Reborn Before the Fatal Race

Half an hour later, his yellow cab, with more than two hundred thousand miles on the odometer, pulled up outside my apartment.

My father leaned out the window and jerked his chin toward the passenger side.

"Get in."

I had barely reached for the driver's-side door when he hit the locks.

"Passenger side."

"Aren't you going to teach me?"

"Let's see if you have any potential in you."

That night, Dad didn't take me to the racetrack.

He picked up passengers as usual.

Airport. Bar. Hospital. A motel on the outskirts...

I rode shotgun all night as he took more than a dozen different routes through the city. By the end, I couldn't stop yawning.

At one in the morning, a drunk suddenly stumbled into the road.

I shut my eyes without thinking.

Dad barely moved the wheel. The car slipped past the man without him even having to slam on the brakes.

"Did you see it?"

"See what?"

"His shadow moved before he did."

Our next fare was headed to the airport.

The car ahead suddenly changed lanes, but Dad had already eased off the gas two seconds earlier.

"That car's right rear tire was riding the lane line. I knew the driver was about to change lanes."

I stared at him, stunned.

I used to think driving fast was all about guts.

But Dad taught me to watch the mirrors, the tires, traffic lights, even the way a pedestrian's shoulders shifted at the curb.

"A car doesn't suddenly go out of control. People are the same. There's always a warning before something goes wrong."

My fingers curled tighter with every word.

Had there been a warning before my car lost control in my previous life?

Yes.

Sienna had kept me pinned behind her.

But just before the third corner, she suddenly hit the gas and opened a much bigger gap than before.

As if she'd known I wouldn't be able to keep up.

At three in the morning, Dad pulled into an empty parking lot and patted my shoulder.

"Now, you try."

I slid behind the wheel. The moment my hands gripped it, my palms went slick with sweat.

I hit the gas too hard on my first try.

At the second corner, I nearly hit the barrier.

Dad didn't try to comfort me.

"Again."

By dawn, I had barely learned how to regain control when the rear end slid out.

On the way home, he suddenly asked, "Why do you suddenly want to beat a professional racer? When you were little, you only cared about Barbies. Back then, I had to talk myself hoarse just to get you to get a driver's license."

I stared out the window and silently clenched my fist.

"Because I lost once."

Dad knew how fiercely competitive I was. He nodded and didn't ask anything else.

"Then we'll continue our lesson tomorrow night."

My phone rang just then.

Damian had sent me the wedding menu.

"Sienna says oysters would work better for our party than the seafood station."

I stared at that line and smiled.

It was my wedding, but she had no trouble taking over.

From the menu to the party, she had an opinion on everything.

In my previous life, I kept telling myself she was only Damian's best friend.

This time, my expression blank, I gave him a one-word reply: "Fine."

Before I climbed out, Dad tapped the steering wheel.

"One more thing, everyone on a racetrack wants to win, and some will do anything to make it happen. A cab driver just wants to get every passenger where they're going in one piece. I understand you want to win. Just make sure you come home safe."

I clenched my fist.

I would make it home this time.