Chapter 27
Chloe
Las Vegas Grand Prix
Qualifying
I think about one hundredth of a second per lap,” Jasper says, wiping the grease from his hands as he reaches into his cigarette pouch. “Impossible to know until we see her race. We’re not going into the wind tunnel for testing anytime soon.”
“I see.” I try not to grin too much, or get too excited. Jasper has made so many minor adjustments—everything he can actually do to improve this car short of a complete rebuild. Now it’s up to the drivers to execute.
“Wanna smoke?” he says, holding out the rolled tobacco in my direction.
“Still no,” I say, laughing. “I think I’m going to part-walk the track.” I spot Alonso and his team out there already, sauntering past, chatting, laughing. Just like a team ought to be. “Take in the sights from the safety of the circuit.”
“Your drivers should be doing that,” says Jasper pointedly.
“Those puffed-up, spoiled peacocks?” I reply.
“Careful,” he says. “You’re still on thin ice, little lady.”
“That’s boss to you,” I reply, punching him in the arm.
I head out onto the pit. It’s busy as you’d expect for a street circuit with plenty of teams about.
The officials and staff set up stands, erecting barriers along the wide boulevards.
I wander along the winding tarmac to the edge of the lane and look up at the bright lights of the Las Vegas strip, starting to sparkle its famous colors against the sunset.
My god, I love this sport. I love the night races. I love the street circuits. I love it when we can bring our game so close to everything.
I find a crate where some workers are erecting the stands, and I decide to take a seat, pulling out a stick of gum, and drink in the pre-race atmosphere.
Tomorrow, there will be three hundred thousand people in these stands, with more peering out hotel windows onto the strip.
There will be sponsors too, looking at the next season and beyond and wanting to hitch their brands to a rising star.
It feels so close at Arden. So many fragile, tentative, human threads that need to braid perfectly together to work this beast of a machine.
We could have been such an incredible story.
We could be going into qualifying today with another top-ten win, if it weren’t for my stupid mouth.
My phone rings in my pocket and I pull it out.
I stare down at it, almost dropping it to the street with the anxious excitement of seeing his name.
“Matt,” I say breathlessly into the phone. “Where are you? You snuck off early this morning, and we never got to . . . well, talk.” I feel my cheeks heat at the memory.
“I know. I need to talk to you too. I’m walking the track,” he says, his voice light. “With Noah and Barry’s dogs, actually. We can see you. Wait for us.”
I turn back down the track and see them picking up the pace, heading in my direction, the two greyhounds trotting in front on long leads as they come.
“Barry asked us to walk Ginger and Roger,” Noah explains as they catch us up. “Matt’s been giving me some really great tips for the circuit.”
My eyes scan over to Matt, who offers a small smile.
“Come on,” Noah says, enthusiastically being tugged ahead by Roger and Ginger. “It’s a long fucking walk! At least we can see the whole strip.”
And then he’s off, racing ahead with the dogs, and Matt and I are left standing alone. Matt starts walking right away, slowly, following Noah and motioning for me to walk alongside him.
The sounds of the strip float across the barriers and onto the road. Above me, I can see the twinkling lights of the Flamingo and ahead the broad, brightly lit Caesars Palace. The air smells like heat, and tarmac, and the filth of the city, but I drink it in, Matt at my side.
I turn to look at him, and he glances sideways, grinning. “Well, we can talk now,” he says playfully. “I have to keep my distance.”
I ignore the warmth his teasing brings. “I’m sorry about what happened. I failed you,” I say. “I failed at my most important job as team principal and that is protecting my team.”
Matt stops, his eyes darting around cautiously.
“No one can hear us,” I say, the point seemingly proved by the huge, thunderous crash of machinery from the construction crew nearby. I jump suddenly, jittery and anxious. I wish to hell we were somewhere private.
“I need to tell you some things,” he says as we continue walking. “I went to see Stavros.”
I halt and a small gasp escapes my mouth. I turn my head to face him. “When? Is that where you went after Brazil?”
“Yes,” he says gravely, nodding for me to keep walking. “I went to see him in Greece.”
“Oh, Matt. How did it go? Are you okay? How is he?”
“It actually went well, considering. And yes, I’m okay.”
“And Stavros?”
“He’s getting there. He looked okay. Still some visible healing,” he says slowly. “God, he was so um . . . forgiving. It was really humbling.”
“How do you feel? I have so many questions,” I say, indicating that he should wave at some supporters who have spotted us on the track. He does a quick salute in their direction.
“I feel stupid that I didn’t go earlier. You know, Stavros was ignoring me on purpose to force me to come see him,” he explains, shaking his head in disbelief. “No text in months and now he’s texting every five minutes. He’s got plenty of advice for the race about my tire management.”
I laugh at this. “You must feel so relieved.”
“I feel like this weight has left my chest,” he says, tapping his front with his hands. “I don’t know if it’s going to help on the track, but something has shifted. Plus, more than anything, I think I might have got my best friend back.”
“Oh,” I sigh. “I’m so proud of you for going.”
“Yeah, that’s what Stavros said too.” He lets out a light laugh. “Turns out people can forgive if they care enough.”
“I wish you’d told me last night.”
“Sorry. I was kind of distracted last night,” he jokes, letting his hand brush mine as we stroll down the tarmac.
I quiet, wondering if he’s talking about us now, but I don’t want to ask. Matt doesn’t make me wait long. “I saw you in the bar with Jack,” he says.
“Oh, shit,” I say quickly, stopping immediately to turn to him.
“You’re really bad at pretending we’re just chatting,” Matt laughs, turning me by the shoulders and giving me a light push to walk.
“Quit trying to shock me, then!” I protest.
“Eyes on the track, driver. They can see us, even if they can’t hear us.”
A murmur of excited voices from people heading out for the night, the muffled sound of music coming from the clubs, and the dinging and trilling of slot machines fill the air.
Just a few meters to either side of us, the clang of workers fixing the grandstands and the distant roar of road cars taking their detours a few feet across.
I want to jump in and reassure him, for what it’s worth, that I did not invite that meeting. Jack found me as though he’d been following me, honestly, mere minutes after I’d sat down.
“It really, truly wasn’t what you think,” I whimper.
“I know that,” he says calmly, evenly. “I heard you both.”
“Oh?” Oh! “Really?”
“I was behind a plant pot.” He looks at me and gives a shy smirk. “It doesn’t matter. I get why you talked to him. I know how he deceived you. We all need people to let off steam with. People we think we can trust.”
“I . . .” I want to run, hide. Oh god. What did I say? I rack my brain trying to recall a conversation during which I was so focused on saying nothing printable that I can barely remember anything else. “He’s awful.”
“A soulless snake?” Matt says, laughing.
“I’m so sorry,” I say again. “Matt, I need to be totally honest with you. So maybe it all makes more sense even if you don’t forgive me completely.”
“Well,” he says, waving and smiling at fans who have gathered at the chain-link fence. “I’m going to forgive you, Coleman.”
I smile ahead, trying not to make our conversation look too intimate. Trying to keep my cool as I clear my throat.
“I wish we could talk somewhere private,” I mutter.
“We could. But I need to warn you, Jack the snake will probably want to do a follow-up story about some kind of romantic tryst between the two of us. And that, Chloe, is a very bad idea right when you’re riding this high.”
“I see.” Great.
“Besides, there’s nothing in the world I prefer more than walking a track with you, even if it looks like we’re just friends.” He tips his head toward me and looks directly at me now. “Even if I want so much more.”
I feel warmth flow through every cell in my body. “Really?”
“More than you know. But this will do for now, Bug,” he says.
We walk again a little farther, until we hit the first turn and we’re off the main beat. The crowds are a little quieter off the main strip, but we’re still visible.
“Okay, where did you get to with your sorry-ass explanation?” he says teasingly.
I look across at him, and he is trying hard to fight a grin. “It’s not funny,” I say.
“Sorry,” he says, looking left and right, checking all the time for people taking photos, making sure we’re standing far enough apart.
“When we were brought together for Arden, I did have a very bad reaction—I didn’t want to work with you.
I was angry because I felt you ran out on our friendship.
I was hurt. I didn’t want you around, and I let those feelings burst out of me to someone I thought I could trust, and shouldn’t have.
But I’d known him so long, and he knew our past, and it felt okay. ”
“I know,” he says gently.
“I didn’t provide all those quotes about Stavros, you know that, right?”
“I do.”
“But it doesn’t excuse me talking to him at all. I can’t even remember what I said. He asked me if you’d been in touch and I don’t remember what I said. I was so tired and he was walking me to my room because I couldn’t carry all my things and my dinner . . .” My voice trails off.
“It’s all true,” Matt says. “I was gutless about Stavros. But I’ve faced that part of myself now. Thanks to you.”
He glances back at me, and he frowns, his eyes dark and serious, suddenly.
I look up, feeling a rush somewhere between pleasure and shame. I feel like I’m bungee jumping into the abyss and Matt is my rope. Unreliable. Untested. Dangerous. And yet, I want to jump. I wish I could jump.
“We need to focus on your career,” he is saying now. “You were right all along. This can’t happen. At least for now.”
The warmth I was feeling cools in an instant, as the truth settles inside me, and the ache returns.
“I know,” I say, forcing the words out.
“For now,” he says again. “While you’re the boss, and you’re building your career. I’m not going to drive forever.” Matt moves to take my hand, but then thinks better of it and drops his hand to his side.
“Chloe, I love you. I think deep down I’ve always been in love with you.
You’re the complete package—smart, tough, funny, caring, beautiful, and the only person I’ve ever truly felt myself around.
So when I say this can’t happen right now, that doesn’t mean I don’t want it to.
I just want you to have your shot—really have it. Because it’s what you deserve.”
I look up into Matt’s face, the sun almost completely set and the Las Vegas lights shining in his eyes now.
If I could go back in time to teenage me, she wouldn’t believe this moment.
Adult Chloe is barely comprehending how far Matt and I have come—from enemies to friends to lovers and so much more.
“I love you too, Matt. You have no idea how much I appreciate you looking out for me. You did when we were kids, and you’re doing it now.
It’s one of the many reasons I fell, and have fallen, for you.
” We get as close as we can to each other without looking suspicious, which makes me want him more.
The electricity between us is charging. I back off and keep walking so I don’t ruin everything we’re trying to protect.
“We’ll figure this out, Bug. Believe that.”
“I’m not even sure Barry is going to keep me on after what happened, though. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m gone if we don’t get a result this weekend.”
“Pressure,” Matt says, grinning.
“I’ve done as much as I can. It’s up to you and Noah now.”
“I can talk to Barry,” he says. “Your work with the sponsors was apparently excellent.”
I am about to tell him exactly the tone of those conversations, and about the offer from Haas, but now is not the right time.
I glance over at him. “What are you going to say?”
Matt smiles. “That you’re the best team principal I’ve ever worked with, and if you go, I go.”
“Subtle as a V-8 engine.”
“Besides,” he says, sighing, “you’re kind of a hot commodity right now. At my expense, of course.”
I laugh, just as Roger comes spiriting back in our direction, followed by Noah, who has clearly lost control of two greyhounds who want nothing more than to run.
“Hey, buddy,” says Matt, crouching down as the dog races toward us and curls up between his legs. He slips a finger under the collar as Noah arrives, panting with the lead clutched in his hand.
“Shit, he’s fast,” Noah says, doubling over.
“Speaking of which,” I say, looking at my watch. “We got two hours until qualifying, and you two need to get back.”
“Yes, boss,” says Noah, saluting. Then he stops and looks between Matt and me. “You two old bastards made up yet?”