Until my Last Breath

40

Barcelona, Spain

I lean against the hood of my car, arms crossed, watching as Gavi approaches with the kind of confidence that makes me very concerned. He's dressed casually-gray sweatpants, and a hoodie-but the way he walks, like he owns the place, makes me wonder if he's fully grasped the seriousness of what we're about to do.

"Tell me the truth," I say as he stops in front of me. "You've never driven before, have you?"

He scoffs. "Of course, I have."

I raise an eyebrow. "Really?"

"...Okay, maybe once."

I sigh. "Let me guess-you sat behind the wheel, hit the gas too hard, freaked out, and your were banned you from touching a car ever again?"

His eyes widen slightly. "How the hell did you know that?"

I smirk. "Because you look like the kind of guy who thinks driving is easy until you actually try it."

He narrows his eyes. "And what kind of guy is that?"

"The overconfident, reckless, hates following instructions type," I list off, counting on my fingers.

Gavi lets out an offended scoff. "I listen to instructions."

I tilt my head, unimpressed. "Do you?"

"I could if I wanted to," he mutters, looking away.

I roll my eyes, pushing off the car. "Yeah, well, you better want to today because if you crash my car, I will end you."

He grins, completely unbothered. "Relax, prodigy. I promise I'll be a good student."

I squint at him, suspicious. "I don't believe you."

He laughs, walking toward the driver's side. Just as he reaches for the door handle, I grab his wrist, stopping him. He blinks at me, confused.

"Wait," I say. "One question before we start."

He arches an eyebrow. "What?"

I let go of his wrist and cross my arms again. "Do you even know which pedal is which?"

There's a pause. A flicker of hesitation in his expression.

Then, slowly, Gavi points to the ground. "Uh... the right one's the gas?"

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "Oh mon Dieu."

He laughs nervously. "That was right though, wasn't it?"

I sigh. "Get in the car, Pablo."

It's a perfect day for this-clear skies, dry roads, no traffic. Yet, somehow, I already know this is going to be a disaster.

I drum my fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at the passenger seat where Gavi now sits, hands resting on his lap, looking way too relaxed for someone who's never driven before.

"You're nervous," he notes, turning his head to me with an infuriating smirk.

I scoff. "I'm not nervous. You should be nervous."

He raises an eyebrow. "I think I'll be fine."

I exhale sharply and reach for my seatbelt. "Alright, let's see about that."

We switch seats, and the moment he settles behind the wheel, I already regret this. He adjusts the seat, grips the steering wheel with confidence-too much confidence-and then turns to me expectantly.

"Alright, coach," he teases. "Where do we start?"

I level him with a look. "First things first-respect the car. It's not a football. You can't just kick it and hope it goes in the right direction."