Speed

Chapter 2

Just as the warm buzz of post-performance adrenaline begins to settle around us, the atmosphere shifts. The door swings open with more force than necessary, and in stumbles Damian, his steps unsteady, his laughter too loud in the intimate setting of the bar. The scent of alcohol precedes him, wrapping around us like an unwelcome cloak.

"Zac! My star!" Damian slurs, his voice cutting through the hum of conversations, drawing the room's attention. His eyes are too bright, his smile too wide, a clear sign of his inebriation. Ryan stiffens beside me, his arm dropping from my shoulder as he watches Damian's approach with a mix of concern and annoyance. "Looks like the celebration got the better of Damian," he mutters under his breath.

I sigh, a knot forming in my stomach. "Yeah, seems like it."

Damian finally reaches us, swaying slightly as he throws an arm around my shoulders, his grip a little too tight. "You were amazing, man! I heard the crowd from outside. Should've seen it, the race was—"

"Damian, you're drunk," I cut him off, trying to keep my voice steady and calm. "Maybe you should sit down."

Damian blinks, as if noticing me for the first time. "Yeah, but you, Zac. You're going places. Just don't forget us little people when you're famous," he says, his attempt at jest tinged with something more melancholy.

Ryan steps in, a mediator as always. "Come on, Damian. Let's get you some water. You've had enough for tonight."

Damian, slumped in the chair Ryan guided him to, suddenly straightens up, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that belies his drunken state. "You think you're fuckin' better than us now, Zac? Is that it?" His voice, though slurred, cuts sharply through the noise of the bar.

Taken aback, I shake my head, trying to keep my voice even. "Damian, that's not it at all. Tonight was just about the music, not about being better than anyone."

"But you left, Zac! You left the race, our celebration, for what? This shit?" He gestures vaguely around the bar, his movements exaggerated and uncoordinated.

"Damian, I just wanted to play my set. It's important to me, you know that,"

"Yeah, but we're a team, aren't we? Or was all that shit just for show?"

His accusation stings, more than I care to admit. Ryan steps in, trying to defuse the situation.

"Damian, let's not do this here. You're drunk, and this isn't the time or place."

Damian shakes off Ryan's attempt at peace. "No, I wanna hear it from him. Are you with us, Zac, or are you chasing after a dream that'll leave you alone in the end?"

His words, meant to wound, hang heavy between us. I know he doesn't mean them, not really. The alcohol is speaking more than my friend. "Damian, my music doesn't mean I'm leaving anyone behind. Can't I have both?"

"Both," he scoffs, the word dripping with skepticism. "You'll have to choose, Zac. And it looks like you already have."

The air between us feels charged, heavy with unsaid words and unacknowledged fears. Ryan looks at me, a silent offer of support, but it's clear this is something between Damian and me.

"Damian, I'm still here, aren't I? I came back. But I need you to understand that my music... it's part of who I am. Just like racing is a part of you."

He looks away, the fight seeming to drain out of him as quickly as it flared. "Maybe," he concedes, his voice softer, almost lost amidst the background noise. The moment feels fragile, a truce hung on the thin thread of drunken honesty and the complexities of friendship. I know there'll be more to navigate in the light of day, but for now, the storm has passed.

Ryan, ever the peacemaker, suggests quietly, "Let's get you home, Damian. We can sort all this out later."

As we help Damian up, I can't help but feel a pang of sorrow for the rough edges of our lives, where dreams and reality collide, often leaving us to pick up the pieces in the aftermath. But it's a choice I've made, a path I'm determined to follow, with or without understanding. For now, though, friendship remains the one constant, guiding us back from the brink, time and again.

The ride to Damian's house is tense, the earlier argument in the bar casting a long shadow over us. Damian, despite the alcohol dulling his senses, is still fueled by a mix of frustration and something else—maybe fear, maybe resentment. It's hard to tell.

"You just don't get it, Zac. You think you can just float between these worlds like it's nothing. But you're leaving us behind," Damian accuses, his voice growing louder with each word.

"Damian, it's not about leaving anyone behind. I'm just trying to follow my passion. Can't you understand that?"

But Damian isn't listening, his words becoming more slurred and aggressive. "Passion? What about loyalty, huh? What about the crew?"

Before I can respond, Ryan, who's been trying to keep the peace from the driver seat, finally loses his patience. "Goddammit Damian, shut the fuck up! This isn't about loyalty. Zac's been nothing but loyal. You're the one who's out of line here."

Damian rounds on Ryan, the shift in target abrupt. "And what about you, huh? You're always sticking up for him. You think he's going to drag you along to fame?"

Ryan's usually calm demeanor cracks, frustration bleeding through. "This isn't about fame, Damian. It's about supporting him. Something you're clearly struggling with right now."

The car is filled with a tense silence after Ryan's outburst, the words hanging heavy in the air. Damian sinks back into his seat, muttering under his breath, a mix of anger and something that sounds suspiciously like hurt. As we pull up to Damian's house, the silence is oppressive, each of us lost in our own thoughts. The night, meant to be a celebration of music and friendship, has devolved into a showcase of the rifts between us.

"Damian, we're here," I say softly, breaking the silence.

He doesn't move at first, then shuffles out of the car without a word, the fight seemingly drained out of him. Ryan and I watch him go, the door closing behind him with a soft click that feels final.

Ryan lets out a long breath, rubbing his face with his hands. "That was... rough."

I nod, the weight of the night settling on my shoulders. "Yeah. I just... I hope he'll see things differently in the morning."

Ryan looks at me, his expression serious. "He will. Damian's hot-headed, but he cares. Just give it some time."

As we drive back to the city, the streets quiet and the night deepening, I can't help but wonder about the paths we choose and the friendships and relationships that are tested along the way. The road ahead seems more uncertain than ever, but one thing is clear: the journey is far from over.