Page 32 of Until The Lights Go Out

“You’ve always got training,” she called me out again.

“But I actually want to win and get a spot in F4,” I tossed back.

“So do I, silly. Doesn’t mean you can’t take one night off.”

I hesitated because I shouldn’t, I knew that I shouldn’t. But she had a point. My father did sleep like the dead. Only his alarm woke him up, but through the night, a train could run right through the room, and he would still be snoring. What was one night? I had dedicated my whole life to this sport. Hell, I had no life. No friends other than this prickly redhead who had inserted herself into my life a few years back. We had talked in our letters about what I would do with some free hours before, but it never really seemed possible. She smiled back at me as I thought, that bright and stubborn smile I knew so well now. The noise in my head quieted.

“Fine,” I muttered. “One hour, midnight.”

Her grin widened instantly. “I’ll take it!” She threw a fist in the air and did a little dance, making me roll my eyes. She turned to leave, then paused in the doorway. “You’ll get it next time.”

I frowned. “Get what?”

“The elusive first place, Bauer. Keep up.” Then she was gone. The space didn’t feel so big now, as if Maisey’s energy still occupied it. The faint smell of strawberries left in her wake. Just one hour, that was it.

I shouldn’t have come. That was the first thought that hit me as I climbed the small hill just past the edge of the hotel property, the sounds of the day long gone, replaced by crickets and the distant hum of the city kilometers away. I definitely shouldn’t have come. If my dad found out, I’d be dead. If anyone saw us⁠—

I pushed that thought away; it was much too late now.

The grass crunched softly under my trainers as I reached the top, the sky opening up above me—clear, endless, scattered with stars. Maisey was already sprawled out on her back lying on a flower-patterned blanket of sorts, arms tucked behind her head, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out. Her hair—usually stuffed under a helmet or braided back—was loose now, a mess of bright red against the dark grass. For a moment, I wondered if her eyes were as bright blue at night as they were during the day.

“You’re late,” she called without looking at me as I got closer.

I huffed, dropping my bag beside her. “I said midnight.”

“It’s 12:05,” she said, finally glancing over at me. “You almost bailed, didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer that.

Instead, I lowered myself onto the grass beside her blanket, keeping a careful distance at first, propping myself up on my elbows. The ground was cool beneath me, the air quiet. It was different from the constant noise of everything else. She turned her head slightly, studying me.

“You look less grumpy,” she said.

“I’m not grumpy.”

“You are literally always grumpy.”

“I’m not always grumpy.”

She snorted, “Okay, Bauer.”

I rolled my eyes, but there wasn’t much heat behind it. It was so quiet out here, and the grass was cool under my hands as I leaned back onto them, sitting down next to Maisey with about a foot in between. We’d been around each other for years—racing, arguing, sniping back and forth, sneaking letters back and forth. It was easier to write though, to talk through written words, than say them out loud in person. Maisey once compared our letters to a journal, dumping all her thoughts into it after long days or weekends. It had become just that. But we only ever had a few stolen minutes in person to talk or swap letters. Sitting next to her, after sneaking out with only the cool night air and the stars above felt like slicing my chest right open. I didn’t like that feeling much.

“So,” she said after a beat, her voice softer now, “you been out here before?”

“Yeah.”

“Liar.”

I huffed, “I mean, not at midnight.”

“I’ve never been out here this late,” she admitted, tilting her head back toward the sky. “My dad would freak out.”

“My dad would kill me,” I said automatically.

“Mm,” she hummed. “Mine too. Just in a less scary way.”

I glanced over at her.