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Reluctantly, I guide Jacob’s hand away from my shirt. She takes it from me and rests his wrist on the bed. She sticks the

needle deep into his skin. I hold him tighter, but he barely even flinches. She draws out some dark red blood and then neatly

bandages his wrist and returns his hand politely to me. I shoot her a grateful look, and then she slips out of the room, leaving

me and Jacob alone.

I let out a long breath and close my eyes, dropping my forehead to rest against Jacob’s hair. His grip is loosening, and his

breathing evening out. I hold him until his hand slips off my chest, then carefully lay him back on his pillow.

My heart is beating uncertainly, hope and fear battling it out in my chest. He still looks so fragile, lying there. His skin

is pale, and the shadows under his eyes are a deep violet. But at the same time... at the same time, his breathing tube

is out. I hold his hand and watch his chest rise and fall, hanging on to every small, miraculous movement.

A few minutes later, a tech comes in with a portable X-ray machine.

The frizzy-haired nurse gives me a heavy lead vest to wear so I don’t have to leave the room, and then pops out for a few minutes and returns with two warm blankets for Jacob and a cup of tea for me.

She gives me a small, encouraging smile before she leaves. Another ally in my corner.

For the next eight hours, I sit at Jacob’s side. He spends most of it asleep, but sometimes, when the nurses come to check

on him, he stirs. His eyes open, cloudy and confused, but I stroke his hair and he settles, slipping back off to sleep. Sometime

past midnight, he tries to talk to me, a soft, raspy noise, like a question.

“I’m here,” I murmur. “It’s okay.”

He tries to talk again, but it comes out as a cough.

“Don’t try to talk right now.” I run a thumb over his cheek. “Go back to sleep.”

He stares at me a few minutes more, blinking heavily, and then drifts off again.

The whole night, I wait for his family to reappear. I run it over and over in my mind, every possible attack, every possible

argument. But the night passes, and no one shows up. I ask the frizzy-haired nurse, Manon, if they’re in the waiting room,

but she tells me there’s no one out there. Part of me is grateful for it. A much larger part is furious that they can’t put

aside their obvious problems with me to be by Jacob’s side.

As the sky starts to lighten from deep navy to pale purple, my eyelids are so heavy I can’t keep them open anymore. I close

my eyes for just a second. When I open them again, the room is flooded with light. I blink a few times. My head is throbbing,

and there’s a monstrous pain shooting up and down my neck.

“Fuck,” I mutter, dropping my head and digging my fingers into the tight muscles of my neck. When I look up again, Jacob is

watching me. An electric shock runs through me. His eyes are still hazy, but beneath the cloudiness, he’s there.

“Fuck,” I repeat. “ Jacob .”

“Hi.” His voice is barely a whisper, but the sound of it draws a tight lump to the back of my throat. I reach for him, tucking

a strand of hair behind his ear. “What happened?” he rasps.

“You were in a crash,” I say, my voice almost as fragile as his. “A bad one.”

His gaze moves slowly around the hospital room, taking in the IVs, the heart monitor, the cast on his leg. His brow twitches,

like he’s having trouble processing everything. My pulse spikes in fear as I remember what Dr. K said—we wouldn’t know if

he had a brain injury until he woke up.

But he knows me, and he’s talking to me. That’s got to be something.

I tighten my grip on his hand. “How do you feel?”

Slowly, his eyes move back to my face. He licks his lips and looks around the room again. “Thirsty.”

“I’ll get you some water,” I say hurriedly. “Hang on, okay?”

He gives me a tiny nod, and even that small movement looks like it’s taking all his strength. I rise to my feet, only to lean

back down and press my lips to his temple.

“Don’t die on me, okay?” It’s the same thing I said the first day after the crash, and I can’t help repeating myself now.

I need him to know how terrified I am of losing him. I need him to promise me that he won’t die.

But he just stares at me, his brow knitted in faint confusion, and my heart twists painfully. Fuck, I’m so scared of how weak

he is.

“I’ll go get some water,” I say.

“Mm,” he mumbles, already half asleep.

I leave the room with my stomach in knots and hunt down his nurse. The night nurse, Manon, has already left, and it takes a few minutes to find his new nurse, an older woman with short blond hair whom I immediately dislike.

“He cannot have water ,” she says, scowling at me like I’ve suggested giving him poison. “He must pass his swallowing study first.”

“When will that be?” I ask, as politely as I can.

Her frown deepens. “Later today,” she says curtly. Then she steps around me and strides off. Too busy, I guess, to answer

any more questions.

When I get back to Jacob’s room, his whole family has invaded.

His mother is sitting at his side, stroking his hair, and his father is standing a few feet back from the bed. His sister,

Lily, is sitting by his feet, squeezing his leg, and Paul is thumping him hard on the shoulder.

“Just trying to show off, were you?” he says, in his stupid, loud voice. “Race was getting a little boring for you, was it?”

The rational part of me knows that his obnoxious manner is his own coping mechanism, but the rest of me wants to drag him

away from Jacob and beat him into the ground. Jacob looks so confused, so exhausted, and every time Paul thumps him on the

shoulder, I see red.

The family turns in unison as I step into the doorway, and my heart pulses nervously in my chest. Beneath my anger, I do want

these people to like me. They’re Jacob’s family, and he loves them.

But, like always, I can’t get the right words out in time.

“What the hell do you want?” Paul snaps.

My face burns. I can’t think of what to say. I look to Jacob’s mother and his sister, thinking they might be more sympathetic,

but Lily’s risen to her feet, two angry splotches on her cheeks.

“We’ve been waiting to see him,” she says, glaring at me like I’m a piece of trash.

“I—you could’ve come in,” I stammer. I look to Jacob for help, but he looks so blurry and confused, his eyes moving from his

family to me and back again.

“I’m sorry,” I choke out—to Jacob, more than any of them. “I just thought—”

“You thought what?” Paul demands. “You just thought you’d ruin my brother’s career? Turn him into a fucking laughingstock?”

This is so unfair, I’m rendered speechless, struck dumb by the force of his hatred.

“Paul, enough.” Jacob’s father steps forward. He won’t quite look me in the eye, but he gestures to the door. “A moment, please.”

Numb with shock, I follow him out of the room. He leads me all the way out to the waiting room, which is mercifully empty.

In the far corner, he gestures for me to sit down across from him. He clears his throat several times before speaking.

“I should apologize for my son’s behavior,” he says stiffly. “I’m sure you understand, this has been difficult.”

I stare at him, though he still won’t quite meet my eyes. He’s got his hands clasped tightly in his lap, and he’s tapping

one foot against the floor. I remember Jacob telling me once that his father doesn’t like confrontation. A bit of a pushover,

he’d called him, though he’d backtracked quickly after he said it. When his father believed in something, he’d stand up for

it, like the time some rich family tried to buy out Jacob’s seat in F3 for their own son.

Unfortunately, right now it seems the thing Jacob’s father believes is that I should stay the hell away from his son.

“The thing is,” he says haltingly. “The thing is, this is not about Jacob... experimenting. I know kids your age do all sorts of wild things.” His lips tighten in disapproval.

“But if you keep hanging around here, acting like... how you’ve been acting, someone’s going to go to the press.

And all of my son’s hard work, all of our sacrifices, it’ll all be for nothing.

This will be his entire narrative. An eccentric chapter in a Formula 1 driver’s history.

Not to mention all the backlash, all the bigotry he would face from the fans. ”

“From the fans,” I repeat.

He frowns. “You’re a famous guy,” he says. “You’ve got plenty of money, plenty of options. You can find someone else.”

Blood is thumping in my ears. I can’t remember the last time I was this angry. Usually, when I lose my temper, I can’t think

of what to say, but right now, the words rise straight to my lips.

“I don’t want someone else,” I say, staring hard at him, trying to force him to meet my gaze. “And Jacob isn’t some wild chapter

in my history. We’ve been together for a year.”

He flinches backward at that, as if from a blow.

“I’m sorry that he didn’t tell you,” I say through my teeth, trying to remind myself that beneath all the bullshit he’s spewed,

he may really believe he has Jacob’s best interests at heart. “And I’m sorry that you found out like this. But I’m not going

to leave him. He doesn’t want me to leave him.” I throw an impatient hand toward the door to the unit, and he flinches again, like he’s remembering the

way Jacob clung to me. “I don’t want to mess anything up for your family, or for him. I swear I don’t. But I’m not going to

leave him.”

My heart is beating quickly, but I sit back in my chair with a surge of satisfaction. For once in my life, I’ve said exactly

what I wanted to say, right when I needed to say it.

Jacob’s father finally looks at me. For what feels like an eternity, he stares at me with a cold expression. I wait for him to yell at me, or to admit defeat, but instead he does something that feels even worse.

Without a word, he stands up and walks away.