Page 65 of Until The Lights Go Out

I groaned, dragging a pillow over my head like that might somehow drown him out. It didn’t; the pounding only got louder, as if he knew I was trying to ignore him.

“Theo, I swear to God⁠—”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, voice rough as I forced myself upright. The room tilted slightly, and I pressed a hand to my forehead, waiting for it to settle. “I’m up.”

“Then prove it and open the damn door.”

I stumbled across the room, stepping over discarded clothes and an empty glass I didn’t remember finishing. My hand hovered on the handle for half a second, like I could still choose not to deal with this. When I finally opened it, it was with a long sigh. Sebastian didn’t wait for an invitation. He pushed past me immediately, taking in the room with one sweeping glance that said everything.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

“Good morning to you too,” I said, dragging a hand through my hair.

“You look like hell.”

“Feel like it too,” I replied, shutting the door behind him. He turned to face me fully then, arms crossing, expression hardening in a way I didn’t see often. Not with me.

“Get dressed.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You’re due in the paddock. You’ve already missed one interview block, and they’re holding the next one for you.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Then they can stop holding it.”

Sebastian didn’t laugh. “Not an option.”

I shrugged, moving past him toward the bathroom, more to put space between us than anything else. “Then they’ll have to figure it out.”

“Or,” he said, voice sharpening, “you could stop acting like a selfish asshole and do your job.”

I froze for half a second, hand braced against the sink. Then I turned slowly. “Careful.”

“No,” he shot back immediately. “You be careful. Because I’ve covered for you all month, Theo. It is the fourth race of the season. I’ve dealt with the press, the team, the sponsors—everyone asking where the hell you are while you’ve been off getting wasted and pretending none of this matters.”

My jaw tightened. “It doesn’t.” Truth was, not only was I trying to avoid Maisey at all costs, but the car was shit. While I was making points every race, nothing felt like it was fitting into place. I was struggling to hold fourth or fifth most races, and it was past time for me to make a podium. It pissed me off; it pissed the team off. I was tired of being a failure. But partying with my friends and numbing it all away was a surefire way to stop thinking about the issues with the car and a certain redhead who was constantly around the garage, a constant reminder of how I failed her every time I saw her.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

I scoffed, looking away. “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“Am I?” he pressed. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re blowing off responsibilities you’ve spent your entire life working toward.”

I didn’t answer, I didn’t have one that didn’t sound as empty as it felt.

Sebastian stepped closer. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” I said automatically.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t give me that.”

“It’s nothing, Seb.”

“Right,” he said flatly. “So this is just…what? A random spiral? You just decided to tank your own reputation for fun, again?”

I let out a breath, irritation flaring. “I’m fine, my reputation is the goddamn same. I score points and I race well, they only care that I make them money. My free time is my own to do whatever the fuck I want.”

“You’re not fine,” he snapped. “You’re avoiding everything other than the actual race itself.”