Page 25

I used to think that, before Jacob, my life was colorless. When I was with him, everything was brighter, and better, and it

never occurred to me that I could find that brightness anywhere else. I put Jacob up on the highest shelf and withdrew even

more from the people around me in the process.

Now, Jacob is gone—has been, for almost twelve weeks now—but somehow the world is starting to fill with color again. Mrs.

Costa calls me once a week. Matty’s mother, Alice, calls every few days; his father, Frank, texts even more often. He works

as an investment broker for some multimillion-dollar firm, and he’s helping me invest some of the money that’s been sitting

uselessly in my bank account. Heather and Matty, though, are my constants. I never had a best friend before. Now, suddenly,

I have two of them.

It’s a different kind of intimacy than I had with Jacob.

I wanted him so badly, and I was so scared of losing him, that I never pushed him when he disappointed me.

I hid all my negative feelings from him whenever I could, all my worries and doubts and fears.

But Heather and Matty have already seen me at my worst. I trust Heather implicitly, and Matty speaks so frankly about everything, it’s impossible to lie to him.

He was right when he said he was intuitive as hell.

He always seems to know when I’m missing Jacob, or when I’m worrying about things, and he’s so relentlessly positive, it’s hard to stay down when he’s around.

I win the second to last race of the season, putting me only four points behind Mahoney for the championship. If I can beat

him by more than four points in the final race, I’ll win the title.

Heather and Matty spend every day leading up to it with me.

“You guys do know I don’t need babysitters,” I tell them the night before qualifying. They both showed up at my hotel room

and dragged me to dinner at some ludicrously expensive sushi restaurant in downtown Abu Dhabi.

“We’re not your babysitters,” Heather says. “We’re your keepers. Totally different.”

Matty laughs. “Hear, hear.”

“We’re distracting you,” Heather adds. “Keeping you out of your head.”

“I’m fine,” I tell them. “Seriously.”

“You’re not nervous,” Matty says doubtfully.

I take a sip of water. “Not really. I’ll either win or I’ll lose.”

Matty shakes his head. “You’re a robot, Keeping.” (And okay, my heart still does tighten just a little at that, thinking of

Jacob.)

“I want to win,” I admit. “But it’s not the end of the world if I don’t.”

Matty feigns a gasp. “Blasphemy. If you win this year, my contract value is definitely going up. Championship-winning car

and all that.”

“Yeah, but you’re only fourth,” Heather points out.

Matty scowls. “Keeping, talk to your woman.”

I laugh, but it’s partly forced. The media has really run off with this “me dating Heather” thing.

Some news site got a picture of her kissing my cheek outside the hotel a few weeks ago, and everyone thinks she’s my girlfriend, even in the paddock.

I’d set the record straight, if anyone ever asked me about it directly, but no one ever does.

They just write about it in articles, making confident statements about things they know nothing about.

Heather says to ignore it, and Hunter doesn’t seem to care, but it leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

“You’d be second, if you hadn’t had such shitty luck,” I tell Matty.

His mouth twists, a rare look of unhappiness flickering over his face. “That’s generous,” he says.

I bite my lip and say nothing, because if I’m being honest, it was a bit generous. Matty’s a great driver, but he’s had a

few less-than-stellar performances this year. I think he gets in his head too much about what the media says.

“You’ll get it back,” Heather tells him. “This time next year, you two will be at each other’s throats fighting over the championship.”

Matty manages a grin. “Or I’ll be kicking your ass,” he says to me, “and you’ll have to pretend to be as gracious and wonderful

as me.”

I chuckle. “Deal.”

For a minute or two, we eat in silence, then I look up to find both of them watching me.

“You’re going to win tomorrow,” Heather says. “I can feel it.”

Matty nods. “She’s right, man. You’ve got this.”

One corner of my mouth turns up. “Thanks. For everything, I mean. These past few months—”

“We’re the best, you wouldn’t have gotten through it without us, blah blah blah,” Heather says. “We know.”

Matty touches his glass to mine. “No need to thank us. We love your strange robot ass.”

“We love you,” Heather echoes. “And you’re going to win.”

The next day, I only come seventh in qualifying. Mahoney and Clayton are first and second. I could’ve been higher, but there

was a yellow flag at the worst possible moment in Q3, and I had to abort my last lap. Heather and Matty take me out for dinner

again—they really are my keepers—but afterward, I put my foot down and insist on going back to my hotel room alone.

I sit cross-legged on my bed with my phone on the bedspread in front of me, staring at the background. I haven’t changed it,

not even after everything. It’s the same photo from the hike in Scotland, the one that Jacob and I did together all those

months ago.

My world has color again, and I have friends, but I still miss Jacob so badly sometimes, I feel sick. Every time something

good happens, I want to tell him. And I desperately want to know how he is. If he’s okay. If he’s happy. I know he’s out of

the hospital and doing rehab in Albuquerque. Josh Fry told me that much, but that’s all I know.

I want to know so much more.

I know I shouldn’t. I know I care more about him than he ever cared about me.

But I miss him. And I need to know he’s okay.

Swallowing hard, I open a text message to him. The last text he sent me ( Just landed. Headed to track now, soo tired lol. Pizza tn? ) makes my chest hurt. I push through it and force myself to type.

Hey, hope your rehab is going okay.

I bite my lip and add the truth.

Thinking of you.

I hit Send, then I get off the bed and pace the room. I only make it a few steps before my phone dings. I snatch it up, my

heart beating somewhere in my throat. There’s a message—I swipe to open it—

Message failed to deliver to recipient.

Everything inside of me goes cold.

He changed his number.

Of course he did.

I think that’s the moment when I finally accept it. That he doesn’t want me to contact him, that he doesn’t want to get back

together. That it’s really over.

In some ways, it feels like the end all over again. I feel just as crushed, just as devastated. In another way, it’s almost

a relief. I don’t have to keep wondering. I can let it go. I can focus on what’s important. My friends, my career, the pseudo-family

I’ve found in Heather and Hunter and Matty and Mrs. Costa and Matty’s parents.

Almost on cue, my phone buzzes in my hand. Mrs. Costa is calling me. I lick my dry lips and hit Accept.

“Travis, meu querido,” she says. “I hope I’m not disturbing you, I just wanted to wish you luck.”

“It’s no problem.” I smile. “I’m glad you called.”

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?”

I look through the blinds. Dark clouds are gathering in the night sky. There hasn’t ever been rain in an Abu Dhabi race, not

once, but all day, the forecasters were wondering.

“No,” I tell her. “I think I’ve got this.”

And the next day, in the faintest rain—

I’m right.