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Looking back on it now, it’s so obvious. I was so much more invested than he was. I was so in love with him, I ignored every

single sign, even the glaringly obvious ones. He couldn’t have been clearer. He was pushing me away every time I tried to

pull him closer. He never used that racing sim, not once. And when Christmas was over, his suitcase and all his things went

home with him.

What was it he said in the hospital? I know you think this is so fucking serious, but that’s just because you’ve never dated anyone before.

He’s right. I did think we were serious. I thought he would be a part of my life forever, and now that he’s not, I’m left

with this awful, hollow void inside me, this empty space where he used to live.

It’s Heather’s boyfriend, Hunter, who gives me the best advice after the breakup.

“There’s nothing you can do to make things better,” he says. “Every week will just get a little less shit, until one day you

wake up and you don’t remember quite what the pain felt like.”

The weeks pass by; race weekends come and go.

And it doesn’t really get less painful—thinking of Jacob still makes my chest ache, and I still spend hours every night thinking about him, wondering if he’s okay, wondering if I could’ve done something differently—but every week it gets a little easier to pretend that I’m okay.

Racing is helpful. Stefan hasn’t said anything since I told him about Jacob, and I’m determined not to give him an excuse

to fire me. I throw all my focus and energy into racing and land two second-place finishes in a row, edging out Clayton from

Crosswire Racing in the championship. The next two races are wet races, and with a little luck—Mahoney crashes out once, and

then he and Clayton both have engine failures—I get two wins in a row.

Then, somehow, there are only three races left, and I have a chance of winning the championship again. But I have to finish

ahead of Mahoney every single race. No one really thinks it’s possible, not the press, not the fans, not even the team.

No one except Heather, who kisses my cheek before the Brazilian GP and whispers in my ear, “You’ve got this.”

And somehow— somehow —she’s right. I overtake Mahoney on the second to last lap and cross the line a half second ahead. When I get out of the car,

my eyes land on Heather, waiting with the rest of the Harper team behind the barricade. Matty is standing next to her—he retired

from the race after an unlucky first lap crash—cheering as loudly as she is, and when I approach, they both pull me into a

hug, Heather screaming excitedly into my ear, Matty gripping me hard enough to bruise. For the first time since Jacob broke

up with me—the first time since his crash, really—I feel myself smiling a stupid, irrepressible smile.

When I’m done with the podium and the press, Heather pulls me aside and leads me to my trailer.

“Someone wants to congratulate you,” she says, and for a stupid moment I really think it’ll be Jacob.

Instead, Antony Costa’s mother is waiting for me with shiny eyes and a smile.

“Parabéns, darling. Parabéns.”

She opens her arms and I go to her, feeling a painful clench inside of my chest. She’s just tall enough for her chin to hook

over my shoulder, and as I hug her, she breaks into tears, her small frame shaking.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.

She pulls away after a moment and shakes her head, smiling through her tears. “Don’t apologize. I didn’t come here to ruin

your exciting day.”

“You’re not ruining it,” I say. “Are you doing okay?”

“Keeping!” Matty bursts into the room before she can answer. His smile falters when he sees her. “Oh—shit, sorry—”

“No, no,” Mrs. Costa says, stepping away from me to wipe her eyes. “I’ll let you boys celebrate.”

“My parents are here,” Matty tells me. “They want to take us out to dinner.” He smiles encouragingly at Mrs. Costa. “Er—I’m

sure they’d love it if you’d come, too, ma’am.”

“Oh, no,” she says.

“Yes,” I say, more forcefully than I mean to. “I mean, if you want to,” I amend hastily.

Mrs. Costa looks at me, tears shining in her eyes. After a moment, she smiles. “Well... alright. If you really don’t mind.”

An hour later, Matty, his parents Alice and Frank, Mrs. Costa, Heather, Hunter, and I are in the back room of a restaurant Matty chose, laughing as Matty and Heather argue with Hunter about whether or not plant-based meat tastes terrible.

Mrs. Costa is sitting next to me, and as the argument shifts to a spirited discussion about some TV show I’ve never seen,

I lean closer to her.

“How are you doing?”

Her smile thins and she sits up a little straighter, a reflex I recognize. It’s like what I do whenever Matty asks me about

Jacob. An instinct to lie, to pretend everything is alright.

“Oh, we’re getting by,” she says.

Impulsively, I reach under the table and take her hand. After a moment, she squeezes back hard.

“How is your friend, the other boy?” she asked. “Jacob Nichols.”

She says it just as the conversation around the table lulls, and Matty and Heather both glance at me.

I force a smile. “Ah—I don’t know. We... broke up.”

Mrs. Costa’s eyebrows lift in surprise. I suddenly remember her talking about church, and I feel a spike of panic. But then

her expression relaxes, and a sad smile crosses her face.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t realize you were together.”

“It’s fine,” I lie. “It was weeks ago.”

(Nine weeks and two days, if you want to be specific.)

“You need a new guy,” Matty says, pointing at me with his drink in hand. “I’m going to get Eric to hook you up with one of

his friends.”

“You don’t want to date any of Eric’s friends,” his father, Frank, says flatly.

“They’re not that bad,” Matty says.

Frank snorts. “None of them have jobs.”

“Now, that’s not true,” Matty’s mother, Alice, says. “One of them is a DJ. And that other boy, James, he’s—what do you call it?—a social media influencer.”

“Neither of those are jobs,” Frank says.

“Hunter tried to be an influencer once,” Heather chimes in.

Hunter groans and covers her mouth with his hand. “She’s drunk,” he says. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

Everyone laughs, and I sit back a little in my chair. I feel—odd. Sort of off-balance, but not in a bad way. At the end of

the dinner, Mrs. Costa asks for my phone number and tells me she’s going to call to check in on me, and Alice and Frank tell

me they’re going to be at the last race and that we need to have dinner again, and Matty squeezes my shoulder and tells me

he’s going to set me up with some hot guy he knows, and it’s all just so—

“You’re smiling,” Heather says, nudging my arm. Hunter’s already gone back to their hotel room, but Heather insisted on walking

me back to mine.

I shrug. “That was fun.”

“It was,” she agrees. She threads her arm in mine as we near the hotel. “I’m proud of you, babe.”

“Yeah, well. It’s just one race.”

“I don’t just mean the race. Though you’re definitely going to win the next one.”

I hesitate. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I do.” She rises on her toes and kisses my cheek. “This year is going to end on a good note. I can feel it.”

I crack a smile. “Maybe.”

“ Definitely .” She grins at me. “Now c’mon, let’s go.”

“You’re coming up?”

“Duh. I’m not going to let you sink back into a sulk after we’re gone.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

Heather laughs. “Let’s go, Keeping. I’m thinking minibar snacks and a movie. Sound good?”

That off-balance feeling comes back, and this time, I recognize it as happiness. “Yeah.” I smile at her. “Sounds great.”