I don’t understand how this happened.
The thought doesn’t come loud or urgent, just steady, circling back no matter how much I try to focus on anything else. It sits there, stubborn and wrong, because none of this fits into the version of my life I’ve been living.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Things like this don’t happen to me. My father doesn’t allow it. He buries problems long before they become real enough to reach me. He always has. Calls get made, people get paid, problems disappear before they can settle into something permanent.
That’s what happened back then too. It was handled. He would’ve taken care of it. No one said my name. Not officially, not where it mattered. There were whispers for a while, curiosity, people looking a little too long, but even that fadedfaster than it should have. It always does once money starts flowing in the right direction.
The reports came out clean. Reed lost control of the car. Speed, late at night, no one else involved. He drove straight into a tree.
Simple.
Contained.
Believable.
That’s what people remember. That’s what was written down. I walked away from it. That part I remember clearly. Not running, not panicking… just leaving like there was nothing else to be done. Because there wasn’t. Because it wasn’t my fault. Because…
My breath catches, shallow without warning, like something in my chest tightens before I can stop it. The thought shifts inside my head, and I feel it before I fully understand it, like something beneath the surface pressing where it shouldn’t.
No.
I swallow, my head moving faintly against the chain without meaning to, like I can shake it loose before it takes shape. I don’t want to go back there. I’ve spent too long keeping it exactly where it belongs—quiet, distant. But it doesn’t stay buried. It never really did.
The night is clear in a way that makes everything feel slower, like the world has stepped back and left the streets empty on purpose. The sky opens endlessly above us, stars scattered across the dark while the full moon casts a pale glow over the road ahead. At this hour, the town is always like this. Quiet and almost empty. It’s why we come out every night.
Vince drives like he owns the road, one hand loose on the wheel, the other tapping against his leg in rhythm with “The Devil in I” playing low through the speakers, the sound blending into the steady hum of the engine. We take the same turns we always do, the same streets, the same pointless loop that somehow never feels boring.
I lean back in my seat, watching the road blur under the headlights.
“I swear, Tess is getting worse,” I complain, my voice light, more annoyed than anything. “She won’t shut up about it. It’s actually starting to get on my nerves.”
Vince huffs a laugh without looking at me. “About what this time?”
“About him,” I say, rolling my eyes. “One of those weird brothers. Reed, I think. You know… the one who looks like he hasn’t seen a mirror or a decent meal in years.”
He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Figures. Those freaks look like they crawled out of a ditch.”
I smile faintly, turning my head toward him. “She actually thinks he’s…”
“Speak of the devil,” Vince cuts in, leaning forward as his focus locks on the road ahead. “Look who it is.”
I follow the direction his eyes drift to the car ahead, recognizing it immediately by the way it moves—old, cheap—like it doesn’t belong on the same road as everything else. Vince’s mouth curves while he leans over the wheel a little.
“Reed the reject,” he says with a quiet snort. “Still driving that piece of shit.”
I exhale slowly, unimpressed, my eyes lingering on the car for a little longer. “God… that’s actually sad. It looks like it might fall apart if he goes over a speed bump.”
He briefly eases off the gas, slipping in behind him before steadily closing the distance until our headlights spill across the back of Reed’s car.
“Watch this,” Vince says, a grin slipping into his voice.
He edges closer, just enough to press and make it obvious he’s there, and Reed reacts almost immediately—his car picking up speed like he’s trying to get away. I can’t help the small smile that slips out as Vince follows without hesitation.
I catch the shift before it happens—that small change in him when something becomes a game. He drifts wide, easy, then accelerates past Reed like the man isn’t worth the acknowledgment, and then he’s cutting back in front of him, closer than necessary. Behind us, Reed brakes like he’s been startled out of sleep, and that pulls a laugh out of both of us.
“Come on,” Vince mutters, watching him through the mirror. “Keep up.”
He slows again, boxing Reed in behind him, and every time it looks like he might break free, Vince swerves hard across the lane to shut him down.
