Page 149 of Downforce

“I’ll rest later. Are you going to my place?” The hope in his voice is palpable. I would argue that he’s not even there, so what difference does it make if I’m there or not, but I know what he’ll say.

“Maybe later. I’ll meet you when you get home.”

There’s noise in the background, and I recognize the voice of Drake Horner.

“You have to go.”

“I love you.”

My steps falter, almost causing me to trip. I don’t know when I’ll get used to hearing those words from him, but it hasn’t happened yet.

“Love you, too.”

Sighing, I hang up and head up to my condo. I don’t have many plans for the rest of the day, which makes me anxious. I’m used to fielding calls, texts, and emails on behalf of Travis in the days after a race. But this race is different.

He came in first this weekend, winning the Grand Prix. I was there in the pit with the rest of my family, but it was awkward being a mere family member and not someone doing the work to shuffle Trav from one interview to another, in addition to coordinating with his agent and businesspeople there to meet with him.

Add to the fact that my and Max’s relationship is no longer hidden, as proved when Max kissed me squarely on the lips after he made pole. It feels really good to not have to hide it any longer, but I do miss my brother.

Travis hasn’t spoken much to me. Even after I sent him a congratulations text after winning this weekend. A short ‘thanks’ was the only response I got.

The ringing of my phone brings me out of my thoughts.

A smile crosses my lips when I see the name on the screen.

“Hello, brother,” I chime, but then am quickly alarmed by the screaming on the other end of the phone.

“Tristan? Is that Lucky? What’s wrong?”

“Lis?” Tristan answers, sounding out of breath. “Is that you?”

My heart constricts. Tristan rarely ever sounds worried or frightened.

“What happened?” Even as I ask, I race around my bedroom to grab a pair of jeans and T-shirt, ripping my towel away from my body.

“He won’t stop crying,” Tristan says. “Trav and Alyssia went out and everything was fine, but Lucky has been wailing for the past twenty minutes.”

Lucky is rarely very fussy except when he was in the earlier stages of teething or he’s really sick, like when he had the flu.

“Does he have a fever?”

“How would I check that?” Tristan asks.

“The thermometer⁠—”

“Can you come help me find it?”

“I’m on my way.”

I get dressed at a lightning pace and head out the door in less than ten minutes. On the way over, I contemplate whether or not to give Alyssia or Travis a call. My parents have already returned to the States, leaving immediately after this weekend’s race.

A number of inquiries go through my mind as to what could be wrong with Lucky. Usually, Tristan is really good with him and he’s not the type to lose his cool, but I suppose anyone would dealing with a toddler that’s been screaming for twenty minutes.

My chest aches at recalling the shrieking that came from Lucky. Instead of my usually fifteen-minute walk, it takes about ten minutes for me to get to Travis’ condo.

Tristan opens the door, and I instantly pepper him with questions.

“Did you find the thermometer? They keep the baby Tylenol under the sink with the rest of the pharmacy stuff. Did they give you the code to open the lock?”