Chapter 2: Confessions in the Dark
The blue-white light of the phone screen was the only illumination in the kitchen, casting harsh shadows up onto Catalina’s face. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard.
Letty, are you up?
Delete.
Need to talk.
Delete.
I think I’m losing my mind.
Delete.
She let out a slow, shaky breath and placed the phone face down on the chipped Formica table. The darkness rushed back in, softer now, punctuated only by the dim orange glow of the streetlight filtering through the blinds. From the baby monitor on the counter, Mina’s soft, rhythmic breathing whispered into the room. Out. A tiny metronome keeping time with her guilt.
The house was too quiet. It always was when he left. It wasn’t just an absence of sound; it was a hollowing out. The Charger’s engine roaring to life in the driveway had felt like a physical rip, tearing something loose from her chest. She got up, padding barefoot to the sink. A single mug sat there, the one he’d used. He never rinsed them. She picked it up, the ceramic still faintly warm from his hands, and she did what she always did. She washed it. She dried it. She put it back in the cupboard. Erasing the evidence.
Her reflection in the black kitchen window was a ghost. Dark circles under eyes that looked too much like his. She turned away.
The plan for tomorrow night was solid. The route was clean. The crew was ready. It was all muscle memory, logistics, the family business. It was the other business, the one conducted in silent looks and searing, accidental touches, that had no plan. That was a freefall.
She opened the fridge just for the light, not hungry. A magnet held a crayon drawing Mina had made of three stick figures. One tall, one tall with longer hair, one small in the middle. They were holding hands. Underneath, in Letty’s neat print, it read: The Toretto Team. Catalina’s throat tightened. She shut the door, plunging herself back into the dim orange gloom.
Her phone buzzed, skittering on the table. She lunged for it, a stupid, hopeful jolt in her veins. It was just Letty.
You still awake? I saw Dom tearing out of here. Everything cool?
Catalina stared at the words. Letty knew. Not everything, but enough. She’d been there from the start, had held Catalina’s hair back when she was sick with morning sickness, had never asked a single prying question about dates or fathers. Her loyalty was a fortress. And right now, it felt like a prison.
Her thumbs moved, this time not deleting.
Yeah. Just pre-race crap. You know how he gets.
The lie tasted like ash. She sent it.
Three dots appeared immediately. Then stopped. Started again. Letty was choosing her words.
He’s carrying the whole damn world on his shoulders. Cut him some slack. And get some sleep. You need to be sharp tomorrow.
Catalina didn’t respond. She put the phone down again. “Cut him some slack.” If only it were that simple. She wasn’t angry at him. She was angry at the space between them. Angry at the rules. Angry at the stupid, perfect, beautiful little girl sleeping down the hall who was the living, breathing consequence and salvation of it all.
She walked to the hallway, leaning against the doorframe of Mina’s room. Nightlight shaped like a race car—a gift from Vince—casting a soft glow over the bed. Mina was sprawled, one arm flung over her green dinosaur, her mouth slightly open. She had Dominic’s stubborn brow, even in sleep.
Catalina’s mind rewound, unbidden, to a night years ago. Not in this house. In the old one, the one that smelled of their father’s cigars and burnt toast. She and Dom, sixteen, in the garage after their dad had yelled at Dom for a missed curfew. They’d been sitting on the floor, backs against an old Duster, sharing a stolen beer. Dom was furious, vibrating with a young man’s rage.
“He doesn’t get it,” Dom had muttered, his shoulder pressed against hers. “This is my life. My rules.”
“Your rules are gonna get you killed,” she’d said, nudging him with her knee.
He’d looked at her then, the anger shifting into something else, something more confusing. The garage light had flickered, just like it did now in their own shop. The world had narrowed to the space between their faces. She remembered the frantic, terrified beat of her heart, a drum warning of a danger she didn’t understand yet. She remembered the scent of him—engine grease, cheap soap, summer night. She remembered leaning in.
The blaring horn of a passing car on the street below shattered the memory. Catalina flinched, pulling herself back into the present, her heart hammering the same frantic rhythm. She pressed her fingers to her temples. That was the problem. The past wasn’t past. It was here, in every glance, in every silent car ride, in the way he said her name.
Her phone buzzed again. Letty.
Okay, bullshit. I’m coming over.
No, Catalina typed back, fast. Don’t. I’m fine. Really.
Too late. I’m outside.
Headlights washed across the kitchen window, then cut off. Catalina closed her eyes, a mix of dread and profound relief twisting in her gut. She couldn’t be alone with the memories anymore.
She met Letty at the door before she could knock. Letty held a paper bag from the all-night Mexican place. “You look like hell,” she said simply, walking in like she owned the place. She kicked off her boots. “And you didn’t eat. I got lengua tacos. Don’t give me that face, you’ll eat them.”
“I’m not hungry,” Catalina said, but she followed Letty to the table.
Letty unpacked the food, the smell of cilantro and roasted meat cutting through the stale coffee air. She didn’t speak for a minute, just pushed a foil-wrapped taco toward Catalina and started on her own. Finally, she pointed her food at Catalina with her chin. “So. Pre-race crap.”
“It’s complicated, Letty.”
“It’s always complicated with you two. It’s the only thing I know for sure.” Letty took a bite, chewed thoughtfully. “He loves you, Cat. You know that, right? In every way a person can love someone.”
Catalina stared at the taco. “Don’t.”
“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. He’d set the world on fire for you and Mina. He nearly has, a few times.” Letty’s voice was softer now. “But the way he looks at you… it ain’t just brotherly. And the way you look at him ain’t just sisterly. Never has been.”
The directness was a slap. A clean, painful one. Catalina didn’t deny it. She couldn’t, not to Letty. The silence stretched, filled by Mina’s soft snores through the monitor.
“What are you gonna do?” Letty asked quietly.
“What can I do?” The question came out as a plea. “There is no ‘do’. There’s this. There’s the garage, the jobs, the crew. There’s her.” She glanced down the hall. “We made a choice. We live with it.”
“You’re living next to it. In separate cells.” Letty wiped her hands on a napkin. “I’m not judging you. My life ain’t exactly a church picnic. But this… this quiet torture you two are in? It’s gonna crack. And when it does, it’s gonna take everything with it. The crew. The business. Her.”
“So what’s the solution? We run away? With what money? With what life? Every cop in California would be looking for us, and not for street racing. For kidnapping. For worse.” The words felt ugly and real in the quiet kitchen. “We’d be monsters. To everyone. Even to her, when she’s old enough to understand.”
“Then you stay.” Letty shrugged. “And you suffocate. And one day you’ll look at each other and there’ll be nothing left but resentment. Is that better?”
A tear escaped, tracing a hot path down Catalina’s cheek. She swiped at it angrily. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s better. I just know we can’t have what we want. The world doesn’t work like that.”
Letty reached across the table, her hand calloused and warm over Catalina’s cold one. “The world can go to hell. But Mina’s world is here. I get it.” She squeezed. “I’m just saying… the status quo is killing you both. Slowly. I can see it.”
They sat in the companionable silence of shared history and unshakeable loyalty. Letty finished her taco. Catalina unwrapped hers but didn’t eat.
“The meet tomorrow,” Letty said, changing the subject with a tangible mercy. “You riding with Dom?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Watch his six. He’s been… distant. More than usual. Makes mistakes.”
“He won’t make a mistake tomorrow.” Catalina’s voice was firm. “It’s about the money. For her.” For her future. For the life we can’t give her the normal way.
Letty nodded, accepting the shift. “Leon says the buyer is solid. Payment upfront, the rest on delivery. No funny business.”
“There’s always funny business,” Catalina murmured, her mind clicking into the familiar, safer territory of risk assessment. “That’s why we get paid the big bucks.”
A key turned in the front door lock.
Both women froze. Catalina’s heart jumped into her throat. The door opened and Dominic walked in, bringing the cool night air with him. He stopped short, seeing Letty at the table. His eyes, shadowed and tired, went to Catalina, then to their joined hands on the table. Letty didn’t pull away.
“Hey,” he said, his voice gravelly.
“Hey,” Letty replied, slowly retrieving her hand. “Just dropping off some fuel. You guys are gonna need it.” She stood up, gathering the trash. “I’m out. Get some sleep, both of you. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
She clapped Dom on the shoulder as she passed, a silent communication, and let herself out. The door closed with a soft click.
The kitchen felt smaller. Dominic stood near the doorway, looking like a stranger in his own home. He was still wearing his jacket.
“I thought you were checking the route,” Catalina said, her voice neutral.
“I did. It was clear.” He didn’t move. “I came back.”
Those three words hung in the air. I came back. He could have gone to the garage. He could have slept in the truck. He came back here, to the quiet and the tension and her.
“Letty brought tacos,” she said, gesturing lamely at the foil on the table.
“I’m not hungry.”
Silence descended, heavier than before. The baby monitor hissed its soft static. He finally took off his jacket, draping it over a chair. The routine. The predictable, painful dance.
He walked to the sink, filled a glass with water, and drank it all in one go. She watched the line of his throat working, the set of his jaw. He was wound so tight she thought he might splinter.
“The story you told her,” she said, the words leaving her before she could stop them. “About the two cars. In the big garage.”
He went still, his back to her. “Yeah.”
“It was a good story.”
He turned around, leaning against the counter. The dim light carved deep hollows under his cheekbones. “It was just a story.”
“It wasn’t.” She stood up, the legs of her chair scraping loudly against the floor. “It was a wish. You told our daughter a wish.”
His gaze locked with hers. The wall he’d built was there, but she saw the cracks, raw and glistening. “Cat, don’t.”
“Why? Why can’t we just say it? Just once. Out loud.” She took a step toward him. “We’re not kids anymore, Dom. We’re not confused. We know what this is. This… thing that has followed us our whole lives. We made a person out of it, for God’s sake.”
“Stop.” It was a command, but his voice broke on the word.
“I’m tired of stopping. I’m tired of pretending this is just some secret we keep from the neighbors. It’s us. It’s in our blood. It’s in her blood.” She was in front of him now, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, close enough to feel the heat coming off his body. “Tell me you don’t feel it. Tell me you can look at me and not see the other half of yourself staring back. Tell me that, and I’ll never say another word.”
He didn’t speak. He just looked at her, his breath coming faster. His control was a visible thing, a tremor in the muscle of his jaw. The air between them was combustible.
He didn’t move to touch her. He didn’t move away.
From the baby monitor, Mina murmured in her sleep, a nonsense word, a soft sigh.
The sound was a bucket of ice water.
Dominic’s eyes shattered. The raw want that had been blazing there was doused, replaced by a yawning, familiar despair. He pushed off from the counter, walking around her, putting the kitchen island between them. A tangible barrier.
“We have a run tomorrow,” he said, his voice now dead and flat. “We need to be focused. We need to be smart.”
It was the same retreat. The same fortress. But tonight, it felt more final.
Catalina felt the fight drain out of her, leaving a cold, hollow exhaustion. He had chosen, again. Duty over desire. Family over forbidden. She’d laid herself bare, and he had built the wall higher.
“Right,” she whispered. “The run.”
She turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving him standing there in the half-light. She didn’t go to her room. She went to the living room and stood in the dark, looking at the blanket fort Mina had made earlier that day. A castle built for three, now empty.
She heard him move in the kitchen, the clink of his glass in the sink. Then his footsteps down the hall. He didn’t go to his room either. She heard the soft click of Mina’s door opening, then closing. He was in with her. Seeking solace in the one pure thing they’d made.
Catalina wrapped her arms around herself, shivering despite the warm night. The wish he’d told hovered in the air around her, a phantom of a different life. A big garage where the rules didn’t matter.
But this was the real world. Their world. And tomorrow night, they had a race to run.
The quiet of the house pressed in, thick and cloying. Catalina stared at the blanket fort until the shadows seemed to shift within it, shapes of a life she couldn’t quite grasp. She was so tired of the silent war waged across kitchen islands and in grease-stained garages.
Her phone was a cold, hard rectangle in her hand. The screen lit her face anew as she unlocked it, the message thread with Letty still open. Her earlier lies glowed back at her. Pre-race crap.
Her thumb moved now with a desperate, final clarity. No more drafts. No more deletions. The truth was a simple, ugly cut.
Letty. I can’t do this anymore. I think I have to leave. For good.
She sent it before she could think. The whoosh sound was strangely final. A wave of cold dread immediately washed over her, followed by a sharper, more shocking relief. She’d said it. To someone.
Three dots appeared almost instantly. Then vanished. Catalina imagined Letty on the other side of town, sitting up in bed, reading those words, understanding everything they meant. And everything they didn’t say.
A new message popped up.
Leave where? What does that mean, Cat.
Catalina leaned her head against the cool wall. The textured plaster dug into her skin. She typed again, each letter a hammer strike on the fragile shell of her life.
I mean disappear. Let him raise Mina. She’s better off with him. With you and the crew. I’m the problem.
She could see Letty trying to formulate a response, to argue, to fix it. The dots pulsed, stopped, pulsed again. Catalina exhaled, a shaky release of breath she felt like she’d been holding for years.
You’re not a problem. You’re his mirror. That’s the whole damn tragedy of it.
A tear hit the screen, smearing the light. Catalina wiped it away with a rough swipe of her hand. She typed the hardest part, the part that made her stomach turn.
If I stay, I’ll break. Or he will. And Mina will see it. I can’t let her see what we are.
She sent it, then added one more line, the most important one.
You can never tell him. Swear to me. He can’t know I’m thinking this.
The pause this time was longer. The silence from the phone felt heavier than the silence in the house. Finally, a reply.
I swear. But you’re not leaving tonight. You have a run tomorrow. After that… we talk.
It wasn’t a solution. It was a stay of execution. Catalina let the phone drop to the couch beside her.
Catalina let the phone drop to the couch beside her.
The silence it left was absolute and crushing. The relief from sending the truth evaporated, replaced by a colder, more familiar emptiness. She stared at the blanket fort until the shapes blurred into meaningless shadows.
She pushed herself up, her body moving on its own. The hallway floorboards were cool under her bare feet. She paused outside Mina’s door, her hand hovering over the knob. From inside, she heard the low, soothing rumble of Dominic’s voice. He was telling another story, something about a tow truck that saved the day. His tone was soft, meant only for their daughter.
Catalina leaned her forehead against the wood. She could picture them: Mina curled against his side, his large hand splayed across her tiny back. A perfect, unbreakable picture. One she was about to shatter.
She turned away and walked into the dark garage.
The single bulb buzzed to life under her hand, casting its stark, flickering light over the Charger. It gleamed, a monument to their shared obsession. She ran her fingers along the cool curve of the fender, the metal they had shaped together. This was their language, their only safe touch.
Her phone, clutched like a stone in her other hand, lit up again. Letty’s name flashed. Catalina ignored it. The vibration was an accusation.
She slid into the driver’s seat. The bucket seat hugged her, smelling of worn leather and Dominic’s cologne. She gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles paling. She saw the midnight run, the roaring engines, his focused profile in the passenger seat. A team. A perfect, synchronized machine hiding a fatal fracture.
The thought of not being there tomorrow, of leaving him to run it alone, felt like carving out her own heart. But the thought of staying, of another year, another day of this silent screaming, was worse.
The phone screen glowed in her lap. She opened a new message to Letty. Her thumbs were clumsy, trembling.
I can’t breathe in this house, Letty.
The three dots appeared, stopped. Catalina didn’t wait.
Every wall has his shadow on it. Every sound is his echo.
She was crying now, hot, silent tears that splashed on the screen. She wiped it on her jeans, smearing the light.
I love him so much it’s turning into hate. For him. For me. For everything we made.
Letty’s response came fast, a single line: I’m coming over right now.
NO. Catalina typed, the letters screaming in all caps. Don’t. You can’t fix this. No one can.
She took a shuddering breath, the air in the garage thick with gasoline and despair. The truth, the final, ugly truth, clawed its way up her throat and onto the screen. She typed it, each word a surrender.
I will break, Letty. I am thinking about killing myself, Letty, because I am so broken I am coming apart.
She sent it. The message hung in the digital void, a naked confession. She dropped the phone onto the passenger seat as if it had burned her.
The garage door into the house opened with a soft click. A slice of hallway light cut across the concrete floor. Dominic stood there, silhouetted, Mina asleep on his shoulder, her head nestled into his neck.
He looked at her sitting in the car, her face streaked and illuminated by the phone’s dying light. His eyes narrowed, searching. “Cat?”
His voice, rough with sleep and concern, shattered her last remnant of control. She couldn’t speak. She could only stare at him, the man who was her brother, the father of her child, the love of her life, and the source of all her pain.
He took a step into the garage, his free hand reaching out slightly. “What’s wrong?”
Her phone buzzed on the seat, lighting up with Letty’s frantic calls. The screen flashed again and again in the dark car, a stuttering, silent alarm.
Catalina looked from the phone to Dominic, to the sleeping child on his shoulder. The three points of her whole world. She opened her mouth. No sound came out.