I hadn’t realized I was smiling until I felt it. Not a small smile. Not a careful one. A real one—wide enough that Chain’s expression changed, a flicker of something warm and stunned crossing his face like he hadn’t expected to pull that from me.
“Thank you,” I whispered, and it wasn’t enough for what the moment felt like.
Chain’s voice roughened, just slightly. “Don’t be thankin’ me yet. You ain’t seen me teach.”
“Are you a bad teacher?” I asked, the teasing tone surprising even me.
“Oh, I’m patient,” he said. “But drivin’ a truck this size? You’ll be earnin’ that freedom.”
My chest tightened with a kind of excitement I’d never felt before, a want so new and electric I didn’t know how to hold it.
“Where do we start?” I asked.
Chain pointed to the driver’s door, meeting my eyes over the top of it, something warm and dangerous simmering behind his steady gaze. “It starts by openin’ that door.”
And for the first time in my life, the world truly felt like it might finally open up.
***
CHAIN OPENED THEtruck door like it was the most normal thing in the world, like putting me behind the wheel wasn’t a monumental shift in the gravity of my entire life. The cab was big and clean, smelling faintly of leather and pine, sunlight warming the dashboard until it glowed.
“Go on,” he said, nodding toward the driver’s seat. “Hop in.”
Hop in. Like it was easy. Like it didn’t feel like crossing a line I’d never been allowed anywhere near.
My hand trembled when I reached for the handle, but I told myself he wouldn’t notice. The metal was warm from the sun, grounding, and when I climbed into the seat, the world shifted with me—higher, wider, different. The steering wheel sat in front of me like a dream I never thought I’d touch while awake.
Chain rounded the front of the truck and climbed into the passenger side. The cab dipped under his weight, and my whole body reacted—tightening, loosening, buzzing in ways that made me squirm in the seat.
He shut his door, and the sound echoed close. Intimate.
He settled in, stretching one arm across the back of the bench seat, the movement slow, unbothered, dangerously confident. The shift made his body angle toward me, heat brushing the edges of my awareness even though he wasn’t touching me.
“First thing,” he said, voice low, even, too close, “seat needs adjustin’. You got legs shorter than mine.”
A laugh slipped out before I could help it, and he shot me a quick look, one that warmed me clear down to my toes.
“Go on,” he coaxed. “Slide it up. You wanna reach the pedals, darlin’.”
I swallowed, pulled the lever, and eased the seat forward. The movement brought me closer to the wheel, closer to the windshield, closer to the idea of freedom staring back at me. My toes brushed the pedals—light, tentative.
Chain watched my hands like every tiny motion mattered. “There you go.”
His voice did something to me. Made my breath catch. Made the space between us feel smaller than the truck allowed.
“What now?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
“Now put your hands on the wheel.”
His tone carried a weight I felt all the way to the center of my chest. I lifted my hands slowly, almost reverently, setting them at the top like I’d seen drivers do a thousand times through barred windows and open fields.
Chain’s gaze dipped to where my fingers touched the leather. Something shifted in his expression—quiet, intense, like he was seeing something bigger than the moment itself.
“How’s it feel?” he murmured.
I exhaled shakily. “Big.”
“Yeah,” he said softly. “It is. But you can handle it.”
