Matt bides his time until he sees an opening, darting out onto the slippery road and cutting through the inside of a turn.
“Return the position.”
Matt can’t decide whether to tell him it’s too dangerous or to pull the ‘I can’t hear you’ trick again, so he stays silent and defends as best as he can.
Robert steals the place with another of his stupid outside stunts, but Matt fights back again with a late brake upthe inside.
The team takes a different approach. “Box box. I repeat, box this lap.”
But Matt can push his tires further. He’s not going to let the team’s strategy stop him from coming out on top, not today. Not in the rain. Not when he can take it all.
Either Robert doesn’t receive the directive to box or he feels that same desperation. He fights harder than Matt has ever seen—pushing him to the limits of what they should be attempting with such poor visibility.
It’d be exhilarating if it wasn’t so infuriating.
There’s another opening, and Matt aims for it, but Robert jerks over, cutting him off. The car jolts and Matt screams in frustration as both cars spin out, right into the barriers.
Fuck, fuck,fuck!
This was his shot. His chance to prove that—despite everyone and everything working against him—he still has what it takes to win races. Of course fuckingPerfect Prince Roberthad to go and ruin it for him.
The rain feels less harsh when it weeps on his perfectly-still car. After he reorients himself, Matt radios in. “I’m okay.” He’s not. “What happened?”
He knows what happened. He knows whose fault it is that his car is in the barriers. Not that his team would ever admit it.
“Glad you’re safe,” is the morose reply.
Matt removes his steering wheel and climbs out of the car, slipping a little when he leans on the smooth, wet surface.
He takes in the scene before heading over to the safety barrier.
There’s something gratifying in seeing Robert’s car crashed out alongside his own. Vindication. Or Karma. Whatever it is, the corner of Matt’s lip tugs up when Robert smacks his halo a bunch of times.
Both cars are in the wall and pointed towards each other. Thebarrier itself is mangled to hell. The rest of the grid is welcome for the red flag Matt so desperately wished for.
Fuck, it’s frustrating.
Even more frustrating because it was a good, clean fight right up until Robert screwed it all up. And who will end up with the blame? Matt, of course, since Robert can never, ever doanythingwrong.
Robert finally emerges and stands next to his own car, as far away from Matt as possible. His arms are crossed, like he has anything to be angry about. Probably just playing it up for the cameras—what a tool.
The medical car pulls in and Matt sighs. Of course it’s just one medical car. A small sedan, even. So they’ll be wet, miserable, angry, andalsopiled right on top of each other.
Despite the circumstances, Matt is still eager to get out of the rain as fast as possible. He dives in before removing what he can.
The gloves are first, and his fingers are pale and clammy when they’re pulled out of the drenched fabric. His helmet sits on his lap as he whips off the balaclava and eagerly wraps it around his soggy hands. He shudders as his fingers are submerged in the warm embrace of the only piece of dry fabric on his body.
Robert plops down in the seat next to him and slams the car door like breaking the damn thing will put him back in the race. It doesn’t. He takes off his helmet and dumps his balaclava and wet-ass gloves into it like a moron, wetting everything.
Matt has a history of dealing with Robert in situations like this, so he isn’t surprised by the silence of the car ride. Works for him. Matt would much rather focus his attention on getting feeling back into his digits instead of screaming and fighting in the back of some car.
Thankfully, they’re processed in separate rooms of the medical center. Matt gets the whole concussion spiel and nodsalong in all of the appropriate places. More than anything, he just wants a warm shower to wash his disappointment away.
The barrier is still broken by the time he’s dropped off in front of his garage. The other Form 1 cars are parked in the pit lane for the red flag, and there’s a back-field car all the way up at the front.
That should’ve been Matt.
His mechanics notice him immediately and gather around, poking and prodding him to make sure he’s fine.
