"Clutch is your left hand, brake's your right. Gas is-"
"Right foot, brake's left." She grins over her shoulder. "I've been watching you, remember?"
"Observant. I like that in a woman." I guide her hands to the proper positions. "Now, easy on the throttle..."
My hands rest lightly on Indy's hips as she gets a feel for the clutch. The morning sun beats down on us, and I'm hyper-aware of every small movement between us.
"That's it, nice and easy," I murmur as she smoothly releases the clutch. "You're a natural at this."
She laughs, the sound carrying on the breeze. "Maybe it's genetic. Or maybe I've just been studying how you handle yours."
"Been watching me that closely, huh?" I tease, steadying her as she navigates a turn.
"Don't flatter yourself, Wilson." But I catch her grin in the mirror.
After another twenty minutes of practice, she's handling the bike like she's been riding for years. The way she leans into the curves, how she anticipates the shifts - it's impressive as hell.
"Think you're ready to take her home?" I ask, giving her shoulder a squeeze. "I'll follow right behind you on mine."
"Really?" Her eyes light up. "You think I'm ready?"
"It's your bike now, Cooper. And yeah, you're ready, you were born ready."
We switch to our respective rides, and I watch her pull out first, moving with a confidence that makes my chest tight. Following behind her, I can't help but admire how natural she looks on that machine.
The wail of sirens cuts through the air. Two fire trucks tear past us, headed in the direction we're going. My stomach drops when I realize they're heading toward Brick's neighborhood.
Indy notices too - I see her posture change, tension rippling through her shoulders. As we round the corner onto Maple Street, black smoke billows into the clear morning sky.
"No," I hear her whisper, the word carried back to me on the wind. "No, no, no..."
Flames lick up the sides of Brick's house, black smoke billowing into the morning sky. My heart drops as Indy nearly dumps the Chieftan in her rush to dismount. She takes off running toward the inferno, her father's leather jacket flapping behind her.
"Indy, stop!" I catch her around the waist, pulling her back against my chest as she struggles. The heat from the fire scorches my face even from this distance. "You can't go in there!"
"Let me go!" She thrashes in my grip, her voice cracking. "The Chevelle - Jacoby, I need to get the Chevelle! It's all I have left of him!"
I hold her tighter as firefighters rush past us with their hoses. "You'll get yourself killed. Is that what your old man would want?"
"Please," she begs, her body trembling against mine. "The garage might still be okay. I have the keys right here." She fumbles in her pocket, producing a keyring with shaking hands.
I glance at the detached garage - it's not on fire yet, but it won't stay that way long. Cursing under my breath, I grab the keys from her palm.
"Stay here," I order, gripping her shoulders. "I mean it, Indy. Don't fucking move."
Her frightened eyes lock onto mine, tears cutting tracks through the soot already settling on her cheeks. "Be careful."
I sprint toward the garage, shouldering past a firefighter who tries to stop me. "That's a family heirloom in there, asshole!" The heat from the main house is intense, making sweat pour down my face.
The garage door groans as I force it up, smoke immediately rushing out. Through the haze, I spot the Chevelle's chrome gleaming. My hands shake as I jam the key into the door.
"Sir, you need to evacuate immediately!" A firefighter grabs my shoulder.
I shake him off. "Back the fuck off! I'm getting this car out!"
The engine roars to life on the first try. Thank God Brick kept her in pristine condition. Above me, the garage roof creaks ominously. Flames are starting to lick through the connecting wall from the house.
I throw it in reverse just as the first support beam crashes down where the hood was seconds ago. The Chevelle's tires screech against concrete as I gun it backward, narrowly missing a fire truck.