I finish work early on Sunday, taking care of the horses and their stalls well before noon, spending hours with Apollo, then devoting the early part of the afternoon to making repairs I've neglected around the ranch. I replace a rotted and termite-ridden fence post, change out the bulb in the stable light, pump some pest control solution around the perimeter of my house and the stable, and even fix a short in the electrical system of my car that was causing the volume dial on the radio to go haywire whenever I so much as touched the thing.

And all of that with plans to take it easy for once.

I can't take it easy anymore. If I have a spare moment to think, my mind obsesses over Travis. Best to give it something else to focus on. It's what I've been doing since he left, and it hasn't failed me yet.

I'm unfortunately not a machine, though, or even a cyborg. I can't work straight through the day and night, completely ignoring fatigue. By mid-afternoon, when patchy clouds begin to roll in from the east, I give up on the to-do list I've let fester for months and just head inside, knowing Jake will be here soon anyway.

I grab a quick shower, not letting myself linger for fear of remembering Travis' wet body pressed to mine, his hands coming around me, lathered up and rubbing over my chest. Just a quick wash is all I'm in for right now—enough to get rid of the sweat and smell of the ranch.

I towel myself dry and change into comfortable clothes. Jake's plans for this evening thankfully don't involve going out anywhere. We're supposed to binge watch some TV series he's really gotten into. I assured him there's no way my satellite internet will let me binge anything except maybe a bottle of Jack in frustration, but he's apparently bringing his phone and routing data from that.

Despite the fact that I haven't gone out of my way to avoid him, I haven't really made time to hang out with him, either. Guilt hits me hard as I remember I'm not the only one who lost Travis. Even if Jake's going to see his brother again, it's not the same as having him here on a daily basis.

So I pull out the smallest cooler I own and dump the entire compartment's worth of ice into it, sliding some longnecks into the mix. I dump chips into a bowl, open a jar of salsa, and make space on the coffee table for my meager offerings. But when I push aside a magazine on racing, I notice a Post-It sticking out from one of the pages.

My brow furrows as I look at it. I don't remember even reading this magazine, let alone marking a page. Curiosity gets the best of me and I open it up, finding a racing calendar for the year and a date in October circled in blue ink. My chest constricts as my gaze cuts to the Post-It, knowing whose handwriting I'm going to find there.

It just reads: Maybe?

Maybe. A simple question, but I can imagine the excitement in Travis' eyes as he came across the list and circled a reasonable date. Why didn't he tell me about it?

Probably because you blew up at him and made him leave.

Excuses flood my mind, so many excuses. Travis was pushing me, yes, but only out of a genuine belief that I could make it back to the racetrack. If I'd told him to stop at any point, I know he would have. I know that, as surely as I know he loved me.

It killed him to see what happened to Apollo; what happened to me. I could see it in his eyes. My words cut deep, and the fact that I hadn't let him in, even deeper. I gave him everything. Just… not my trust. Not completely.

And now he's gone, and all I'm left with is blue ink on a yellow Post-It note. I reach out and touch it, my fingers caressing the marks as if I'm going to be able to feel him through them.

"Must be riveting," a voice says, and I jump as I realized Jake's standing right behind the couch, looking down at the magazine in my hands.

"How the hell did you get in?" I ask, completely stunned.

I always hear his truck. I always hear Otto's greeting. And if for some reason I were to miss those two things, there's no way I would have missed the screen door shutting. But that's exactly what I did.

"Inter-dimensional portal," he says casually, then nods to the magazine. "That's Travis' handwriting, isn't it?"

Some part of me wants to snap at him for drawing attention to it, but instead I just nod. Jake doesn't say anything for a long while, coming around the couch to sit beside me. He reaches into the cooler and pulls out two beers, handing one to me.

"It's crazy how much stuff like that hurts," he muses. "You remember that girl I dated when we were freshmen?"

"Chloe?" I ask, instantly conjuring up an image of a sweet girl with an eyebrow piercing I always knew looked way better on her than it ever would on me.

"Yeah. I think I told you we just decided mutually to end it, but we didn't. She dumped me. And as angry as I was at her, it was still such a gut punch to find her stuff around our room. I think I cried over a hoodie for like fifteen minutes straight."

I give him a look, not really needing to voice the fact that I wish he'd come to me. We were both dumb, prideful kids. Maybe we're still dumb kids, but I don't have any pride to speak of right at this moment.

"I'm not angry at Travis."

"Really? Because I had this whole thing planned about how he means well and it's all he knows and that doesn't make it right but he really cares about you—"

"I know all of that," I say, and this time I do snap.

"Good. Saves me a step." I eye him dubiously. "I have to ask you something, Shane, and I need you to be completely honest with me."

Fear snakes through me, settling as a lump in my throat. I swallow it down and hold my head high. "All right."

"And, just to be clear, I already know the answer to this question," he says as an aside. I roll my eyes. "Do you still love Travis?"

Emotion floods my senses in a sudden rush. I never told Jake the extent of my feelings, but I never tried to hide them, either. I'm not surprised he figured it out, or that he knows the truth of them now.

"Yes," I say simply, because no other answer comes close.

Jake's expression softens and he smiles at me, then nods in the same way he used to when he decided to get me out of our room for the evening. Quietly resolute.

"Good, because I have a confession to make: I'm not here to introduce you to the wonder that is Westworld. I'm here because my brother is miserable."

It's sickening that the tiniest sliver of hope threads through me, but it does. I push it away as quickly as it came. "He's got his contract, how could he be miserable?"

"Yeah. I thought you might say that." Jake pulls out his phone and fiddles with it. He doesn't even have to navigate anywhere. He's already got a video queued up.

He hits play and hands it to me, and my heart leaps into my throat as I see Travis there, seated at a long table. An ache tightens my chest, because Jake is right—he does look miserable. His brows are pulled tight, he's staring down at the table like he doesn't even see it.

Travis glances up to acknowledge a reporter who approaches the mic, but his smile is forced. I can tell.

"How do you feel right now, Travis? Is this as big a moment for you as when you signed with the Tigers or the Storm?" she asks.

His answer steals the breath from my lungs. "No."

I watch as he seems to war with himself, the urge to comfort him strong. There's turmoil in his eyes, and I'm not surprised when he pushes away from the table, his words unintelligible.

"What is he doing?" Right now, I’m torn between wanting to shake the phone and hug the damn thing.

"Walking away from a multi-million dollar contract. For you."

I look over at Jake, half expecting a smirk or some other hint that he's joking. But he wouldn't joke about this. I know that. And his expression is completely serious, his gaze settled on me.

"I don't…"

"He's flying into Lexington tonight. I can take you if you want. I know your truck gets finicky when you go any faster than forty."

Jake's voice sounds so far away, his words taking forever to reach me. Even then, it takes me a while to process them. And when I do, my heart swells so much it feels like it might burst.

I have another chance. I can get Travis back. For good.

A plan formulates in my mind and when I speak to Jake, I'm almost breathless with excitement. "Does your truck have a trailer hitch?"