I glare at her. “That’s not the point.”
“Isn’t it?” She crosses her arms. “Xavier, you’ve been running yourself into the ground for months. You don’t talk to anyone, you barely sleep, and you pick fights just to feel something.”
“I don’t pick fights.”
She lifts a brow. “Oh, so that black eye two weeks ago was just for fun?”
I roll my jaw but don’t answer.
Mia shakes her head. “You can lie to everyone else, Xavier, but not me. I know you.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. My fingers lock together, knuckles white. “I just… I don’t know how to fix it.”
Mia’s voice softens. “Then ask yourself this. Do you want to?”
The question sits between us like a loaded gun. Do I want to fix things with Izzy? Yes. Do I deserve to? I don’t know.
Mia studies me, then sighs. “Look. I know you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
She smirks. “Bullshit.” I glare at her, but she keeps talking. “You love her,” she says simply. “And you’re too damn stubborn to do anything about it.”
I shake my head. “It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?”
I don’t have an answer. What if I call and she doesn’t pick up? What if I text and she leaves me on read? What if I’m too late?
Mia must see the war raging in my head because she leans forward, her voice gentler now. “Xavier, if you don’t try, you’ll never know.”
I swallow hard. My phone feels heavy in my pocket. Like it’s daring me.
I pull it out, staring at the screen. Izzy’s name and our picture are still in my contacts, right where I left them. I hover over the keyboard, then type out the words, I miss you. Just three words. Three seconds of courage. That’s all it would take. But in the end, I don’t send it.
I shove my phone away, stand up, and grab my keys.
Mia watches me go, shaking her head. “You’re gonna regret this, Xavier.”
I already do.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Xavier
It’s been three years. Three fucking years since I’ve heard her voice or listened to her laugh. Three fucking years since I’ve touched her or held her in my arms. Three fucking years, and I still love her as I did before she left.
The roar of the engine drowns out everything else. Voices, thoughts, regrets. Out here, in the thick of dirt and adrenaline, nothing else exists. The lights cut through the dust, turning the night hazy and unreal. The smell of gas and burnt rubber clings to my skin, mixing with sweat and exhaustion.
I should feel something. The rush. The high. The need for more. Instead, there’s onlyher.
She’s everywhere. The songs that play on the radio are the ones she used to hum off-key to annoy me. In the curve of a girl’s profile in the stands, close enough to make my chest seize before she turns and reminds me she’s not Izzy. In the damn t-shirt I found at the bottom of my dresser last night, still smelling like her, like vanilla shampoo and something I’ll never be able to name. I should have thrown it out. Should have burned it. Instead, it’s shoved in the back seat of my truck, as if keeping it means keeping a piece of her.
I shake my head and roll my shoulders back, focusing on the race. Racing is the only thing that makes sense anymore. It’s simple. I press the gas, steer, and win. But tonight, nothing clicks into place.
I slam on the gas, shifting up as I barrel down the straightaway, the wheel's vibration buzzing up my arms. My knuckles go white as I grip it tighter, pushing the car past its limits, past mine.
Turn two comes barreling at me with barely any room for error. I take it too fast, knowing I should let up, but I don’t. The back end fishtails, and for half a second, I feel the car give as it slides out, tires screaming.
