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I wake up to find Travis’ new dog, Morocco, staring at me. She’s curled up on his abandoned pillow with her chin tucked between

her front paws and a stern look on her face, like she’s judging me for sleeping in so late.

I stretch my arms out and breathe in deeply. I forgot how good it feels to sleep through the whole night. All of my muscles

are loose and warm, and my mind feels clearer than it has since the crash. I can hear Travis’ coffeemaker gurgling in the

kitchen and the faint sounds of music, a Mumford & Sons song I vaguely recognize. Hunter mentioned last night he was working

on Travis’ musical education. Or, as Heather put it, “trying to turn Travis into an annoying hipster, as if the world doesn’t

have enough of them already.”

I really liked them, Heather and Hunter and Matty and Erin. I think they liked me, too, but I definitely get the sense that

I’ll be on probation until they’re sure I’m not going to hurt Travis again. Which is fine with me, really. I like that he

has people to be protective of him. And I have no intention of hurting him, now that we’re back together.

Your boyfriend , he said.

I grin foolishly at the memory. I’m actually kind of excited to introduce him to Nate next weekend. I suppose there’s a chance

Nate will react badly, but I’m not that worried. He’s a really laidback sort of guy, plus he’s a huge F1 fan. If anything,

he’ll probably just be annoyed I didn’t tell him about Travis sooner.

Morocco bats impatiently at my hand. I pet her obediently for a minute or two and then roll over and reach for my phone. Kelsie’s

texted to see how things went last night, and there’s a text from an unknown number that just says Sup bro!! , which is either Matty or Erin imitating Matty. I send back a string of question marks to see who it is and then scroll absently

through Instagram.

My thumb stills over a post from an F1 news account. There’s a photo of Tom Kellen frowning, with the caption “Kellen throws

shade at Olsson after Crosswire dominates preseason testing.”

My stomach twists unpleasantly. Olsson is Stefan Olsson, Harper’s team boss.

“What’s that face for?”

Morocco’s tail thumps eagerly as Travis steps into the room carrying a steaming mug of coffee.

I hold my hands out eagerly. “Oh my god, thank you.”

“This was mine, actually,” Travis says dryly. “But you can have it.”

He nudges Morocco out of the way to sit down beside me. I slide up in bed and take a sip of coffee.

“Fuck, that’s good. Do you think it would be a bad idea to inject this directly into my veins?”

Travis grins. “Probably. So?” he adds, nudging my shoulder. “What was the face for?”

I shift uncertainly. “I’m just... not looking forward to going back to work tomorrow.”

His eyebrows lift. “I thought you were liking it so far.”

“No, I am.” I hesitate. “I just don’t know if I should tell Tom that we’re dating again.”

Travis pets Morocco’s head. “Does he know that we were dating before?”

I wince. “Yeah. I sort of told him during my interview. Or, well, I didn’t actually tell him it was you, I just said that

I was dating another driver, and he guessed that it was you. And I know I shouldn’t have told him that without talking to

you, but that was when we were—you know, broken up, and he swore he wouldn’t tell anyone else...” I trail off guiltily.

“Sorry.”

Travis shrugs. “I don’t care. I told Stefan about you, when you were in the hospital.”

“And he didn’t care?”

Travis tilts his head thoughtfully. “Not sure. We never talked about it again.”

My lips twist up into a wry smile. He sounds like he hasn’t given it a moment’s thought since.

“Yeah, well, Tom wasn’t thrilled when I told him we’d dated. Or at least, he said it made things ‘complex.’?” I look down

at my coffee cup. “He’ll probably fire me when he finds out we’re back together.”

“Why? What does it matter?”

I look at him in fond exasperation. “I don’t know if you’re aware, but there’s a bit of a rivalry between Crosswire and Harper.”

He laughs. “I vaguely remember hearing something about that, yes. But what does Tom think you’re going to do? Find out all

their secrets and pass them on to me?”

“Er—basically, yeah.”

“Hm.” Travis takes the coffee cup from my hand and sips it for a moment, staring at me.

My cheeks go slightly warm under his gaze.

I forgot what it felt like, to have all his focus and attention.

“Let me talk to Stefan,” he says. “There must be some sort of nondisclosure agreement we can sign to stop them worrying.”

I hesitate. “You mean, like... something they’d work out together?”

He shrugs. “Why not?”

“Because they hate each other? Or because it’d be way easier for Crosswire to just replace me?”

Travis rolls his eyes. “Who are they going to replace you with? They don’t have any good drivers in their academy right now.”

“They have their reserve driver—”

“Who, Farin Leblanc?” Travis shakes his head. “He isn’t half as good as you.”

I pull a face. “I don’t know if that’s true. Even if it is, there are plenty of other drivers.”

“No,” Travis says, simply, as if the idea that Crosswire might pick someone other than me is insane. “They’re lucky to have

you. And if they want to keep you, they’ll have to put up with us dating.”

I roll my eyes, flattered and exasperated in equal measure. “That’s easy for you to say. Harper will never fire you. You’ve

just won them the championship.”

“And I’ll remind Stefan of that when I tell him to set up a meeting with Crosswire.”

I scrub a hand over my face. “And what’s going to stop Crosswire from firing me?”

“Besides the fact that you’re the best driver to take Mahoney’s place when he retires?”

“Yeah.”

Travis grins. “Maybe the fact that my contract with Harper is up at the end of this year. Crosswire’s been after me before. I don’t think they’ll risk pissing me off, not if they want any hope of signing me in the future.”

I stare at him in surprise. “You’d really leave Harper?”

He chuckles. “Probably not. But they don’t have to know that.”

He puts the coffee cup back in my hand and kisses me swiftly, then pulls his phone from his pocket and starts dialing.

“Wait, you’re calling Stefan now ?”

“Of course.”

I groan. “Travis...”

He waves away my protest and heads into the hall with his phone to his ear. His voice echoes back to me, polite but firm.

“Stefan? Hi. Yeah, good, thanks. Look, I’ve got a bit of a situation—”

Morocco bats my thigh with her paw. I put my coffee aside to rub her ears.

“Insane,” I tell her quietly. “Your owner is insane .”

But as I reach for my coffee cup again, I’m smiling.

A week later, Travis and I sit in a conference room along with Stefan, Tom, and five well-dressed lawyers. Two of them are

from Crosswire, two are from Harper, and one is the monstrously expensive, slightly terrifying lawyer Travis hired to represent

our interests—mine and his. It’s taken them seven days of what sounds like nonstop work, but they’ve all finally agreed on

a nondisclosure agreement for Travis and me to sign.

It’s without a doubt one of the most uncomfortable situations I’ve ever been in.

Tom and Stefan really, really don’t like each other, but they’re clearly trying to out-civil each other.

They did this strange thing at the start, where they were each trying to flex how supportive and principled their team is compared to the other’s.

Like, Tom said he “fully supports” our relationship, so Stefan had to one-up him by saying he’d be “perfectly happy” to support us going public.

Which we aren’t—we talked about it, and we both want to keep things private, for now—but I’ve been thinking about how I would feel if the news leaked someday, and it doesn’t give me cold stabs of panic like it used to.

In fact, I kind of think it would be easier, after the media shitstorm settled.

Anyway, Tom and Stefan bragged about their anti-discrimination policies for a while, then the lawyers jumped in and said we

should probably get started. I don’t know why it takes fourteen pages to say it, but the agreement they’ve drawn up basically

boils down to this: whatever Travis and I share with each other will stay between the two of us. I can tell Travis about Crosswire’s

new brake ducts, but he can’t then run and tell Harper about them, and vice versa.

It just seems like common sense to me, and I take no issue with signing until we reach a little note on the last page, which

says that neither team will ever hire the opposite team’s driver. My stomach twists a little, but I’m thinking I’ll just ignore

it, until Travis speaks up.

“Remove that,” he says. “That’s unreasonable.”

He’s the only one in the room who isn’t tense or red-faced. I know him, so I know he does occasionally get nervous about things—although,

now that I think on it, it’s only ever stuff to do with me, like how he handed me a key the other day without any explanation,

and it took five minutes of wheedling to get him to explain it was a key to his place—but clearly he isn’t nervous about this.

Looking at him, you’d think he’s lounging on a beach in the Maldives. Which, incidentally, is a holiday we’re planning with

Heather and Hunter for the F1 summer break.

He’s got one arm on the back of his chair and the other stretched out on the table, his fingers resting next to his phone.

It’s his old iPhone, the one he was using when we first met.

Heather and Hunter bought him a newer model, and Matty and Erin bought him a fancy case for it, but he hasn’t used them since I gave him the Christmas present I got him last year, the wooden phone case with the picture of the cabin in Harris etched into it.

I kind of wish he’d keep it in his pocket, because every time I see it, I remember the look on his face when I gave it to him, and I want to grin like an idiot.

Instead, I bite the inside of my cheek and try to mimic his calm, unbothered expression.

Stefan clears his throat. “Well, now, our lawyers feel that it’s important protection for the team. What’s to stop Crosswire

from poaching you from us to steal all our secrets?” He sort of laughs after he says it, like he’s trying to keep things light

and friendly.

Travis raises an eyebrow. “They could do that now. And why would you sign something that could keep you from hiring Jacob?”

Oh, lord. The tips of my ears light on fire as Tom and Stefan turn their critical gazes toward me. Travis makes it sound like

I’m some sort of prodigy, like they’d be insane to pass up the chance to work with me.

The crazy part is, Tom and Stefan are frowning at me like they might agree . I can practically hear their brains whirring.

Tom gets there a little faster. “I have no issue with removing it,” he says. “We’ve always supported our drivers to do what’s

best for their careers. If a better opportunity arises for Jacob, of course we would want him to take it. Although,” he adds,

“I have confidence our team will only improve with the new regulations.”

I stifle a smile. He’s really put Stefan in a corner with that one.

“We are equally supportive of our drivers,” Stefan says stiffly. “And I’m just as confident in our team.” With obvious effort, he puts on

a smile. “Who knows? Perhaps one day the two of you will be teammates.”

I glance at Travis, and I know he’s trying to imagine it, just like I am. He and Matty are a bit of an exception—most teammates

in F1 aren’t close friends. Or if they are, they usually don’t stay that way.

But I don’t know. I think Travis and I could hack it.

The meeting drags on for another hour after that, then everyone finally agrees on the final language, and the lawyers whip

out brand-new copies for us to sign. It feels sort of weird signing a contract with Travis, almost like we’re getting married

or something.

And I know it’s not the same thing, obviously. But it’s still something of a statement. It’s saying we think we’ll be together

for as long as we’re with our respective F1 teams, and I hope to hell that’s longer than a few years.

I think he must feel the same way, because he takes my hand on the car ride home and grins at me in that fond, easy way that

makes my skin warm.

“Kind of cool, yeah?” he says.

I nod, biting into my grin. It definitely is. Just like it was cool last night, when I was telling him a story about Kelsie

and he said, sort of offhand, “Have you signed a lease for her place yet?” And when I replied just as casually that I hadn’t,

and asked if he thought I should, he shrugged and said, “Maybe just for a month or two. It would suck to be stuck in a lease

for too long.”

And then we sort of grinned at each other for a while, pretending like we both didn’t know what we were getting at. I swear, if I saw a couple acting like this on TV, I would roll my eyes and call them both lame.

But it turns out it’s really fucking nice when it’s happening to you.

Travis turns onto the highway back into London, and I watch the countryside roll by. It’s one of those perfect spring days,

when it seems like all the leaves have come out overnight, and the sky is a bright, unbroken blue. The city is silhouetted

in the distance, filled with things I want to do and places I want to see. Kelsie made a whole list for me, three hundred

and forty-two items long, and Travis and I have slowly started picking them off. Sometimes we go with Kelsie and Heather,

who met a few days ago and hit it off straightaway, or Nate, who likes Travis just as much as I hoped he would, but most of

the time, it’s just Travis and me. A few days ago, we went to the Tower of London, and a bunch of people recognized Travis

and asked for his autograph.

A year ago, I wouldn’t have gone anywhere alone with him, in case something like that happened. I would’ve felt sick worrying

that someone would wonder why we’re always spotted together in London without any girlfriends in tow. Now, I can’t bring myself

to care. Let them wonder, let them talk. I’ve already decided I won’t live my life to please my parents. I’m sure as hell

not going to do it to please a bunch of strangers.

Travis rubs his thumb over my palm. I smile at him and squeeze his hand.

When I look back over the last year, it sometimes feels like one single, endless bad day.

It would be easy to wish it had never happened or call it a waste of ten months of my life.

But it did happen, there’s no changing that.

And now that I’m on the other side of it, I can’t bring myself to call it a waste.

It was hard, and sometimes horrible, but it led me to where I am now.

Driving toward my new home, with Travis beside me, and a lifetime of good days ahead of us.