Words said with such confidence.
My eyes stung.
I blinked fast.
“Alright,” he said, leaning in just enough that I could feel the heat off his body. “Press the brake. The left pedal.”
I did. The truck sank a little under the pressure, the whole machine responding to my touch. My breath rushed out of me, sudden and sharp.
Chain noticed. I could tell. But he didn’t call attention to it. He didn’t tease. He didn’t push. He just guided me.
“Good. Now turn the key.”
My fingers shook. Not from fear, at least not the kind I grew up with. This was different. New. Thrilling. Terrifying in a good way.
Chain’s hand came up, slow, firm, brushing under mine just long enough to show me which direction the key turned. His fingers didn’t linger, but my body reacted like they had—heat sparking across my skin, breath catching in my throat.
He said nothing about it. Just waited.
I turned the key.
The engine rumbled to life beneath my feet, the whole truck vibrating, the sound deep and alive. It felt like holdinga heartbeat that didn’t belong to me but suddenly obeyed me anyway.
My chest tightened with wonder. “Oh.”
Chain’s lips tugged into the smallest smile. “Yeah. That’s the part everyone remembers.”
I looked at him, unable to hide the awe from my voice. “I’m really doing this.”
“You are,” he said. And then, softer, “And I’m proud of you.”
The words hit harder than the ignition had—clean, warm, sinking deep before I could brace for the feeling of them.
He nodded toward the empty stretch of gravel ahead. “Ready for your first roll?”
“Yes.” It came out on a breath. A promise. A beginning.
I pressed the gas—barely—and the truck crawled forward, slow and uncertain but undeniably moving.
Moving because of me. Because I chose it.
A shocked laugh bubbled out of my chest. “I’m—oh my God—I’m actually doing it.”
“You are,” Chain said, his voice low, warm. “Nice and easy. Keep it steady.”
But steady was hard when my hands felt too light, my breath too quick, and the entire truck responded to the smallest twitch of my foot. Excitement rushed through me—bright, dizzy—and my pulse beat hard against my ribs.
The gravel crunched under the tires. The truck rolled… rolled…
Then I pressed the gas just a little too fast.
Not much. Just enough.
The engine sputtered. Jerked.
Then the truck lurched forward, shuddered, and died in one abrupt motion.
I gasped, the sudden silence loud as a slammed door. “Oh.” My heart stumbled. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
