Chapter Matt Hernandez #12
Should Matt storm out too? He has a lot fewer sponsors—a lot more to lose if he gets a bad rap amongst the team principals. He looks to Sylvain for a clue, but the older man also seems at a loss for what to do.
“He doesn’t mean that,” Matt says, dropping his arms stick-straight to his sides. “It’s been a long day. A super emotional day. It’s so hot in those cars. And adrenaline? It, um, heightens emotions.”
“We really did think the double stop would be good.” Sylvain looks almost human when he collapses back into his chair. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes extra-closed.
Still, Matt’s not sure he believes him. “Did you?”
Sylvain nods, solemnly. “Points matter to the board as well, no matter who they’re from.” With a wave of his hand, he announces, “You’re dismissed.”
“Okay, yeah.” Matt doesn’t need to be told twice. He leaves, making sure to shut the door as softly as possible.
“But how can you just accept it?” Robert asks with a whine. His shot glasses are all empty, lined up on the bar in a neat row. It’s pretty impressive how fast he blew through them, considering he scored four points.
They’re at another dingy haunt that is exactly Matt’s style. Unlike the first time they stumbled upon each other, all four drivers are sitting together. On purpose. Like that isn’t strange.
“What else is he going to do?” Laurent asks, leaning around Matt to face Robert. His Monegasque accent thickens with every sip of his top-shelf whisky. “Not race?”
“It’s about dignity,” Javier says, from the other side of Robert. “Better to be fired with dignity than to race without.”
“I don’t have any dignity left to miss, honestly.” Matt sips at his second shot. It doesn’t taste nearly as good when he’s not the one celebrating, but he still wants to be supportive. “I only have racing.”
“To racing,” Laurent says, raising his glass. “We should get Robert here another shot. Bartender?”
“You haven’t had any tequila.” Robert sways just a little in his seat, but he still eagerly accepts the shot.
“I’m not wasting any of my taste buds on a celebration for a driver I don’t even like. Even if you are nice to look at.”
Robert smiles and lifts his shot. “Hey, thanks, man. To racing.”
“This feels obnoxious.” Javier still lifts the remains of one of his shot glasses.
Well, Matt won’t be the only one left out. “Racing without dignity.”
Robert laughs, patting Matt’s thigh and gripping it before throwing back his fifth shot. If there was any question before, the man is definitely drunk.
In all the years he’s known him, Matt has never seen Robert drink. Sure, there have been champagne sprays and drinks at the odd sponsor events, but never enough to let his guard down. They were still teenagers when he left, after all.
It’s special, almost, to see this other side of him.
“Excuse me,” a girl’s voice cuts through their clatter.
The two more-popular drivers swivel around to look at the fan. Laurent and Matt, on the other hand, lean just a little further away and duck their faces.
“Um, Javier? Robert? I’m a big fan of, um, both of you.” She’s shaking as she holds her phone up. “Can I have a picture? With you?”
Javier sounds pitying when he says, “We’re actually just—”
“Absolutely you can,” Laurent steamrolls him, popping his head back up. “Here, let me take it for you.”
“Oh!” The girl’s eyes widen with confusion as she looks between him and the popular drivers. “You’re Laurent Gastaud. I didn’t know you all were friends?”
“We’re not,” Laurent replies. “Scooch in and smile—get real close. Look at these famous Formation One drivers!”
Everybody in the darkened bar stares at their group and it’s just ridiculous enough to make Matt chuckle.
“C’mon, Giggles,” Robert says. He knocks off Matt’s hat and glasses before hauling him upright. “You’re going to be in this too.”
“She doesn’t want me in the picture.” Matt tries to grab his hat again, but Robert’s reach is longer and he flicks the cap further down the bar.
“Then she can crop you out later. For now, you’re going to be a part of this embarrassment.”
Laurent is absolutely delighted by the new addition. “Yes, of course, let’s make room for Matt Hernandez, another popular Formation One driver!”
Matt stands a reasonable distance away, slowly inching further as Laurent distracts everyone, but Robert is now five shots deep in tequila. He hooks a—rather heavy and muscular—arm around Matt, pulling him closer, and leans into him, away from the fan.
Well, if there was ever a chance she’d be able to crop Matt out, that’s now gone.
When Laurent finishes the countdown, he blinds them with a flash brighter than the sun. The bar is so dark that everyone in it is flash-banged at once.
“Thank you so much, Laurent Gastaud, Formation One driver. You asshole.” Matt accidentally steps into Robert, smacking him when he reaches up to rub the spots out of his eyes.
The next morning, Matt awakes to a throbbing headache. He rolls over to check the time, surprised to see texts from Laurent.
Hey buddy!
Just wanted to warn you—don’t look up your name today
Sounds about right