Chapter 2

Calla:

Reve's Mercedes smelled like leather, sandwood, and money. Too much of all three. The car reeked of him, his scent clinging in the cold air that blasted against my grease-stained T-shirt, making the sweat on the back of my neck feel clammy. I tucked one tennis shoe against the seat and stared out the passenger window as the view of downtown blurred by in a parade of waterfront condos and overpriced restaurants. I should've gone home. Instead, I'd barely gotten the garage closed before Reve showed up. No warning. No text. Just the familiar tap of polished loafers against the concrete floor.

"Get your keys. We're going to the meet." Like it wasn't a request. I glanced down at myself. Oversized white Riverside Raceway tee. Ripped light-wash jeans. White and pink Dunks that weren't nearly as white anymore. There was probably still grease on my cheek. Definitely under my nails. Reve clicked his tongue beside me.

"You could've at least changed before we left." 

I looked over. "Could've." 

His jaw flexed. "I mean it."

 "I know." 

"You look like you crawled out from underneath a transmission."

 "I did." 

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel. "I just don't understand why you insist on looking like..." He glanced sideways. "...that."

I followed his eyes to the rip in my knee. "Oh no." I pinched the denim dramatically. "My jeans have a hole in them."

"Calla."

"What?"

"We're not going to Riverside Auto Parts."

"No? I thought that would be a romantic date."

"We're going to a public event."

I blinked. "You mean the illegal street meet?" That was met with silence. Got him. I couldn't help the smile tugging at one corner of my mouth. Tiny. Barely there.

"You know exactly what I mean."

"I do."

"Then stop pretending you don't."

"I'll add it to tomorrow's list."

He sighed the way rich people did when the help disappointed them. I'd heard it enough to recognize the sound. "You've got grease on your shirt."

"I work in a garage, Reve, what do you expect?"

"You own the garage, Calla."

"And?"

"You don't have to be the one getting dirty."

That one earned him a look. "If I'm not getting dirty, I'm not doing my job."

He exhaled through his nose. "We've had this conversation."

"We have. Soooo many times."

"You could hire another mechanic."

"I already have three."

"You could hire more."

I shrugged. "Or I could just... keep fixing cars."

He muttered something under his breath. Probably about his image. Everything with Reve came back to image. What people saw. What they thought. What they could gain. His cars changed every year. His watches changed every month. His girlfriends… Well. That part was apparently up for debate. I wasn't his girlfriend. Not officially. Never had been. Didn't stop half of Calusa Cove from acting like I wore a ring. Didn't stop Reve from opening doors for me, ordering my food before I got to the restaurant, or casually resting a hand on the small of my back whenever cameras were around. It was easier to let people assume than explain whatever the hell this was. Besides… Correcting people usually turned into a headache, and I had enough of those.

The Mercedes glided through another green light. I just sat there is the passenger seat, practically a kidnap victim.

"Why are you being quiet now, babe?"

"I'm just riding, Reve."

"You know what I mean."

"I usually don't."

He looked at me. "You still don't like coming to Riverside?"

I laughed once. Soft. Humorless. "That's rich." His brow furrowed.

"I grew up in Riverside."

"I know."

"So saying I don't like coming here is kind of like telling a fish it doesn't like water."

"That's not what I—"

"I don't like why we're going." There. That was closer to the truth. He drummed his thumb against the steering wheel.

"We're checking out the new drivers."

"Mhm."

"And their cars."

"Mhm."

"Making sure the competition hasn't improved."

"Mhm."

He sighed. "You don't believe me?"

I turned to face him. "No."

His lips flattened. "You think I'm collecting debts."

"I know you're collecting debts." 

Silence.

"You loaned the Harper twins money for new turbo kits."

"They needed capital. They needed help. I gave them help."

"Help with interest, I’m sure."

His grip tightened. "It's business."

"There it is, honesty."

He looked genuinely confused. "What?"

"I was wondering how long it'd take."

"For what?"

"For you to say the word business."

He chuckled. "I don't apologize for being successful."

"I didn't ask you to."

"You make it sound dirty." I looked out the windshield as the skyline gave way to older buildings. Older roads. Older memories.

"No." My voice came out quieter than I'd meant. "I think you do that all by yourself." The Mercedes crossed Founder's Bridge. The river spread beneath us, black and endless beneath the moonlight. My eyes drifted automatically toward the opposite shoreline. The old Vance house wasn't there anymore. A new one stood in its place. Glass. Steel. Soulless. Like someone had erased my childhood and replaced it with an architect's daydream. I swallowed the familiar lump in my throat. Funny. You could sell a house. Bulldoze it. Build another. Didn't stop your memories from standing exactly where the porch used to be. 

Reve slowed as we turned onto River Road. Engines echoed through the humid night. Music floated across the water. Laughter. The smell of race fuel. For one impossible second… I was sixteen again. Camden was yelling because Jace had somehow blown another transmission. Jace was laughing too hard to care. I was climbing through my Mustang's window because the driver's side door never opened right after I hid a roadsign drifting too fast. Then reality returned, and with it, so did the ache. The meet came into view. Rows of cars. Crowds spilling into the street. Nothing had changed. But everything had changed, at least for me.

The Mercedes rolled to a stop. Immediately people started looking. Of course they did. A six-figure luxury sedan parked between thirty-year-old Camaros and Civics held together by zip ties tended to have that effect. Reve climbed out first. Buttoned his jacket. Smiled. Showtime. He walked around and opened my door. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"I know how handles work."

"I know."

"Yet here you are." He offered his hand anyway. I ignored it. Swinging my legs out, I planted my Dunks on familiar pavement. The humid air wrapped around me. Salt. Gasoline. Burnt rubber. River water. Home. My gaze swept across the crowd automatically. Checking faces. Cars. Exit routes. Habit. Then… I saw him. A faded gray hoodie. Hood pulled low. Hands shoved into the front pocket. Even from thirty yards away, I'd know the way he stood. Like he was relaxed without ever quite letting his guard down. Like he was ready to help someone move a couch or jump off a bridge on a dare. Jace. For one suspended heartbeat… My chest forgot how to work. His hair was a little longer. His shoulders broader. His face leaner. There was more weight in the way he carried himself. Less sunlight. More shadow. But it was him.

Two years. Two years of imagining this moment. Sometimes I pictured punching him. Sometimes screaming. Sometimes demanding answers. Sometimes… I hated myself for imagining anything at all. His head lifted. Our eyes met. Hazel. Still hazel. Still stupidly familiar. My heart betrayed me first. It remembered him before my brain could stop it. The river. Summer. Grease under his fingernails. The sound of him and Camden arguing over carburetors. His laugh carrying across the dock. The way he'd ruffle my hair just to annoy me.

"Quit treating me like I'm twelve."

"Then quit acting like it, Bubblegum." I could still hear Camden laughing. Could still see the three of us racing toward the river. Could still feel the last normal summer before everything broke. My stomach twisted so hard it hurt. No. I wasn't doing this. Not here. Not now. I straightened my shoulders. Pulled every brick of my carefully built wall back into place. My expression cooled. Blank. Unbothered. He didn't deserve to know my heart had skipped. He didn't deserve to see the memories clawing their way to the surface. As far as anyone watching was concerned… He was just another face in the crowd. I looked through him. Turned toward Reve.

"So," I said evenly, slipping my hands into my pockets, "which one of your debtors are you pretending to cheer on tonight again?"