Chapter 23 Mateo
MATEO
Engines roar, lights signal, adrenaline kicks in. I’m usually not nervous before races, or at least not this much, but Spain is an exception. My mother is here, and I’m trying to make her and the Spanish people proud.
Not that they would hang me if I didn't finish on the podium, but it’s an incredible feeling when you win in your home country. Like you’re on top of the world, and nothing can stop you. I wonder if Tony feels the same when we’re here, the other Spaniard on the grid. Or if Mamá is as nervous as me.
“Just a reminder, Aiden is in sixth place. Look out for Hayes, and try not to crash into anyone who’s in front of you.” My engineer chimes in, providing me with the necessary details.
Mierda. This is going to be a long race.
Atlas somehow qualified in 1st and 2nd place, so now I’m worried I might not have such an easy job overtaking them.
Hayes is right next to me, and he’s one of the best defenders on the grid, even though it’s only his third year in Formula 1. None of them will make my job easier.
The lights go out, and we fly away. Tires screech, and when I look back in my mirror, I see a big dust cloud. Another race starting with a safety car? Not the best time, guys.
“What happened?” I ask on the radio, hoping Wiley has seen something.
“Nothing. Keep driving. Kyle spun and went off track. He’s back now. He just had to wait until everyone passed him.” I try to suppress my laugh, reminding myself that everyone can hear this. Who would’ve thought he messed up again? I despise him for a reason.
“Gracias,” I say, and he mutters back a quiet ‘de nada’ as I go on with racing.
I managed to overtake both Hayes and Huck at around halfway through the race, not because they weren’t defending; they just didn’t see me coming.
After we had the pit stops, Hayes went after Huck again with the new tires, and they were so busy fighting each other that, with the help of a miracle, I managed to undercut in a corner.
Now I’m sweating my ass off trying to keep them out of DRS. If he can get as close to me as one second, he’ll be able to use his DRS, and it’s over for me. With DRS, he can get much closer to me as he can open his rear wing, which increases the car’s speed. Alright, let’s do this.
“Give me the times,” I demand, and not because I’m being rude, but because I need to know how much I have to push.
“Huck, 1.2 without DRS, Hayes, 1.7 without DRS, but they’re both pushing.” I take in his answers, happy that Huck’s not too close to using his DRS; otherwise, I’d be fucked.
What I’m not happy about is that Hayes is still very close to him, and Velocity’s car is stronger than Atlas’s, so once he overtakes Huck, it’s over for me. We’ve got 16 laps left, but it’s a matter of time before he goes up to third place and starts chasing me.
“And Asher?”
“Asher is 2.2 in front. About six laps until you reach him.” Well, amazing. I’ll have 10 laps to overtake the three-time world champion. “His front left is not doing well, apparently.”
“Thanks. But mine, neither.”
It’s a little reassuring that not only are my front tires starting to grain, but it’s still not helping me much. I step on the accelerator, now focusing on protecting my tires while cutting down the gap.
“Hayes overtook Huck, now 2.8 behind.” Seriously? I didn’t expect anything else, but this didn’t come at the best time. Three seconds seem a lot until I start fighting Asher, and Hayes closes up on us.
As Wiley expected, I reached Asher by the 56th lap, and now I’m pushing like hell, trying to outsmart him, attempting every single trick I know to overtake him as soon as possible. We don’t need Hayes in our asses. At least I don’t.
Our car is faster than Atlas’, but it’s goddamn Asher Dilan sitting in that car, which basically equals our chances. I have the better car, and he has a better brain. He’s standing in second place in the world championship for a reason.
I attack him from time to time, without success so far, and we only have five laps left. It’s now or never.
“Time on Hayes?” I ask, driving over the checkered line, completing another lap.
“Currently 1.4, 1.4.” Fuck. He’s getting closer and closer, and if I don’t look out, he’ll be the one fighting me.
Asher’s right in front of my eyes, and when I try to go past him at one of the corners, he cuts back, obviously. He’s not letting me pass easily. We complete another lap, and I’m right at his ass when I go and try to overtake him again.
This is the best corner. If he goes to defend on the left, I can undercut him on the right side if I step on the gas at the right time.
As I get closer to that corner, he does just what I want him to: defending the left side. And as if God also wants me to win, Asher goes so left that his car bounces on the chicane, which slows him down, and I manage to overtake on the right side.
“Yes! There we go! Vamos, Mateo, only two and a half laps left!” I hear the cheers on the radio, and as much as I’d love to celebrate with them, I have to focus on those two laps.
Asher won three times for a reason, and while Hayes most probably won’t have a chance to overtake him anymore, Asher can come back on me. And he’s one sneaky dude.
I’m still holding my breath when I see the checkered flag in front of me, leaving the last straight part, and I’ll win. Asher doesn’t give up; he’s practically brushing my rear tires, and as his car manages to come up beside me, I know I have to give everything.
My front tires have gone to shit while I was fighting with him, so I mutter a prayer for them to hold on. Asher’s car is almost reaching mine, scooting higher and higher next to me as we’re speeding towards the finish line.
We finally reach it, but there’s silence around us. Puta…
“Who won? Who the fuck won, Wiley?”
“Our data shows that your car was 48 centimeters ahead of Asher’s, but we need the FIA to confirm it.”
We go around, waving for the fans while we’re waiting for the verdict. We finally stopped on the pit lane, parking our cars, but neither of us knew which place to take. We stay in the car until I hear Wiley’s voice in my ear.
“You won, Mateo! You won!”