Page 48

At eleven p.m., the doorbell rings. I don’t think Jacob’s used the doorbell at my house since the very first time he came

here. He always used to walk right in.

I scrub my palms over my thighs and pull open the door. He’s changed into black sweats and a soft gray hoodie I’ve seen him

wear before, and he looks pale in the moonlight. Pale and nervous.

It’s a bit of a relief to see it. I feel nervous, too.

“Hey,” I say. “C’mon in.”

“Thanks.” He steps inside and toes off his shoes. “Good flight?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Yeah.” We look at each other a moment, then I clear my throat and gesture vaguely to the kitchen. “You want to—?”

“Of course, yeah,” he says, and follows me down the hallway. “Did I see you got a dog?”

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Morocco. She’s at Heather’s place right now.”

“Ah.”

We reach the kitchen, and stand in silence for a few seconds. “You want something to drink?” I ask. “I’ve got beer, soda...”

“It’s okay. I had, like, three sodas on the plane, so.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Actually, can I

use your bathroom? I’ve had to pee for, like, an hour.”

“Yeah, of course,” I say hurriedly. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” He tries to step around me at the same time that I try to step out of his way, and we both laugh uncertainly.

“This is awkward,” I admit.

He smiles. “Little bit.”

“We’ll get back into it,” I say.

“For sure.” He rocks on his feet a second. “Right, well, I’m just going to—”

“Of course.” I wave him past me. “Go.”

I drop my forehead against the fridge after he’s gone. This is harder than I thought it would be. It was easy back at the

track, when I was riding high on the shock of him showing up and wanting me back. Now, I feel like there’s a ten-month weight

hanging over us, and about a million unsaid things.

I hear the bathroom door open down the hall, but a few minutes pass and Jacob doesn’t reappear. I finally peer down the hall

and see him standing in the open doorway of the last room on the left, the third bedroom that I converted to a sim room for

him.

“You okay?” I ask.

He flinches. “Yeah,” he says. Then, with a strange little laugh, “No.” He gestures feebly into the sim room. “You bought that

for me.”

“Um—yeah?”

“I never said thank you.”

I open my mouth automatically to say “It’s okay,” then I stop myself. “No,” I agree.

His lips turn up at the edges, but it isn’t a happy expression. “I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks.” I hesitate, then add, “Why didn’t you? I mean... if you want to talk about it.”

“I want to,” he says. Then he smiles crookedly. “Well, I don’t want to, really. I hate talking about things.”

“Really?” I say, in a tone of feigned surprise. “I never noticed.”

He laughs. “I know, I hide it well.” He licks his lips. “But I’ll do it, this time. I promise.”

His gray eyes are serious, and a coil of tension loosens in my chest. “Right now?” I offer.

He nods. “Right now.”

He follows me to the living room and curls up on one side of the couch with his knees bent in front of him. I grab a blanket

from the closet and toss it to him before I sit down, like I’ve done a hundred times before. I sit down on the other side

of the couch, facing him.

“What do you want to talk about?” I ask.

“I’m in love with you,” he says.

Just like that, with no preamble or anything. He goes a bit red after he says it, but he doesn’t look away from me.

“You’re—oh,” I say, eloquently.

He clears his throat. “It’s okay if you’re not... I mean, if you don’t feel the same way anymore.” He drops his gaze and

fiddles with the hem of the blanket draped over his knees. “I know we’ve been—you know, not together, for a while. I know

things have probably changed.”

I move my gaze over his face. His features are so familiar to me. The tousled blond hair, the tiny scar near his left eyebrow,

the shade of his eyes, like a crystallized storm cloud.

“Nothing’s changed,” I say quietly.

His expression changes, like a flash of light leaping into his eyes. I try to remember if his face was so expressive before. Maybe it was, and I just didn’t know how to read it. “Yeah?” he says, his tone hopeful.

I smile. “Yeah. But I don’t think things can be the same, this time.”

“I know.” He rests his temple against the couch. “I messed everything up before. I’m no good at relationships.”

“I mean, you’re better than me,” I point out. “At least you’ve dated people before.”

He snorts. “No one I actually liked. Well, I liked Kelsie,” he amends. “But I wasn’t—you know. In love with her.”

A pleasant shiver runs through me. That’s twice now he’s said the word. There’s color in his cheeks again, and for a moment

I’m tempted to change the subject, but Heather’s voice is whispering in my ear, talking about being accountable.

“You didn’t say it before,” I say. “When I—” I gesture to the kitchen instead of finishing the sentence. I can tell by the

look on his face that he knows what I mean.

“I know.” He exhales heavily and shifts a bit deeper into the couch. There are faint smudges under his eyes, like he hasn’t

been sleeping well. “I wanted to. I just... I don’t like giving up control.”

I get the strangest feeling when he says it, like a puzzle piece has clicked into place in my mind. In the span of one heartbeat,

my memories of Jacob reshape themselves. His plastic smile when I gave him the simulator. The stiffness of his fingers when

I held his hand in the hospital. His strange jitteriness when he got back from his run with Nate, the day I tried to tell

him I loved him.

I stretch my leg out and nudge his shin. “I don’t want to control you,” I say. “Idiot.”

He laughs, and the air relaxes a bit more between us. We’re quiet for a moment, then I ask the question that’s been haunting me for months. “What happened in the hospital? Why did you end things?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” he says.

I snort. “Jacob.”

He smiles a little, then sobers. “I was scared,” he says, quieter.

“Of what?”

He shrugs a bit helplessly and casts his gaze around the living room. “I don’t know. Lots of things. Never racing again. People

finding out about us.”

“That freaks me out a bit, too,” I say.

“Yeah, well, it shouldn’t,” he says, his brow furrowing. “I mean, I don’t want a bunch of strangers knowing our business,”

he adds, perhaps seeing the wariness in my face, “but there’s a difference between private and secret. And I’m tired of keeping

secrets.”

One side of my mouth curves up. “Me too.”

“Anyway, that’s why I ended things, because I was a cowardly piece of shit. And I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

My heart twists. “I’m sorry, too.”

He frowns. “What do you have to be sorry for?”

“I should’ve fought harder for us. If I’d reached out to you sooner—if I hadn’t given up so quickly—”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference,” he says. “I mean, if you’d messaged me a month ago, yeah, I would’ve been here in a

heartbeat, but before that... I wasn’t ready. I was a fucking mess, really.”

“You’re not a mess.”

He snorts. “Tell that to my therapist.”

“You have a therapist?”

His cheeks color. “I did, yeah. It’s kind of stupid.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” I say. “Was it helpful?”

“I don’t know. Yeah.” He shifts his weight and gives me a strange, uncertain look. “You really want to hear about it?”

I lean forward and take his hand, pressing my lips to the center of his palm. I know the taste of his skin just as well as

the color of his eyes, but hearing him talk like this, it’s almost like listening to a stranger. Or a new version of him,

at least. A version I really want to know.

“I really do,” I say, and sit back again to listen.

We stay awake talking for another hour or two, until Jacob is practically falling asleep between sentences. I tell him about

Heather and Matty and Mrs. Costa and Matty’s parents, and he tells me about therapy and rehab and his first week with Crosswire.

When he can’t stay awake any longer, we migrate to my bedroom. He falls asleep with his head on my chest and my fingers threaded

loosely in his hair. When I wake up around noon, he’s sleeping so deeply, I have to check that he’s breathing.

I know it’s creepy to watch someone sleep, but I can’t help doing it for a minute or two. I still can’t quite believe he’s

here.

I grab my phone from the nightstand and flip through my texts. I told Heather and Matty about Jacob on the flight home, and

clearly they (and by “they” I mean Matty) have told everyone else. I have texts from both of his parents and Mrs. Costa and

Hunter, and even a text from Thomas ( Happy for you! PS—Heather showed me a pic of your boy. DAMN. Any chance he has a twin brother? Asking for a friend ).

I’m sending back a response when my phone vibrates again. It’s a message in the group chat between me, Heather, Hunter, Matty, Matty’s girlfriend Erin, his parents, and Mrs. Costa.

Heather set it up to send us the time of our dinner reservation after the race in Brazil, but everyone’s kept messaging in

it since.

[12:07] Matty: so what are we all thinking

[12:07] Matty: dinner tonight to grill Travis’ new boyfriend?

Oh, lord. I’m frantically typing a protest when Hunter answers.

[12:08] Hunter: oh HELL YES

[12:08] Hunter: I want to meet this asshole who thinks he’s good enough for our boy

[12:09] Heather: agreed!!!! I can book it, just need a head count

[12:09] Heather: PS Hunter bring me coffee

[12:10] Hunter: ?? Come out to the kitchen and get it yourself

[12:11] Alice: Frank and I are on holiday right now, but we can’t wait to meet him, Travis. Call us tomorrow if you get a chance.

[12:12] Matty: how come you never ask ME to call you, mom??

[12:13] Mrs. Costa: I’m home in Brasilia, but I would like a full report, please! I’m so happy for you, Travis. Sending you my love.

[12:13] Matty: are you sending me love too, Mrs. Costa?

[12:14] Mrs. Costa: Of course!

[12:14] Matty: see mom? SOMEONE loves me.

[12:14] Alice: Okay, dear.

I jump in as quickly as I can.