“It looks like a broken nose.”
“Well, then, it might look exactly like it is.”
“You don’t need acetaminophen, you need Medical.”
“I’m trying to avoid walking around like this.” Matt’s shirt collar is already crusted with dried blood. He hasn’t looked in the mirror yet, but he can guess how he looks.
“Tough shit.”
Nate
Someone grab the cleanest shop towel we have. He broke his fuckingnose.
See if the team doc can pay a visit. He doesn’t want cameras.
“The good news is nothing seems out of place.”
“Oh, thank God.” Matt doesn’t need a crooked nose. He’s unpopular enough already with his regular face. “Is it noticeable?”
The doctor laughs, which is never a good sign.
“How long until I look normal again?” And sound normal. Matt’s voice is a bit more nasally than it’s supposed to be.
“I’d say about three weeks or so. We can keep checking on the progress, but keep ice on it for now—it’ll help with the swelling.” The doctor presses the ice pack against Matt’s eye and he hisses at the sting of it.
There’s a knock on the door, but it opens before Matt can say anything. Isn’t there some kind of law about keeping his medical shit private?
“How are you feeling?” Sylvain asks.
Matt removes the ice pack and leans around the doctor to look at him. “I’ve been better, honestly.”
Sylvain’s face drops as he takes in Matt’s newly rearranged face. “I’d like to speak with you in my office when you’re finished here.”
Matt doesn’t need to change locations if he’s just going to get fired. “Am I racing next weekend?”
His team principal audibly exhales through his nose, his jaw clenching. “We’ll see.”
“Right.” All the more reason to avoid the office visit.
Sylvain excuses himself, but leaves the door open. It’s quiet enough in the hallway to hear him knock and enter Robert’s room. “What thefuckdid you think you were doing?!”
“Oop!” The doctor crosses the room in record time and closes the door. “No need to hear that.”
But Matt did want to hear that. It was the closest thing he’s heard to Robert being reprimanded since they were teenagers. Despite everything, Matt’s ears are working just fine, so he strains to try and decipher any of the muffled yells that leak through the thin walls.
Robert’s already sitting in the office when Matt arrives. He’s got bandages around the fist that props his head up, and he positively glows when he sees Matt’s face.
The bruised man stops, momentarily taken aback, before he realizes the smile is mocking. It’s a celebration of a job well done.
Matt meets his look, glaring back with one and a half eyes as he falls into the available seat.
“Alright,” Sylvain starts. “I want to cancel both of your contracts. Right here, right now.”
Matt gapes. “But I didn’t punch anybody!”
“You ignored orders, and now both of our cars are out of commission. We told you not to fight, but here we are—out of a race we could’ve made some solid points in.”
“He’s the one who moved under?—!”
