here." The officer pulled them out of his pocket, the keys jingling together in his hand. "I can get one of the tow guys to drop it off at your place."
Primo considered that for a second—a brief second, where he almost agreed. Instead, he turned to the man and shook his head. "That won't be necessary. I can get it there myself."
The man's eyes widened. "You?"
"Don't look so shocked," Primo said, stepping around the car, pulling his sweaty hand from his pocket and holding it out. "I remember how to drive."
The officer dropped the keys into his palm, not saying a word as Primo unlocked the driver's side door. The man took a step back, watching with skepticism, as Primo climbed in behind the wheel. He would've been offended by the officer's reaction, by the blatant disrespect doubting him portrayed, but his nerves were too frazzled to feel anything beyond his unease. He took a moment to adjust the seat, to try to get comfortable in the cramped front seat, but it was useless. There was nothing comforting about what he was doing.
"Do you even have a driver's license anymore?" the officer asked.
"Does it matter?" Primo quipped, because no, he didn't. His expired years before and he'd never found reason to renew it. "What are you going to do, ticket me?"
"No, I'm just worried—"
"Worry about yourself," Primo said. "That's who you ought to be worrying about, since you seem to want to stick your nose in my business and ask questions you ought not be asking."
The officer held up his hands defensively as he took a step back. "You have a good night, Mr. Galante."
A good night? Impossible.
Those nights were all behind him. They were memories, ones he would never relive, because everything good had disappeared, leaving him there… behind the wheel for the first time in sixteen years. A long chunk of time to most, but it had been the blink of an eye to him. The freeing feeling was gone, though. No more soaring. Somebody had clipped his wings. Time for a crash landing.
Primo shut the door, clutching the keys so hard in his fist the grooves dug into his damp skin, leaving marks. He gave himself five seconds to pull himself together before he stuck the key in the ignition.
Another five seconds before he had the courage to turn the damn thing.
There was a click, and Primo held his breath, his stomach churning and chest aching. Suddenly, he was almost two decades younger, standing in that pizzeria parking lot, his eyes glued to his eldest son through the windows of his car. His heart battered his rib cage. He knew right then. He knew. Five more seconds and his son would disappear.
He was sick and tired of his children disappearing.
Primo always savored those seconds, but he couldn't do it anymore. He had to stop dwelling. He turned the key the rest of the way and the engine awoke. No explosion. No chaos. Just him behind the wheel again—only so much older now.
He put the car in 'drive' and pulled through the lot, toward the open gate. As he passed the mangled sport's car, he averted his gaze.
Traffic was light at one in the morning. For that, Primo was grateful, because driving a car was nothing like riding a bike. Back when he'd driven, cars had been monsters made of rigid metal, not these light fiberglass masses stacked with electronics. So many lights and beeps coming from the dashboard. Back in his day, a dashboard was only good for propping up your feet.
It took him almost forty-five minutes to make it home. He pulled the BMW into the driveway, hesitating before he cut the engine.
Silence surrounded him.
Pulling the key from the ignition, he stepped out of the car. Lights shone from the house, hastily left on when he ran out of the place hours earlier.
Before he made his way inside, noise rang out behind him in the street, squealing tires shattering the peace. His eyes cut that way, a black sedan approaching.
Primo was unarmed and alone. For the first time in years, he'd allowed himself to be vulnerable. Never again. The car skidded to a stop in front of his property, the back passenger door flinging open. He waited for the ambush. He waited for the bullets. He waited for gunfire to light up the darkness, but instead, the car sped off once more.
Something flew out of the backseat, slamming the asphalt hard before rolling, the wheels of