He took his cool-down lap, and as he pulled onto pit road, he saw the 99 parked in the second-place stall. Mateo was already climbing out, ripping his helmet off, throwing his HANS device onto the hood.

“Yeah,” Jake said into Mateo’s ear. “But I’m a dinosaur who just taught you that close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. In NASCAR? Close is a loss.”

Mateo Flores bolted like he’d been shot out of a cannon. He shoved the 8 car out of the way in Turn 1—a little chrome horn, nothing dirty, just hard racing. By Turn 3, he was on the leader’s bumper.