Ourhotel room.
Not that it was really ours, technically speaking. Jacob always had his own hotel room, several miles away and several hundred dollars a night cheaper, but when our race weekends overlapped, without fail, he’d show up past dark with a duffel bag and a smile, and we’d spend the nights together.
It takes me a few minutes to work up the nerve to go inside the room. I wouldn’t have come back at all, except I can’t exactly leave all my things here. I can’t leave all his things here.
I flash my key card over the lock and step inside. I walk through the room, moving like I’m in slow motion. I thought I’d cried myself out in the locked ICU bathroom, but I’m not prepared for this at all. Housekeeping hasn’t been in—I always leave the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door—so everything is just how we left it yesterday morning. Jacob’s half-empty coffee cup is on the table, with his laptop beside it. His hoodie is thrown over the back of the sofa. His toothbrush is in a cup by the sink.
I sink onto the edge of the bed, holding onto control by a single, rapidly fraying thread. With shaking hands, I pull out my phone and open up my texts from Jacob again, this time staring at the last one he sent me. It’s from early Friday morning, right after he flew in.
Just landed. Headed to track now, soo tired lol. Pizza tn?
Pizza was definitely not on the list of approved foods for my strict diet, but whenever I pointed that out, Jacob would grin and say we’d work off the calories afterward. We didn’t, though. Not Friday night. He was totally beat from traveling, and I’d strained my shoulder a bit during free practice. Our last night together, and we spent it watching old MotoGP videos on YouTube and eating takeout.
I don’t even remember if I kissed him before we fell asleep.
I don’t remember the last thing he said to me the next morning.
I’ve been racking my brain since the accident, but I still can’t remember. I know I made him coffee, and I remember asking him where he and his parents were planning to go to dinner that night, but I don’t remember what he said before he left. I was so focused on working up the nerve to tell him I loved him, I wasn’t listening to the last thing he said to me.
The lump in my throat is a vicious thing, and if I’m going to break down again, I should do it now, in private. But even as the thought pops into my mind, someone raps on the door.
I freeze, hoping they’ll go away, but whoever’s out there knocks again.
“Yo, Keeping!” Matty hollers.
I bite down so hard on the inside of my cheek that I taste blood, and then force myself to go to the door.
“What?” I say unhelpfully.
“You left your ID at the track,” Matty says, holding it out to me. I take it from him with a muttered “Thanks.” Matty studies me—really looks at me—and my stomach turns over. “What the fuck is wrong, man?” he asks. He tries to step inside, but I move to the side, blocking him. The last thing I need is for him to see Jacob’s things everywhere.
“I told you, it’s nothing,” I snap. Then, almost immediately, I realize my mistake and backtrack. “I just have a brutal migraine, that’s all. Need to lie down,” I add pointedly.
“Ah shit,” Matty says, frowning. “I didn’t know you get migraines. My sister gets wicked ones. I think she takes Imitrex for ’em. You have any of that shit around?”
Of course Matty would have a sister with migraines. “Yeah, I’ve got something,” I lie. “Really gotta lie down, though.”
“Right, of course. You need me to get anything for you?”
The offer sounds genuine, and for a moment I feel awful. I’ve been brushing Matty off since I joined Harper, but that’s never stopped him from being nice to me, or texting me, or generally being a good person. Even in the last few months, with some of the media running snarky stories about how much I’m outperforming him, he’s never once been anything but pleasant to me.
“I’m good, but thanks, man.” I try to close the door in his face before I can do something stupid, like burst into tears, but he catches it just before it closes.
“Did you hear the good news, though?” he asks. “Antony Costa’s conscious again. Totally fucked up his legs, but he’s completely with it. The doctors think he’ll turn out okay.”
“That’s great,” I croak.
“Yeah. Doubt he’ll be racing anytime soon, but at least he’s going to make it.”
I nod twice, blinking quickly. “No word about Jacob?”
I’m such a mess, I forget to call him Nichols. I don’t think Matty notices.
“No, nothing. Still critical, that’s all it says online.”
“Right.”
“Anyway, I’ll let you crash. You text me if you need anything, yeah?”
