“Because,” I stammer. “I don’t have a seat for next year. I can’t even get the worst teams in F4 to take me.”
“So?”
“So, it’s pathetic.”
“Is that what he liked about you? Your racing credentials?”
I scowl. “Don’t say it like that, like it doesn’t matter.”
“Does it?”
“Yes,” I snap. “It does. I wouldn’t be into Travis anymore if he turned into a shit driver. I wouldn’t be attracted to him if he got really lazy and stopped caring about winning. And that’s not being a bad person, okay, that’s just being honest.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “But we’re not talking about you being lazy, or being a ‘shit driver.’ You’ve had some terrible luck, and yes, you don’t have a new team yet. But you’re working incredibly hard. Your rehab team cleared you two months earlier than they thought they would. And you haven’t given up, even after all these rejections.”
I make a dismissive noise. “Yeah, and I have nothing to show for it.”
“I disagree,” she says. “You are a completely different person compared to when I met you. Do you know how rare it is, for people to change?” She gives me a small smile. “You’re very impressive, Jacob. Truly.”
I look away from her, discomfited.
“Look,” she says. “Do you know why a lot of people struggle with diets? It’s because they keep waiting for the ideal circumstances to start. They’ll start working out when their new gym equipment arrives. They’ll stop eating sugar after that office party next week. They slipped up at breakfast, so now there’s no point eating well the rest of the day.” She shrugs. “If you wait for everything in your life to be perfect before you take action, then you’ll be waiting forever. If you want something, and it’s within the realms of reality that you can get it...”
“You need to do something,” I mutter. “You’re really proud of that one, aren’t you?”
“Definitely.” She smiles. “I think it’s a new classic.”
I manage a small smile in return. “I guess... you’re not wrong.”
“High praise.”
I look at my hands. “But, like... even if I wanted to see him, I don’t have his number anymore. I got rid of my old phone.” I don’t tell her about the time a week ago, when Paul and his girlfriend—fiancée, now—came over for dinner and I was playing a drinking game with myself, where I drank every time I wanted to smack him, and I accidentally got drunk and stayed up till two a.m. trying to remember Travis’ number. That’s the problem with cell phones, you don’t ever see anyone’s number. I thought it ended in 4697, but the old woman who answered that number was definitely not Travis and definitely didn’t appreciate being bothered on a Sunday morning.
Amanda raises a wry eyebrow. “If only there were some other way of communicating with people these days...”
“Travis doesn’t have any social media. I mean, he must have an e-mail address, I guess, but I don’t know what it is.”
Amanda frowns. “I thought he had Instagram.” She reaches into her pocket and takes out her phone. “I would never look up a patient’s partner online, mind you, but when I was reading about F1 I could’ve sworn I saw a post from his Instagram.”
I shake my head. “His team has an account, it was probably from there.”
Amanda is still frowning at her phone. “Isn’t this him?”
She hands me her phone, and my stomach drops. It’s an Instagram account, @traviskeeping94, with a little blue check by his name and 4.6 million followers. There are only three pictures. Thefirst is a picture of him, Matty, and Heather. It must have been taken right after he won the championship. They’re all smiling, and bits of golden confetti are caught on their hair and clothes. Travis has one arm around Matty’s shoulders and the other around Heather’s waist. There isn’t any caption.
The next picture is of a dog with black fur and a white patch over one eye. It’s one of the dogs from the shelter near his house. It’s sitting on his kitchen floor—I recognize the tiles—wearing a bright blue collar that looks new.
The last picture is another one of him and Matty and Heather. It looks like they’re camping somewhere. Heather is sitting in a camp chair with a beer in her hand, looking effortlessly pretty with her long hair tucked under a ball cap, and Matty is laughing at something, and Travis is only half in the frame, putting a log on the fire. There’s a big lake in the background, and a mountain.
“I’m sorry,” Amanda says. “I didn’t realize you didn’t know. I shouldn’t have sprung it on you.”
I try to answer her, but there’s a painful lump in my throat. I swallow hard until it goes away. “It’s fine. Looks like he’s doing great.”
She frowns at me. “Right. Because everything that’s posted on Instagram is a completely realistic reflection of a person’s life.”
I give her a hollow smile. “Travis doesn’t play games like that.”
“Okay,” she says. “Maybe he is happy. Or maybe he’s miserable. Or maybe he’s happy some of the time, and miserable some of the time, and in-between some of the time, like most human beings are. Maybe he misses you and wants you back, or maybe he’s moved on.” She gives me a gentle smile and a shrug. “You’ll never know unless you reach out.”
