Chapter 2

Present

Landon's POV:

My eyes feel like they're going to close. I've been working too many late nights on that Porsche 991. With the car being rear-mid-engined, like most racing cars, it makes my life tenfold more difficult.

"Are you kidding me, Lan?"

I roll out on from underneath the Porsche on my wooden board with wheels. This is the second time that I'm being interrupted from my work within the span of a few minutes. I stare up at Dean questioningly, wondering why he hasn't gone home yet.

"What are you still doing here?" I ask with a yawn, tired. "It's getting late. Shouldn't you be out wasting your life on a hot date right 'bout now?" I ask, pulling myself up from the uncomfortable board. My back is aching.

"Yeah, probably, but I wanted to make sure that my mechanic didn't fall asleep under a car again." He smirks down at me, never letting that one incident go.

"One time, Dean." I lift the greasy rag from beside me and toss it at him, annoyed.

As if predicting my reaction, he dodges the rag and shakes his head at me. "I know you too well, bud." He grins cockily and reaches down, offering me his hand.

I grab hold of his hand before he can pull away. I use him to stand up before dropping him to the floor like I know he was planning to do to me. "And I know you too well, bud," I tell him, in turn. I'll always have the upper hand.

Dean winces before slowly getting up, his black hair falling above his dark eyes. "I need to stop forgetting how strong you are."

I stretch my arms upward past my neck, my back clicking in the process, and nod at him. "Yeah, you always say that." He also always ends up forgetting anyway.

"Also, am I crazy or did you turn that poor girl away?" He asks me, obviously having heard the conversation that took place about two minutes ago.

"You are crazy and, yes, I did," I answer bluntly. "I need this Porsche 911 fixed by tomorrow," I tell him in an attempt to defend myself against his accusations. I can't help people when I'm trying to help myself.

He glances at the silver car before locking eyes with me. "I think it's time we have the best friend chat, wouldn't you agree?"

I groan aloud. "No. Don't do that to me again."

He grins from ear to ear. "As your best friend–"

"You're not my best friend," I cut him off immediately.

"It's my job to remind you," he goes on, waving me off with his hand as if to dismiss me, "that you were once that poor girl out in the rain about seven years ago."

I scoff. "How do you figure?"

"When you were pleading with your mother to stay and help, you were that pretty girl out in the rain," he tells me.

I roll my eyes; his speeches are always useless. "I'm failing to see the relevance. Where's the link? These two stories are not parallel to each other, if that's what you're implying."

"They are. You see, your mother was you now. You are what your mother was then and that girl is you then. Get what I'm saying?" He asks questioningly, pursing his lips as if puzzled.

"Do you even get what you're saying?" I ask.

"I think I lost my plot somewhere along the line," he confesses with a sheepish grin intact.

He's the only idiot I know that can confuse himself.

He snaps his fingers in front of my face, regaining my attention. "Point being, you're acting like your mother. You're turning away someone that needs help. That's exactly what she did to you all those years ago and it's exactly what she'd do now."

I shove his fingers out of my face. "I'll break your hand, Dean," I say seriously, meaning it. "I'm not my mother."

He just grins at me.

I eventually sigh in defeat. "You're the worst."

"Where are you going?" He shouts out to me when I head for the entrance of the small garage.

"To prove to you that I'm nothing like her."

*~*~*~**~*~*~*

By the time I reach the girl, I'm soaked in water from head-to-toe. The wind howls and the chill in the air makes it so much worse. I now understand why she was so desperate for help. It's freezing out here.

"Wait," I hear myself say as I sprint toward her, feeling the muddy sludge under my shoes. She's walked about half a kilometer on her own and I still don't see a wrecked car in sight.

She stops walking and turns around to face me. "Yes?"

I'm taken aback by the kindness in her tone.

"Where's your car?" I ask, glancing down at the wet ground. The girl's ankle boots, the type of boots my sister sometimes likes to wear, is covered in mud. Her pink shirt and jeans are wet too. I feel the slightest touch of guilt at the sight of her.

"It's about another five-hundred meters from here," she says softly, pointing toward it.

With the rain coming down hard and the darkness setting in for the night, I can barely make out the outline of her car. With her up close, I can see her face under the dim light of the lampposts. Her expression conveys her disappointment in me, in people, in people like me.

"You've got something in this general area." I gesture to her face where there's make-up smudged all over. "Raccoon eyes," I conclude mockingly at seeing the black gunk around her eyes. She looks like a mess.

"My mascara smudged under this rain," she tells me quietly before walking off again.

I follow her until we reach her Ford Fiesta. "Nice set of rims," I acknowledge as she opens the door to the driver's seat.

"I don't know, maybe you can get it to start?" She asks, handing me her keys.

I walk around the car and take in the front where the car smashed into the small tree.

Someone from the passenger seat rolls down the window. "The car's broken! Don't think it can be fixed!" The stranger yells to me over the pouring rain.

If you know what you're doing, just about all cars can be fixed.

"Can't be entirely sure but I don't think there's any serious damage," I tell the blue-eyed girl. "Looks like the accident was minor."

She nods. "Yeah. I'd say so."

"I think it's the inertia tip. Gonna have to push it back to the garage to have a real look," I say, heading to the back of the car. I start pushing it on my own through the mud and rain, grateful that the garage is not too far away. I want this night over with.

The things Dean convinces me to do...

I'm taken aback when the girl stands beside me and starts pushing too, the car now moving forward faster. "It's fine. I got it," I reassure her but she's not listening to me.

"More hands make a lighter load," she replies before going around the car and banging on the passenger window.

"What now?!" The guy from inside snaps at her.

She really is having a rough day.

"Please come help us, Ryan," I hear her ask him.

"I'm not getting wet, Sarah," he says before rolling up his window again.

I stop and clench my hands into fists. She's shivering. She should be in the car and he should be helping me. If he keeps at it, my temper is going to get the best of me -- I don't have a choice in the matter.

The girl, Sarah, sighs before coming back over to do her share. She says nothing more and continues pushing the car.

"How much longer?!" I hear the guy shout out to us after a few minutes of pushing. "You guys are taking forever. Put your backs into it!"

Don't give me strength because if You do, I'm going to rip his head from his shoulders.

Sarah rolls her eyes, just as frustrated as me but better at hiding it.

"I'd kick him out the car and make him walk home," I mumble to her, annoyed.

She offers me a small smile. "Thanks for doing this."

"Yeah," I answer as we finally push the car up to the garage. "Dean!" I call for his help, shifting my attention off of her. "I need this car in the garage."

"Coming, Father!" Dean calls before opening up for us.

I hit him upside the head. "Don't call me that."

"Yes, Dad," he answers immediately with a wince.

I don't have the energy to put up with him. I'm tired, wet and covered in mud.

"Who's Prince Charming upfront?" Dean asks, nodding to the guy in the passenger seat who has literally not lifted a finger. I can bet that not a single strand on he's golden head has got wet.

"Don't know, don't care," I answer, checking my phone to see three missed calls from my sister. I should've been home a while ago.

I look up from my phone when I hear Dean slamming open the front passenger door. It's better that he deal with Prince Charming or I'm gonna be arrested.

"Hey, lazy, get out!" Dean raises his voice at him before dragging him out himself. "You're gonna help me push this car into the garage, got it?" He leaves no room for argument.

The guy shakes his head. "It's been a long day for me. Let Sarah help you."

Dean places both hands in front of his mouth and shakes his head, unbelieving of Prince Charming's attitude. "Now I know you didn't just tell me to ask the coughing girl to help push the car up into the garage. 'Cause that would just be crazy."

"Then I'm crazy," the lousy excuse of a human being answers him.

I dial Emma's number and watch Sarah suck in a deep breath while I wait for my sister to pick up. She runs two hands through her mattered hair before her eyes cloud over with tears. I hate seeing anyone, especially women, cry.

Dean glares at the guy before turning to me for support. "Lan." I don't answer. "Lan! I'm gonna lose it with this prince."

I motion to the cell phone I have propped against my ear. "You deal. I don't feel like cleaning up a pool of blood tonight."

Ryan's eyes widen. Alarmed, he distances himself from me. I'm not a murderer but I've gotten close. It's sometimes difficult to check myself when I'm surrounded by idiots.

Dean nods at the guy. "He's not joking. Test him and find out yourself."

I turn my back on the three when I hear Em's voice:

"Hey, Lan."

"Took you long enough," I greet her. She knows to answer her phone on the first ring, especially when it's me calling. If she doesn't, I'm going to assume that something is wrong.

"Says the guy who's not even home yet," she responds, her feisty nature coming into play.

"Got caught up. I'm still at the garage and I'm going to be here for a while longer," I tell her, stifling a yawn.

"That's the third time this week, Lan," she complains.

"I know but this is my life. You'll probably be sleeping by the time I get home. I just wanted to let you know," I reply, missing her presence. My sister is all I got. She keeps me in line when I fail to do it myself.

"Thank you for calling, Lan. I was getting worried."

I hang up on her and turn back to Dean. "Take her home. It's late." I nod over at Sarah who seems ready to fall apart at any given second. "Your car should be ready by tomorrow morning."

"Thank you," she repeats for the hundredth time.

"What about Prince Charming?" Dean asks me.

I shrug, turning my focus to the blue Fiesta in front of me. "Don't really care about what happens to him. Just get him out of my garage before I remove him myself."