❝I need to put me first❞ | Being back home isn't as good as Rose thought it would be, living surrounded by a family she doesn't know is taking a toll on her. As Rose tries to deal with her amnesia while she also comes to terms with trying to find ou...
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The docks smell like salt, diesel, and burnt rubber. Another set of tires lies shredded on the concrete, smoke curling up like a bad omen. Sean sits in the driver's seat of yet another car we've loaned him, this one a beat-up Honda S2000that I spent three nights straightening the frame on, frustrated as hell.
Han leans against the hood of his Mazda, arms crossed, ever the picture of calm patience. Me? I'm pacing, wrench in hand, trying not to throw it at the kid's head.
"Again," Han says, voice steady. "Feather the throttle this time. Don't just stomp it like you're trying to kill it."
Sean nods, grips the wheel tighter, and powers into the turn. The rear end kicks out, good initiation, but then he overcorrects, and the car fishtails wildly before he catches it too late. Tires scream, smoke billows, and when he finally straightens out, the smell of cooked rubber hits me like a slap.
I groan, rubbing my temples. "That's the third set this week. At this rate, I'm gonna start billing you for parts, kid."
Sean winces as he climbs out. "Sorry, Rose. I'm trying."
"I know you are," I mutter, popping the hood to check for damage. Nothing major this time, thank God. "But trying isn't gonna magically make you drift."
His cocky attitude was going to be the death of him; no matter how much we try to advise him, he thinks he knows better, but with every glare I give him, the kid is slowly learning.
Han shoots me a look, always the good cop to my bad with these kids. "Ease up. He's getting better."
"Better than wrecking Mona? Barely." I slam the hood shut harder than necessary. "Come on. Docks aren't cutting it anymore. We're taking him up the mountain."
Han's eyebrows rise, but he doesn't argue. The same touge roads where he taught me after I first landed in Tokyo, lost and blank-slated. Those twists saved me as much as the cars did.
We load up: me in my purple Skyline, Reiko riding shotgun with some sort of boppy song playing on her phone as usual, Sean and Twinkie following in the Honda, as Han trails behind in his Mazda, probably too busy snacking as he drives.
The drive up is quiet at first, city lights fading into dark mountain roads. I glance in the rearview and see Sean's knuckles white on the wheel. Good. He should be nervous.
