‘She’s driving.’ He tilts his chin my way.
‘Yeah?’ Renny shoots me a surprised expression. ‘Nice. You’ll be at The Tropics soon enough, huh?’
I shrug off the remark. ‘Thanks, Mr F.’ I smile, starting to turn.
‘First, come and sit.’ Mr Fernando gestures to the black leather couch inside his office.
Renny groans, but we all know the drill. Anytime we visit the garage, Mr Fernando shares a story with some form of mysterious wisdom hidden in it that we have to work out ourselves.
Sinking into the old, cracked sofa, Ryker flops next to me while Renny perches on the opposite armchair and dramatically leans back, letting his legs hang in the air.
‘Let’s have it then.’ Renny rubs his eyes before pulling a cigarette and lighter from his back pocket.
Mr Fernando moves with lightning speed and whacks the smoke from his hand.
‘Ow,’ Renny whines.
Mr Fernando glares at his son, silently holding his open palm to him. Renny clicks his tongue then hands over the box and lighter.
Mr Fernando slowly perches himself on the edge of his industrial desk. His long black hair is pulled back in a low ponytail and his weathered skin crinkles around the same dark eyes that Renny has.
Watching them together sends a small sting of envy lashing through my heart. I’d give anything to experience moments like this with Pa again. The bickering, the playfulness … anything.
‘You’re all growing up and heading on your own roads, but let’s test your memories.’ Mr Fernando starts in his thick Brazilian accent. ‘What’s the first thing I taught you before I let you step foot in this garage?’
Renny presses his lips together and shrugs. ‘That a ’93 Corolla never dies?’
Ryker shakes his head. ‘You taught me how to pump gas.’ He scoffs. ‘I didn’t think there’d be much to it, but you spent an entire afternoon explaining the differences.’
Mr Fernando snaps his fingers in agreeance at Ryker. ‘Why?’
‘Because if I put diesel in a petrol car, you’d hand me my ass.’
Mr Fernando nods. ‘We’re not much different to these cars. In this life, you can fill your tank with dirty fuel and be consumed by doubt, hate, revenge and fear, or you can choose the good stuff no matter what adversities come your way.’
Ryker hums thoughtfully beside me, the vibration travelling through my skin. ‘So what you’re saying is,’ Ryker begins, smiling wide, ‘that if I tell Dellenty the R1 is running on premium optimism, he’ll let me off easy when I go for a hot lap at the speedway?’
Renny laughs hard and sits upright to high-five his friend.
Mr Fernando gives a smile but shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t matter how smooth the ride is, if you’re running on the wrong fuel. It’s easy to forget that there’s choice.’ He taps his chest, right where his heart would be. ‘You decide what you’re driven by.’
The boys’ laughter dissipates as Mr Fernando’s words hang in the air. No one says anything. The thing is, I can’t help but wonder if, sometimes, we don’t have a choice. What if our hearts are fuelled by someone else?
Chapter 11
Gianna
PRESENT
An old saying is playing on repeat in my mind as I lurk in the dark alleyways of Empire City.
Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.
I’m still on edge about what happened at Paws on the Coast last night, with the reappearance of the silver mask. When my shock subsided, I inspected the mask properly and found it wasn’t made of resin and fibreglass, which means it’s not Jace’s mask. But it was a damn good replica. Whoever made it knew what the original looked like and went to a lot of effort to recreate it. The question is why, and who?
I have this horrible, foreboding feeling I can’t shake, so I’m not about to enter a race without knowing everything about Landon. Earlier today, I did some digging around the rumour mill – meaning I sucked up to the regular groupies and promised them a photoshoot with the Mustang. The girls then revealed that Landon’s just opened his own chop shop in the industrial area of Empire City – Midnight Spares.
Now I’m doing some night-time recon to see if Landon’s made any modifications to his Civic.
