Page 17

After the podium and the press, Harper’s team boss, Stefan, calls me to his office. I’m still in my race gear, and I’m itching

to get out of here and hop a plane back to France. It’s only four thirty now. I figure, if I’m lucky, I can get there by nine.

I should’ve asked Ines what time they were thinking of taking out the breathing tube. I’ll have to call the hospital again

after I’m done with Stefan.

I’m expecting a quick congratulations or a chat about our game plan for the rest of the year—I’m only twenty-seven points

off Mahoney now, still well within championship range—but instead, after a brief greeting, Stefan slides his cell phone toward

me. It’s open to the same damn article that Matty showed me this morning. I’d honestly forgotten about it, after the call

with Ines and the race.

I let out an impatient breath. “I don’t have time for this.”

Stefan frowns. “I only need to confirm that it isn’t true, before we request a retraction.” He shakes his head. “It is despicable,

what these people will do in the wake of a tragedy.”

“I wasn’t dating Antony Costa,” I say.

Stefan nods. “I didn’t think so.”

He pulls his phone back. He never believed that article, I can tell. This is just an item on his to-do list.

The next words spill out of my mouth entirely without my permission. “I am dating Jacob Nichols.”

Stefan blinks, and my heart stutters to a stop.

I can’t believe I just said that.

“Well,” Stefan says. Then he clears his throat and tries again. “Well.”

He stares at me for such a long time that my palms start to sweat. Somehow, I manage to hold his gaze.

“You... don’t have migraines,” he says finally.

Color rises to my face. “No, sir.”

He rubs a hand over his mouth, back and forth. “I... need to think about this.”

I swallow hard. “Yes, sir.” I rise to my feet and then turn back at the door. “His doctor called earlier, from France. They

think he might wake up tonight.”

Stefan looks at me for a long moment, then he clears his throat again. “We’ll get you a flight out.”

I almost leave, only to turn back once more. Stefan raises an eyebrow expectantly. “Something else?”

“I want Brian fired,” I blurt out. “Or—replaced, or whatever.”

This, somehow, seems to surprise him more than anything. “Fine,” he says.

“Really?”

He shrugs. “He is not well liked.”

I blink. “Alright. Thanks.”

He nods and watches me steadily until I mumble a goodbye and slip away.

Heather the PA accompanies me back to the airport. She doesn’t question our return to France and stays mercifully silent on the plane, putting in earbuds faster than I do and opening her laptop to an old episode of The Office .

The whole flight, I replay my conversation with Stefan. I can’t believe I told him about Jacob. An awful sickness spreads

through me every time I remember it. What was it that he said? I need to think about this .

Think about what? How to deal with the press if it ever gets out? Or... my future with Harper?

Fuck. Fuck . What have I done?

By the time we start to descend, my hands and feet are numb with nerves, and a cold sweat is prickling the back of my neck.

“I’ll get you a rental car,” Heather says, once we’re in the terminal. “Did you bring any clothes with you at all?”

“Er...” I glance down at my bag, which I know for a fact only contains my laptop, Jacob’s coffee cup, and his hoodie.

“Didn’t think so. I’ll run to the shops and get you some stuff, then I’ll check us in to the hotel. I’ll text you your room

number.”

“Thanks,” I say.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m on my way to the hospital in a rental car. Siri guides me back to H?pital Nord. As I step into

the familiar lobby, my pulse quickens. I’m trying to remember the hopeful tone of Dr. Martin’s voice, but being back here,

all I can remember is the fear I felt two weeks ago.

God, has it really been two weeks?

The USI waiting room is empty. It’s almost nine p.m., and the hospital feels unnaturally quiet. I take a moment to center

myself before I press the buzzer. Beyond this door, Jacob might already be awake.

After a few minutes, a harried-looking nurse lets me in without asking any questions. Breathing quickly, I stride toward Jacob’s room. I don’t care if his family’s there. I have to see him.

The door to his room is half open, and there’s an alarming beeping sound echoing from beyond the doors. A nurse hurries out

of the room, speaking rapid French over her shoulder. Heart in my throat, I rush through the doors.

Three nurses are crowded around Jacob’s bed while his mother stands against the wall in the corner, her eyes wide and frightened.

Jacob is moving—actually moving on his own —and fighting the nurses at his sides. He’s trying to pull the breathing tube out, I realize, and by the frantic way the nurses

are acting, he isn’t supposed to do that himself.

I don’t stop to think, I just push my way to his side. His eyes are open, but they’re hazy and confused.

“Hey—look at me,” I order, putting my hand on his cheek. “Look at me, okay?”

He twists toward the sound of my voice, and when his frightened eyes lock on mine, something shifts in my chest, something

undoable, something forever.

“Stay really still for me, okay?” I say. The nurses have stopped fighting, but they’re keeping a tight grip on his arms. His

eyes are on my face, and he makes an awful retching sound, like he’s trying to cough the tube out.

“I know,” I say. “I know. Just try to stay still for me, okay? Just for a little bit.”

“The doctor is here,” one of the nurses says, stepping back. Dr. K walks into the room, pulling on a pair of blue gloves and

wearing a calm, soothing smile.

“Ah, Monsieur Travis,” she says pleasantly, nodding at me like it makes total sense that I’m here. “What have we here?”

“He’s trying to pull the tube out,” I say, while the nurses elaborate in French. Dr. K nods at all of us.

“Well, let’s get that tube out, then, yes?” she says pleasantly.

There’s a flurry of activity while the nurses gather equipment. One of them tries to gently guide me out of the way, but Dr.

K shakes her head and I get to stay close, one hand on Jacob’s neck, the other on his arm.

“Just a little longer,” I tell him. “You’re doing great.”

In one swift movement, Dr. K and the nurses pull out the breathing tube. Jacob curls toward me, coughing and gagging. He grasps

weakly at my cotton T-shirt, and I don’t care that the room is filled with people—I curl my fingers into his hair and kiss

the top of his head, every bit of me shaky with relief and fear.

“We will need to watch his levels of oxygen closely,” Dr. K says. She’s turned to talk to someone in the corner. Jacob’s mom,

I remember with a thud. I risk a glance and find her staring at me, shock and horror written over her face. A second later,

the situation is made a hundred times worse by the arrival of Jacob’s brother.

“What the hell is going on?” he demands, taking in the sight of the nurses, who are clearing away the plastic tubing they

pulled from Jacob’s throat, and me, sitting there with my arms wrapped around his little brother, my fingers curled intimately

in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Ah, Monsieur Paul,” Dr. K says briskly. “As you can see, we have removed the breathing tube. Very good progress.”

“What the hell is this?” Paul repeats, ignoring her. He steps closer, his eyes on me. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Instinctively, I pull Jacob a little closer, as though I can shield him from Paul’s anger. But before I can think of anything to say—not that I could’ve come up with anything, even if I had an hour—Dr. K jumps in.

“Pardon,” she says briskly. “We need calm in this room, please.”

“Calm?” Paul swivels toward her. “What the fuck do you mean, calm?” He throws a hand toward me and Jacob. “Mom, are you seeing

this?”

Jacob’s fingers tighten a little around my arm. His grip is so weak, so fragile, it calls me back to myself. I don’t give

a shit about Paul and his temper tantrum. I’m here for Jacob. And Dr. K, it seems, feels the same way.

“This is not helpful,” she says firmly. “I will not have my patient distressed. What keeps him calm, stays. Anything else

must go.”

Paul’s face turns a violent shade of red. “You’re trying to throw us out?” he spits. “We’re his family. Dad—get in here.” He gesticulates furiously at his father, who enters the room wearing

the same stunned look as his wife. “Did you know about this?” Paul demands.

I flush dark red under Jacob’s father’s gaze, but before he can say anything, Dr. K saves me again.

“Monsieur Nichols, I have removed your son’s breathing tube,” she says calmly. “This is an excellent step, but it is very

dangerous if he becomes distressed. He must have calm and quiet. If your son cannot be calm, I must ask you all to leave.”

“And what about him ?” Paul points a furious finger at me.

Jacob’s father’s eyes flick back and forth between me and Jacob and back again. “Paul, Kim, let’s just—c’mon.” He drops his

eyes and hurries from the room, his wife following quietly behind. Paul shoots me one last furious glare.

“We’ll be requesting another doctor,” he snaps at Dr. K before he storms after his parents.

Dr. K closes her eyes briefly and sighs, while two of the nurses exchange wide-eyed stares.

My face is hot with embarrassment. “Should I—”

“We must keep him very calm,” Dr. K interrupts, fixing me with a level gaze. “The nurses will check a blood gas now, and we

will get an X-ray of his lungs. Do you have any questions?”

“Er—no, ma’am,” I mumble.

“Very good.” She nods at the nurses, two of whom hurry out of the room after her. They slide the door shut behind them, leaving

me alone with Jacob and the third nurse. She’s about five feet tall with frizzy dark hair and a no-nonsense look on her face.

“I will take the blood gas now, oui?” She steps up to the side of the bed, wielding a terrifying-looking needle. “I am needing

his wrist, please.”