Damn.

I stand slowly, leaving my gaze on what is probably my most prized possession for a little longer before turning my focus to my brother. Owen simply smiles, raising his shoulders, his hands never leaving the pockets of his jacket while he owns his good deed.

“O, I…I’m sorry,” I say. There’s quiet between us for a few long seconds, and I let it take us over so I can stand still for once in my life and appreciate what I have—appreciate my brother.

“It’s no sweat. You deserve something nice; I’m still proud of you,” he says. “Just as proud as I’ve always been. Maybe…maybe a little more, even.”

I pinch my brow and gaze down at the keys, my keys, in my hand. I haven’t held these keys with an intention of using them in years. Tonight, I’m driving home on my own. No cab for me.

“Why a little more?” I ask, curious how anyone could be proud of me lately.

“Because when shit got hard, you found another gear. It isn’t easy,” he says, his eyes zeroing in on mine. Owen and I never really talk about James. In fact, we never really have talked about our late brother—about what happened, about James’s addiction and suicide. But we don’t have to say words—the scar is there for both of us, different but the same, and we can see it in each other’s eyes. James was hurting, in his own way, and Owen and I are hell bent on never letting each other feel that helpless. We lost James, and the loss is going to stop there.

I move to Owen and reach for his hand, gripping it when he puts his palm out for me to shake. When our hands meet, I move closer to hug him firmly, feeling the tightness I’ve been carrying around in my chest release just a little, simply from holding my brother close.

“Thanks, O. So much,” I say over his shoulder, my voice hoarse. His hand on my back brings me peace. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“Me too, bro. Me, too,” he says, patting me hard on the back a few times before we both let go for good.

“I’ll pay you back,” I say, looking back to my keys again, still a little stunned that my car, my baby, is back and running and beautiful again. Owen starts to chuckle.

“I don’t want you to pay me back, but there’s one thing you can do,” he says, pulling Kensi into his side, hugging her and moving his hand up and down her still-cold arms. I shrug at him with a questioning look. “You can quit hitting on my girlfriend with your oh, I’m a gentleman, here take my shirt and…oh…did you see my abs? move.”

I smirk as he mocks me, then start to laugh hard when the words he just said finally hit me.

“Dude…my abs? Really? Jealous much?” I look to Kensi, who’s laughing too. Owen’s eyebrows are raised, but he’s not laughing like we are—so we both try our best to stop. “Got it. Okay. No more abs or winter-wear for Kensi. Done. Kens?”

She looks at me.

“You’re gonna need to start bringing your own jacket to things and opening your own car doors and junk, ’cuz…well…you know he’s not going to do any of it,” I say, laughing halfway through as I needle my brother for the last time until he comes back from Europe in a year. He steps forward and pushes me off balance, but his right cheek rises with his grin.

* * *

Today was the first in a long time that everything in me felt right. It was certainly the first in many trips home that I returned to my apartment without feeling like a failure. Mom was easy on me—minus the few reminders about financial responsibilities—and Dwayne was…Dwayne. He’s always neutral, which I suppose I can’t blame him for. He has to be on our mom’s side, but Owen and I make difficult enemies. He really can’t win.

I think what really made the world shift for me today though was the feeling of driving myself back home—in my car. I was careful, always right at the speed limit, several lengths away from the cars in front of or behind me. Nothing was going to touch my car. No scratches, no dings. Not even the threat of a hard break to throw the alignment out of whack.

She sang for me on the highway as I drove home in the late afternoon sun. The engine purred with every mile, the rumble of the road below me, and the angry tires still with plenty of tread, gripped the road. One day soon—when I’m comfortable again—I’m going to take her out in the country and open her up.

For now, though, I think I’ll just enjoy driving her with the same amount of zeal that my grandfather would have behind the wheel.

Nice and easy.

Trent is leaving, locking up our front door as I pull up to park along the sidewalk, revving the engine until he can’t help but turn around.