“Yeah.Grounding as ever,” I say, laughing.“My dad tells me he called your dad when you moved to Arden.They’re talking about throwing a joint party for us when we get back at the end of the year.”
“Oh god,” he says, laughing.“Please, no.”
“They’re good.But my dad talks to me about F1 as though I’m not a team principal, or if I am, do I really know what I’m doing?”I say, swigging back the beer.“I can take the misogyny, but it’s hard from your own dad.”
“He must be a little proud.”
“Oh, they are both so proud.I love them so much, don’t get me wrong.But Dad has enough secondhand impostor syndrome for the both of us,” I say, thinking back to his nervous face as he drilled me about all my decisions so far.Most of which I had to answer with “I don’t know yet,” because I genuinely don’t know yet.I need more time.
“Dads have more impact than they know,” Matt says, looking up at the full moon.“Sometimes it’s what theydon’tsay that you learn the biggest lessons from.”
I’m not sure what he is getting at exactly, but I have my suspicions.His dad is a closed book, and as a young girl I found his quiet judgment a little scary.But Matt doesn’t elaborate, and I don’t want to push him after the Stavros conversation in Mexico.
The breeze is cool against my bare forearms, and I’m pleased to have escaped the vast heat of Mexico.We can see the finish line.The end of the season is nearing, and still we have so much to achieve.So much to do to keep Arden alive and afloat.Ninth place is fantastic, but can it be sustained?
And at the end of the season, what will Matt and I be to each other?
“I’m sorry for coming at you after the race,” I say quietly.
He breathes a heavy sigh.“It’s okay.My mum just did the same.”His tone is even, maybe a bit amused at being ganged up on by two strong women in his life.“I’m sorry I snapped at you.”
I take a breath.“Don’t you think it’s the missing piece of the puzzle here, though?”
“Yep.Probably.”
I take another sip, wondering whether to push him as a team principal or as a friend.It feels like I’m not confident enough in either role to know what is best.
“But honestly, Chloe,” he says, dropping his eyes to the grass, his elbows resting on his knees.“Even if Stavros forgave me.Even if he told me it wasn’t my fault.I know it was.I did that.Years of overconfidence in the fastest car on the grid, and then a few months of frustration.I was reckless on the track that day.”
“All good drivers have those days,” I say reassuringly.“Verstappen, Sainz, even Hamilton.”
“I scared myself,” he says.“Do I know the difference between aggressive, determined driving and risk-taking?Like, for example, you know when you’re normie road driving, and you have the chance to overtake a tractor or a cyclist or something?You learn when to pull out, after years ofexperience.You know where the risk line is.Where it’s safe for you, but also safe for the person you’re overtaking.It used to be my greatest skill that I could push that line to the limit.It’s a driver’s greatest instinct, really.And now, I’m not sure I know where that line is.The line is blurred, and it’s killed my confidence.”
I feel a tug in my heart for Matt and let him know with a gentle hand on his arm.
“So yeah, I need to see Stavros.To let him know how sorry I am for putting him in that position.But I also need the confidence to not think I’m going to kill everyone I overtake.”
“Go and see him,” I say.“Promise me.”
He nods.
“It was one mistake, Matt.”
“I should never have made it,” he says, turning his head toward me.
“We all make mistakes,” I say, feeling the air shift around me as our eyes connect.
“Yeah, and I seem to keep on making them,” he says.“I’m so glad I can talk to you about this.I can’t talk to anyone about it.Not Stavros, not anyone.”
I search his face in the low light, looking for any hint of a double meaning behind his eyes.And then I curse myself for thinking about him, aboutus, in this moment.And yet, here we are.Back where we were over a decade ago, on this very hill, with Matt sharing his darkest thoughts and feelings with me, in a way he doesn’t do with anyone else.And here I am, listening, caring, and wanting to kiss all those sad thoughts away.
“Chloe?”he says, frowning as he takes in my expression.
“I was just thinking about how I want you to be happy,” I say truthfully.“But part of me is happy you’re sad because I get to be the person you share that with.”
Matt’s face is overcome.His expression softens into something hopeless.His eyes round.“I don’t want you to feel like that,” he says, reaching out a hand to touch my face, his fingers gentle on my cheek.
“Matt, I have to be honest with you about something,” I say, closing my hand over his, lifting it from my cheek, and squeezing it.
