. He kicks at the cheap carpet—pushing the pile back and forth. “I can’t do better than you, they won’t allow it.”
Sylvain scoffs, the sound mocking. “That has nothing to do with what happened today.”
Robert continues to ignore him, his focus refusing to leave Matt. “You think the team is out to get you? That I couldn’t possibly be a better driver than you?”
“If you look back on our entire racing history, we push and pull, but we always finish pretty equally in the results. Why would this year be so different?”
“Why would the team—?”
“Because if I do poorly in the standings, then it looks like Andes made a good decision to not renew my contract. If the team makes a good decision, the board is happy. If the board is happy, everyone keeps their jobs.”
Matt tries not to flinch under Robert’s burning stare. He blinks as he takes it all in.
“When you said you’d be told to give up your position, is that normal? Do you usually give me the overtake?”
He didn’t know?
“You didn’t know?” Matt pulls back with confusion. How could he not know? “Why else would I drive off the racing line whenever you approached? Did you think I just forgot how to race?!”
“I don’t know, maybe you were testing a new line?” Robert shrugs with his entire body. “I didn’t ask ‘cause I didn’t really care.”
“You’re asking now.”
“Yeah, well…” Robert cares. He wouldn’t be so angry if he didn’t. “Okay, so that’s gotta stop.” The second part is finally directed at Sylvain.
“But all Form 1 teams support their number one driver.”
“Well, other Form 1 teams don’t have drivers willing to push each other. We both do our best racing when we are actually racing.”
“You crash when you are actually racing as well.”
Robert scoffs. “What’s the difference between a DNF and twelfth place? Neither result gets us a fucking point.”
Their equality is actually a common misconception—a lot of things can go wrong with a DNF.
“Millions of dollars in repairs,” Matt replies. “Medically, it isn’t a good idea to layer concussions either. Then there’s team morale…”
Sylvain gives Robert a smug smile, but the driver turns back towards his teammate. “You’re not helping.”
Oh. Right. They’re on the same side this time. “Sorry. Habit.”
“We fight or we quit.” Robert crosses his arms with finality, though there are a couple of ‘we’s in that sentence that Matt never agreed to.
He can’t pretend he doesn’t want to race, though, so Matt also crosses his arms, in solidarity.
Sylvain sighs long and vocally, biding his time before he finally says, “I cannot promise—”
Robert turns and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him before Sylvain can even finish his sentence.