Page 52 of Off-Limits Daddy
He looked over. “Why?”
“Because now we can’t pass them off as priceless anonymous town heirlooms.”
That earned a smile. Not the flashy kind. The real one.
By the time we turned down the old service road, Ari’s smile had faded but not entirely disappeared. Dust kicked up behind the truck, settling in sunlit waves along the path. The training grounds came into view—concrete tower, old water tanks, weeds clawing up chain-link fencing. I kept going, pulling behind the far lot.
Gravel popped beneath the tires as I eased the truck to a stop in the middle of the open space. To the left, an old trailer leaned into the slope like it had given up years ago. A few rusted barrels were half-sunk in the dirt. Beyond that: nothing but quiet and space. No eyes. No distractions.
I shut off the engine.
Ari blinked. “We hiking from here?”
I tossed him the keys. He caught them—barely. Fumbled, but didn’t drop them.
“You’re driving.”
He stared at the keys like they might explode. “Funny.”
“Not a joke.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I said, softer this time. “That’s why we’re here.”
His fingers tightened around the keys.
He didn’t move. Just looked down at the keys and then up at me, something flickering in his eyes. “My dad was supposed to teach me,” he said after a moment. “When I was six, I told everyone I wanted a bright orange Chevelle with racing stripes.Dad said he’d help me find one when I was old enough. Then he left, and I guess I never wanted to learn without him.”
The silence that followed didn’t need to be filled. It just needed to be respected.
“And when Sage offered to teach me at seventeen,” he continued, voice rougher now, “I just said no. He didn’t ask why. He figured I didn’t care.”
“You did, though.”
His mouth pressed into a thin line. He nodded once. Small. Sharp.
“You don’t have to stay stuck in that place,” I said, voice low. “Let me be the one to show you it doesn’t have to hurt to move forward.”
Ari’s throat worked like he was trying to swallow whatever cracked behind his ribs. His hand hovered at his side. Then, slowly, I lifted mine and gently curled his fingers around the keys.
“I’m right here.”
He looked up. Lips parted. Eyes bright. Then he rolled them and muttered, “You’re corny as hell, old man.”
I huffed out a laugh. “Watch your mouth, boy.”
But he moved. Slid out of the passenger seat, boots hitting the gravel. I stepped out and waited for him. For a moment, we just stood there, sun beating down, a light breeze tugging at his curls.
Then he made his way around the front, slow and reluctant but not turning back.
I held the driver’s side door for him. Ari climbed in behind the wheel, stiff as hell, like the seat might bite.
“Big moment,” I said, and closed the door behind him.
I circled around and got into the passenger seat. Ari sat there like the air was made of glass, hands resting on the wheel, the keys clutched in his lap.
Not gonna lie, he looked good in the driver’s seat.
