Page 64 of Until The Lights Go Out

You’re allowed to feel things, Theo. Even the hard ones.

My throat tightened as I pressed the heel of my hand gently against my eye, wincing slightly, and closed my eyes for a second longer than I should have. The idea of letting myself feel any of this—of admitting how much it hurt, how much it mattered—felt dangerous. Like stepping off a ledge I wouldn’t be able to climb back up. Because if I let myself feel it, then I would have to admit something else, too: that she mattered more than she should have, that she always had. And that was exactly why I couldn’t let this continue.

Maisey deserved more than this, more than me.

The thought settled in slowly, but once it did, it didn’t leave. It rooted itself deep, threading through every other feeling until it became the only thing that made sense. She deserved someone who didn’t come with this kind of damage, someone who didn’t carry anger in their bones, who didn’t flinch at raised voices, who didn’t look in the mirror and see the beginnings of becoming exactly what they feared most. She deserved someone who wasn’t his son. I stared at my reflection again, really looked this time, and felt something cold settle in my chest. Because no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I could see it in the way my jaw tightened, in the way anger came too quickly and too easily, in the way I’d learned to shut things down before they could touch me.

If I stayed in her life—if I let her keep writing, keep hoping, keep believing in a version of me that didn’t exist—I would only drag her into that. Into this. I would ruin her. All her sunshine and annoying ability to take any situation and make it positive. My world was too dark for her to shine in, and the realization made my stomach twist.

So I did the only thing that made sense: I decided she was better off without me.

I turned the water off, the sudden silence pressing in around me, and stood there for a moment longer before forcing myself to move. I stayed in the far back of the motorhome, pulling a hoodie over my head and keeping it low, like that alone could hide everything I didn’t want anyone to see. I avoided mirrors, avoided windows, avoided anything that might reflect the truth of what had happened.

There were knocks at the door at some point, voices calling my name. My phone buzzed more than once where I’d left it on the table. I ignored all of it.

I sat there, hunched forward, elbows on my knees, focusing only on the rhythm of my breathing as I forced it into something steady.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

It was the only thing I could control. Time passed. I didn’t know how much. Enough that the noise outside shifted, the energy changing as the day moved forward without me. I stepped out of the garage as late as I could without raising questions I didn’t want to answer.

I kept my head down as I walked through the paddock, sunglasses pulled on despite the overcast sky. People called my name—mechanics, members of my Formula Two team, voices I recognized without looking up. I nodded where I had to, gave just enough acknowledgment to avoid suspicion, but I didn’t stop walking.

I didn’t give anyone a reason to look closer.

It wasn’t until I reached the edge of the grid that I felt it. Not something I saw—something I felt. A pull, subtle but undeniable, like some part of me already knew she was there.

Maisey. My chest tightened instantly, I forced myself not to look. Because if I saw her—if she saw me like this, if she noticed the way I was holding myself together by a thread, if she asked me what happened—I wouldn’t be able to lie to her.

And telling her the truth would only pull her deeper into something I had already decided she needed to be free from. The thought alone made it hard to breathe.

So I kept walking.

I kept my focus straight ahead, locking everything down the way I knew how. Pushing it all away, burying it deep enough that it wouldn’t surface when I couldn’t afford it. Because out there—on track—none of this existed.

Not my father.

Not the letters crumpled in his hands.

Not the ache in my chest that felt like it was slowly crushing me from the inside out.

Out there, I was just a driver, the only version of me I was allowed to be.

20

THEO | PRESENT

RACE WEEKEND FOUR - BAHRAIN GRAND PRIX

Waking up to my brother pounding on my hotel suite door and yelling my name was not an ideal way to start anything. It felt like someone had taken a hammer to my skull. My mouth was dry, my head heavy, and for a second I didn’t even remember where I was—just the low thud of bass still echoing somewhere in my bones and the stale scent of alcohol clinging to the room.

“THEO! Open the door.”