Page 85 of Until The Lights Go Out

“No no, bring back fun Theo!” Sebastian pouted, making Maisey erupt into laughter again. It was the most beautiful sound in the entire world.

26

MAISEY | PRESENT

“Girl.” Serena’s chin dropped low as she gave me the most dramatic look imaginable.

“I know!” I practically shrieked back.

This entire day had felt like emotional whiplash. My nerves had been fried since the moment I stepped onto the paddock this morning, and somehow they had only spiraled further from there. The interview with Theo alone had nearly short-circuited my brain. Then, afterward, he’d been pulled away again for media obligations and sponsor appearances, swallowed by the machine that always seemed to own pieces of him before anyone else could.

But not before he reached for my hand.

Just for a second.

One quick squeeze as he passed.

Tiny. Barely noticeable.

It had sent a million butterflies detonating through my stomach like I was 16 again.

“Girl!” Serena repeated, throwing her hands dramatically into the air. We had just gotten back to the hotel and collapsed across the ridiculously luxurious white duvet in our shared room, shoes abandoned somewhere by the door. We lay shoulder to shoulder staring at the ceiling, still dressed in our semi-fancy paddock clothes because neither of us had enough energy to properly function yet.

This was our thing: post-event debriefs sprawled across our beds. Sometimes crying. Sometimes laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe. Usually both.

“I was so right,” Serena sighed dreamily. “The universe herself really clocked in today.”

I laughed, covering my face with both hands. “Please stop saying things like that because I’m trying very hard not to have a mental breakdown.”

“Oh no.” Serena rolled toward me dramatically. “You’re having the breakdown. I’m encouraging it.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

I peeked at her through my fingers. “No, I really don’t.”

And that was the terrifyingly honest truth of it.

I didn’t know what I would’ve done these last few years without Serena.

Most people in this industry loved what you could give them: access, status, connections, headlines. But Serena had walked into my life and stayed, even during the worst years of it—when my recovery was ugly and painful and I was angry at the world—she still stayed. She showed up day after day, getting me out of bed on the worst of the days.

“You know what your problem is?” Serena asked.

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“You think too much.”

“That is incredibly rich coming from the woman who made a three-slide PowerPoint about why her barista was flirting with her.”

“She was flirting with me.”

“She never remembered your order.”

“She was nervous!”

I burst out laughing. “Or the time you were sure the bartender was mad at you at that bar downtown but he didn’t even know your name?”