Speed

Chapter 9 (Jordan's POV)

Back in high school, my world was a whole lot simpler, or at least, it seemed that way at the time. It was during those formative years that I discovered two things that would shape the path of my life: my love for cars and the undeniable bond I shared with my dad through that very passion.

I was 14 when my dad first pulled me into the garage, a cluttered space filled with tools, parts, and the faint, comforting smell of motor oil. The centerpiece was an old and rusted, dark blue '69 Mustang, a project car that had seen better days. To me, though, it was beautiful—a puzzle waiting to be solved, a challenge to be met.

"Jordan," my dad said, wiping his hands on a rag as he turned to me, a smile playing on his lips. "Think it's time you learned how to work on a real car."

I remember the thrill that coursed through me, a mix of excitement and nervousness. Up until that point, my experience with cars had been limited to model kits and video games. This was the real deal, hands-on work that demanded patience, skill, and a willingness to learn.

Over the next few months, that garage became my classroom, and my dad, my mentor. He taught me everything he knew, from the basics of engine maintenance to the finer points of bodywork. Each lesson was punctuated with stories from his youth, tales of drag races and car shows, of victories and losses. It was more than just mechanics; it was history, a legacy being passed down.

Working side by side with my dad on that Mustang, I found not just a hobby, but a passion. There was something about the roar of an engine coming to life, the satisfaction of solving a mechanical problem, that resonated deep within me. It was a connection to something greater, a bond with my dad that went beyond words.

High school brought its own challenges—homework, exams, the awkwardness of growing up. But through it all, the garage remained my refuge, a place where I could escape and focus on something tangible and rewarding. It was there, among the tools and car parts, that I learned lessons that would stick with me long after graduation.

Patience, for one. Some problems can't be solved with a quick fix; they require time and persistence. Respect, too, for the craftsmanship that goes into a well-built machine. And maybe most importantly, the understanding that sometimes, you have to tear something down to build it back up stronger.

A year had passed since I'd first ventured into the heart of mechanics with my dad, a year that felt both fleeting and filled with endless moments of learning and growth. High school, with its predictable routines and teenage dramas, had become a backdrop to my true passion: cars and the burgeoning thrill of racing. Yet, amidst the grease-stained afternoons and the roar of engines, something unexpected happened, something that would challenge the very foundation of who I thought I was.

It was an ordinary Thursday when Damian Morales walked into my life, quite literally, as he strode into the auto shop class—a class he'd never shown interest in before, being the star quarterback of the football team. His presence in the workshop was like a glitch in the matrix, worlds colliding in the most unexpected way. From the moment I saw him, something shifted inside me. It wasn't just that he was physically impressive, which he was, standing tall and confident, muscles hinting at their strength beneath his fitted shirt. It was more than that. It was the way he carried himself, the easy smile, the sparkle of mischief in his eyes. Damian Morales was like a living, breathing challenge to the status quo of my world, and my immediate, inexplicable reaction to him left me reeling.

Damian's appearance was striking, not just in the way that athleticism sculpted his body, but in the juxtaposition of his rugged sports persona against the backdrop of car parts and tools. He had this intensity about him, a focus that seemed out of place on the field but right at home here, among engines and chassis.