Synopsis: Curtis thinks you're too good for him and doesn't want his brother's trouble rubbing off on you.
You couldn't quite understand where you went wrong. Curtis Young was your best friend, one of those people that you'd somehow become attached to faster than most. You'd been glued to his side for almost a year, as he was to yours, until one day he wasn't.
It was as if a switch had flipped, and you no longer existed to him, a speck of dust in his world. And it hurt. One day Curtis was there by your side, walking through the halls and following you around after school. And the next he was gone. And for the past week you had been trying to figure out why. You had a suspicion, and it nagged at you like the scratching of a tag on the back of a t-shirt, just begging to be ripped off. But you didn't want it to be true.
Last week, after helping Caitlyn and Zac with their dads car, Curtis had given you a ride home. Like always. You'd clung to him on the back of his bike, grinning against his leather clad shoulder as he sped down your street. And when he'd come to a stop in your driveway, your legs felt like lead. Because you hadn't wanted to leave him, not yet. You'd stood there at your door, and the last thing you had wanted to do was go inside. You told Curtis as much that day, and the smile he gave you was infectious. It warmed every part of you, though it was nothing compared to the heat of his touch. The gentle brush of his fingers on your cheek as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. You had come a hairs breadth away from kissing him then. And you had been kicking yourself ever since. Even though he had pulled you closer when you stepped forward, even though he’d had one hand on your waist and the other on your cheek, coaxing you up to his lips. He'd wanted to kiss you that day too, you were sure of it. And yet he pulled back before it happened. Before you could cross the line from friendship, to something more.
He'd jerked his face away from yours, eyes closed in something like shame. Was he ashamed of you? Had that been it?
You walked through Ironwood now, wondering if maybe, just maybe, that had been the case.
-
Curtis hadn't seen you in a week. And that had been his choice. He avoided you like the plague, dodging any places he knew you would be, including classes you shared. It wasn't the best plan, but right now it was all he had. Because he didn't know how to explain it to you. How to say why he pulled away that day, when he had wanted so badly not to.
For months he'd been looking at your differently, his gaze catching on you when he knew you weren't looking. Wondering what it would be like if things were more. And he couldn't deny what he felt for you, it was most definitely there. A crush strong and proud, pounding against his heart like and angry father pounds on his sons bedroom door. He looked at you like a lover, but laughed with you like a friend. And now he didn't know what he was. Because you'd damn near kissed him, and he'd wanted you to.
Walking toward the Torres residence was a mistake, he knew as much from the anxious turn of his stomach, but his bike was in Logan's shop, and he needed it back. He'd gone through yet another chain last night, while blowing off steam on the highway, and had to wheel it over to the man's garage with a sullied expression. So as his boots crunched on the gravel, he knew he deserved the walk.
But there was a chance you would be at the garage too. Actually, Curtis was willing to bet you'd been there since this morning, when Caitlyn would have undoubtedly told you his bike was in the shop. He had to face you eventually, and you would force his hand. That's what had drawn him to you in the first place. The stubbornness.
He paused outside the wooden doors of the Garage, eyes lingering on the small opening, one of them pulled open just enough to fit a person. A person he was sure would be you. Taking a deep breath was harder than usual, as it caught in his throat, choking him. But he swallowed down the air, and forced himself inside. Just like he thought, you were sitting on the couch in the back of the garage, eyes shifting from the books in front of you to the boy that had now just walked through the door.
Curtis frowned, eyeing the textbooks that surrounded you as he approached. "Are you studying in here?" It was the first thing he'd said to you all week, maybe not the best opening line, but it was something.
"Logan said he wasn't gonna let me sit in here all day unless i was doing something productive." You answer, and Curtis can't help the sinking feeling he gets.
"So you've been here all day?"
"Waiting for you." you push the books off your lap and stand, arms folding over your chest. "We need to talk. You know that."
Curtis feels like a scolded puppy already, and the bulk of the conversation hasn't even started yet. "Yeah, I know." He wanders over to his bike, wanting something to do with his hands, another place to look other than at the hurt expression that graces your features. He hates this so fucking much.
"So talk." you say, pushing him, like you've always done. "Why have you been avoiding me?"
"I haven't been avoiding you." A lie, and an obvious one at that. A lie that makes you laugh, a loud, 'Ha!' that nearly makes Curtis flinch.
"Okay maybe I have been avoiding you, but it's not—"
"It's okay if you don't like me like that, Curtis." Your voice is soft, almost defeated. He forces himself to look at you, to look at the mess he's made.
"You think I don't?" he forces himself to let go of his bike, the thing that is grounding him, and takes a step toward you. The sound of his footfalls seem to echo in the space around him, the silence deafening.
He watches the expression you hold shift like water, twisting into something new with every second. You're confused, you're hurt, and there's something else he can't name. But you don't answer him, leaving his question hanging in the air.
"You think I don't like you like that?" He says again, and there's a different tone to it. Sharper.
"Curtis, I tried to kiss you, and you avoided me for a week."
"You've always been more than just a friend." He lets that hang, maybe because he doesn't know what to say next. How to explain this to you. "I'm sorry I didn't kiss you that day, but it's complicated."
You scoff, your eyebrows pulling down into the deepest frown he thinks he's ever seen. "I'm not mad you didn't kiss me Curtis!" your voice is steadier now, more powerful and you look over your shoulder, as if for backup that won't come. "I'm upset because you ghosted me! My best friend ignored my texts, my calls, didn't speak to me for a week, and didn't tell me why."
The way you call him your best friend, twists something inside of him. Like a hand in his chest, squeezing his heart, his lungs, until there's nothing left to use.
"You could have called me that night and told me you weren't interested. You could have come to school, and we could have never spoken about it again for all I care. But hiding from me? Because let's admit, that's what you were doing," you smile then, though it's nothing happy. "Hiding from me was horrible. We're not kids anymore Curtis, you can't run from everything."
"I'm not hiding from you anymore." he takes a step forward, but can't bring himself to close anymore distance than that. "But I can't be who you want me to be."
"I don't want you to be anybody other than you." There's a crack in your voice, and it seems to echo through the shop. A harsh beam of sunlight shines through the gap in the doors, painting a line of light across the ground between you. Like a barrier. Something you shouldn't cross.
"I can't be your boyfriend." Curtis says finally, spitting it out.
"But you like me as more than a friend?" the question is one you have been dying to ask outright for months. Something you weren't sure was allowed. But all bets are off now.
"Yes," he gives you a straight answer for once, and drives it home. "I always have."
"But you can't be my boyfriend." you're not asking him, it's more like you're solidifying the point he made before. Getting it settled in your head. A silence settles, uncomfortable and warm as the light creeps further into the room. The sun is setting, illuminating the garage in a golden hue.
"You're not him, Curtis."
The words punch Curtis in the gut as you say them, his eyes widening.
"That's what this is about isn't it?" you raise an eyebrow, and move toward him, closing the space between you and crossing the line that nature drew in gold.
"What do you mean?" his question is pointless. He knows, he has known since it happened, why he pulled away. His brother Ray is dangerous and mean. Hard as a stone and poison to the blood. The blood that he has running through his veins.
"You think you're like him, like Ray, but you're not." You reach a hand out, and take his in your own. "You're better."
It takes everything Curtis has in him not to kiss you.
"How do you know that?" there's a vulnerability there, hiding beneath his words. But he squeezes your hand, and he knows, even as he tries to deny it, that he's giving in.
You smile, and let go of his hand, reaching up with both of yours to hold his face gently. "I know you Curtis Young, and you are the only boy I've ever loved."
Love. You've said it, and even as Curtis battles with his family line, he knows he feels the same. "My brother is dangerous," He manages to say, "I don't want you getting caught up in that, in me."
There's a soft smile on your face, a gentle upturn of your lips full of care and sincerity that makes him want to do so many things. "So you're telling me you didn't kiss me because of your brother? Because you're afraid to be like him?" the question is heavy, but you take the weight instantly, running your thumb over his cheek. "Since when have you let your brother control what you do and don't do?"
Curtis grins then, he can't help it, not when it comes to you. "You've got a point there." he’s close enough now for you to hear him when he whispers, as he closes the space between you. And finally, after the mess of the past week, Curtis presses his lips to yours. The kiss is sweet, like the early days of summer and his nose bumps with yours in an awkward yet lovely finale.
"So," Curtis says when you pull away, so close that his lips still brush yours when he speaks. "I'm the only boy you've ever loved?"
You slap him on the shoulder, a playful touch, and he laughs. The weight off his chest for the first time, in a long time.
-
Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! tell me what you think <3
SUMMARY: Caitlyn and Zac are hellbent on finding more information about their dad. As they snoop around, they come across an old Polaroid.
WARNING(S): ANGST LOTS OF IT, mentions of blood, car crash, sweet flashback that leads to angst.
WORD COUNT: 6,100
PAIRING: Logan Maddox x fem!Reader
A/N: I hope you like it! I feel like Logan seems like a tragic love story guy, so I gave him one. I had/have a plot twist in store/stored, but I think I like this as a oneshot. Also, I feel like Logan might've graduated in 2005, but I could be estimating wrong.
MASTERLIST
The garage office always smelled like motor oil and black coffee. A mixture of what Logan would faintly smell like. It was the one place Zac and Caitlyn weren’t usually allowed to snoop through. Which, naturally, made it the first place they ran to when he left to take a call.
"What are we looking for again?" Zac kept pulling back filing drawers.
It wasn’t even anything exciting; mostly old picture frames, receipts, faded diagrams, and random bolts, etc.
"Anything that can help us figure out where Dad is? Or what happened to him at least..."
Caitlyn poked through the shelves on the wall behind the desk until she found a brown old shoebox wedged behind a stack of engine manuals labeled 'Logan's personals'.
“This looks promising.”
Inside were Polaroids. Dozens of them. Some warped from time and heat. A few had grease stains. Teenagers leaning on half-built cars. Garage nights with beer cans in the corner. Logan, younger, looser.
And right to the side of the other ones sat a prom photo. Sitting neatly above a silk violet shawl.
And it wasn't just any prom photo.
It was Logan's, in a tux, with his arm around a girl in a violet dress. The shawl on the girl was the very same one stuffed in the box carefully. Her smile was wide and full of life. The two of them looked inseparable.
Caitlyn stared. “Whoa.”
Zac leaned in. “Dude. Uncle Logan went to prom? Who’s the girl?”
“No idea. But she’s pretty.” Caitlyn flipped the photo, seeing if there was anything on the back of it, but came up empty.
Caitlyn held the photo a little closer, brushing a thumb over the edge of it. “Who do you think she is?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper. It didn’t feel right to speak loudly in here, not when it suddenly felt like they’d just opened someone’s chest cavity by mistake.
Zac leaned over her shoulder. “I dunno. He never talks about anyone. Especially not back then. He barely talks about dad.”
“I think it's an old girlfriend,” Caitlyn said softly. “Look how he’s looking at her.”
It was true.
Even in a grainy Polaroid, Logan’s expression was clear, head slightly tilted toward the girl, lips curved into a lopsided smile that looked more real than any they’d ever seen him give. He was happy. Not tired-happy. Not satisfied-happy. Just… young. Full of life, full of love.
“Do you think she’s the reason he’s like… the way he is now?” Zac asked. “Why he never gets all sentimental?"
Caitlyn didn’t answer. She was staring too hard at the photo.
Then she looked down at the violet shawl beneath it, tucked so carefully, so deliberately. Her hand hovered over it but didn’t touch it.
They both turned at the sound of the office door swinging open. Caitlyn hid the photo behind her back.
Logan stopped in the doorway, mid-step, mid-sentence. “Phone’s being weird, I think I lost sig—” He froze. Eyes narrowed at their odd stances. Logan wiped his hands on a rag, one brow raised. “What are you two doing?”
“Uh…” Zac tried to cover. “Looking for… jumper cables?”
“By the tools, Caitlyn should know where it is.” Logan chuckles, gesturing out of the office. "What's wrong with you two?"
Caitlyn sighed, knowing they wouldn't be able to get past him. She held out the photo, no fight.
His expression faltered as soon as he saw what she was holding. Logan took it without a word. He stared at it for a second too long.
It was like time had stopped.
Logan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
“Where’d you get this?” He asked, his voice unusually low.
Caitlyn gently spoke. “Sorry. We didn’t mean to snoop; we just wanted to find anything we could about Dad. It was just sitting in that box and-”
His eyes landed on the open shoebox next to them. The shawl was sticking out.
“-I haven’t seen this in years.” He murmured.
Zac scratched the back of his neck. “Who was she?”
Logan’s jaw worked for a moment. Then softer. “Her name was Y/n.”
“Was she your girlfriend?” Caitlyn asked.
Logan let out a small breath. Not quite a laugh. “Not that it's any of your business, but yeah. Yeah, she was.”
He took a seat at the edge of the desk, thumb brushing over the image like he could smooth the years out of it. “I thought I lost this...”
Caitlyn sat down across from him, eyes never leaving his face. “What happened to her?”
Logan didn’t answer right away.
When he finally did, his voice was strained. The words were knives just trying to leave his throat.
“Car crash. Happened a long time ago. I was driving. Stopped at a four-way stop. No cars in sight. I rolled forward-" He swallowed. His fingers curled slightly around the photo. "A drunk driver blew through the stop sign. Hit her side. Straight on.”
The room went still.
Caitlyn covered her mouth with her hand.
“She uh didn’t make it,” Logan said, quieter now. “The doctor said her lungs collapsed from the impact. There wasn’t much else they could do for her.”
No one spoke.
Zac looked down, the weight of the story suddenly making the office feel smaller. Heavy.
Logan stayed still, staring at the photo like it could transport him to that exact moment, wishing, hoping it would. He sat back slowly, eyes glassy.
Zac blinked hard. “I’m sorry, Uncle Logan.”
"It was a long time ago, kid, don't sweat it...” he said, brushing his fingers over the edge of the photo before setting it down carefully. He paused, staring at the image like it still didn’t feel real. “It’s not that I’ve forgotten her. I haven’t. Not a single damn thing.” He gave a weak breath of a laugh. “If anything, I remember too much.” Logan glanced at them, something raw flickering behind his eyes. “I just never figured out how to talk about someone who... stopped existing for everybody else but never stopped existing for me.”
"You loved her." Zac's grin widened.
“Yeah,” Logan said, voice low. “I did.”
“Then she won't just exist for you,” Caitlyn said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not anymore.”
Logan looked at her, then Zac, then the photo. Maybe this was a memory meant to be shared, not hidden.
Caitlyn reached forward to grab it and stood it up against a brown frame. “You should keep it out. Not in a box. Keep it next to the one with you and Dad.”
Logan didn’t answer at first, but he didn’t complain about it being visible either.
Just stared at the two photos now side by side, the past and the not-so-distant past. One of him at seventeen, still grinning like he hadn’t yet learned what it felt like to lose everything. And the other, a little older, slightly broken but wiser, leaned over the hood of a car with his little brother, another someone he didn't think he'd lose in the nick of his youth.
The contrast, yet similarities, made his chest ache.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “Feels weird. Like keeping a ghost on the shelf.”
Caitlyn smiled, just a little. “It’s not weird. It’s real.”
“Yeah,” Zac chimed in. “Besides, you keep Dad up there, and he's been a ghost all our lives so.”
Logan huffed a laugh through his nose, but it cracked something open.
He reached out, touching the photo, adjusting the edge of it so it sat the way he wanted it to beside the photo of Christian and him. His movements were slow, careful.
“I always thought if I let myself keep this out,” he said quietly, “it’d mean I was stuck. Like I couldn’t move on.”
“And now?” Caitlyn asked.
He looked at her. Then at Zac. Then back to the photos. “Now I think maybe… it just means I loved her the way she deserved to be loved.”
A silence settled over the office again. This time, it wasn’t heavy.
It was full.
And as Logan stepped back, arms crossed but eyes softer than they’d been in years, Caitlyn bumped his shoulder.
“She probably would've liked that.” She said.
“Yeah,” Logan murmured, with a small, aching smile. “She would’ve.”
-
2005
The world smelled like summer.
Faint cut grass, a hint of gasoline still clinging to Logan’s fingertips, and the sweet trace of your perfume as you turned in slow circles in front of his car, trying to adjust the straps of your dress.
“Are you sure I don’t look stupid?” You asked for the third time, tugging at the fabric near your waist.
“You look beautiful, like out of movie.” Logan muttered, standing a few feet away, slack-jawed in his rental tux for his tall frame.
Your eyebrow raised. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” he said. “You just don’t like compliments.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were already getting bashful. “It’s the heels. I feel like a baby deer.”
Logan smirked, hands shoved in his pockets. “Still the prettiest baby deer I’ve ever seen.”
You stepped closer. “That’s a weird sentence, Logan.”
“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, “I’m not great with words.”
You smiled at him, soft and slow. “True, but you’re good enough for me.”
He went quiet then. Just looked at you.
Like he was trying to memorize everything, the way your eyes caught the fading light, the way your lip curled when you smiled. The way you stood close enough to him, but always made him feel like you were just out of his reach.
“You’re too good for this town.” He said suddenly.
Your expression shifted. “What?”
“You are. You’re gonna leave. Go somewhere far. Somewhere better.”
You stepped in and smoothed the collar of his jacket.
“Where's this coming from, and what if I don’t want better?” you asked. “What if I just want you?”
His breath hitched.
You weren’t the kind of girl who said things like that just to say them. When you spoke, your words held meaning.
Always had.
“I’d follow you anywhere, Logan,” you whispered. “But right now? I just want to dance in a high school gym with string lights and bad punch, and semi-good music, and let everyone know I’m there with you.”
He looked like he might say something, might cry, even, in that boyish, tight-jawed way of his.
Instead, he just reached forward and caressed his thumb against your cheek.
“You’re gonna wreck me.” He murmured.
You smiled. “Good.”
And when he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t clumsy or breathless.
It was quiet. Certain.
Like he’d already decided you were the best thing he’d ever know.
-
The gym lights were low, all warm gold and strung-up fairy lights, casting halos on every couple swaying on the worn linoleum floor. The DJ was winding down now, slowing the night with some vintage track no one under thirty had requested.
Logan had one hand on your lower back, the other holding your fingers gently, like he was afraid to grip too hard. You rested your head against his chest, oil-grease still faint beneath the scent of a new cologne he over-applied.
You both moved slowly, easier than either of you expected.
“What do you know, we’re actually dancing,” you murmured against him. “You’re not stepping on me.”
“That’s ‘cause you’re leading.” He mumbled into your hair.
You grinned, lifting your head to look at him. “Would that bruise your masculinity?”
“Definitely. Keep going.”
You laughed quietly, and he leaned down, touching his forehead to yours. “I think I could do this forever.” Logan said softly, so quiet, only you could hear.
“With this song?” You teased.
He shook his head, brushing his nose against yours.
“No. You.”
"Me? You'd do me forever. Sounds romantic. I'm in." You bite back your chuckle, seeing him roll his eyes at your childish jokes. His brow furrowed, but his mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile.
“You know what I meant,” he muttered, cheeks tinged with the faintest red. “And don’t make me take it back.”
You grinned, thoroughly enjoying yourself. “You’re not taking it back.”
“Didn’t say I wanted to,” he said, brushing his fingers along your lower back like he still wasn’t sure you were real to him, but you were, and he cherished every second of it. “Just… maybe I should’ve said it differently.”
“Okay...then how would you say it?”
He looked down at you. Eyes warm and blue, completely undone.
“I think if I had my way, I’d keep slow dancing with you until we’re old. Or until you get sick of me. Whichever comes first.”
You softened. The teasing faded from your lips.
“I don't think I could ever get sick of you.” You murmured.
Logan leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, your cheek, then finally your lips.
It was slow, deep, full of something that felt like a promise.
And when he pulled back, his voice was a little rough.
“But just so we’re clear, yeah. I would do you forever, too.”
You laughed into his chest as he held you tighter, smiling like he'd accept it if his face stayed stuck that way.
“Sir, you shouldn't say things like that.” He could still hear your smile in your voice.
“I don’t say most of the stuff I should.”
He kissed you again. Longer this time. Less careful. Not bothered if any of the chaparones reprimand him for not keeping it PG.
You melted into it.
Everything about that moment, the heat, the safety, the hum of music, and the smell of sweat and perfume and school waxed floors, it all pressed in close like the universe was holding its breath for you two.
And when the song ended, he didn’t stop swaying. Not for a while.
-
The music had faded into the background, just a low, lazy thump from someone’s backyard two houses over. The stars were clearer out here, nothing but trees and that soft breeze brushing through the open windows.
You sat sideways in the passenger seat, bare feet resting on the dashboard, toes pointed, relaxed. Your shoes were somewhere on the floorboard, probably under his seat. Your dress had slipped up a little, bunched around your knees. The borrowed jacket, his jacket, hung off your shoulders, the sleeves comically long, the collar dusted with his cologne.
Logan hadn't said anything for a full minute.
You felt his eyes on you, knew he was staring, but didn’t look over until the silence stretched just long enough to make you grin.
“What?” you asked, lazy and warm. “Not gonna tell me to take my feet off the dash?”
He smirked softly, voice low. “I should.”
“But?”
“But I’d rather leave ‘em there,” he murmured, eyes still on your legs. “Don’t think I’ve ever had anyone look this beautiful in my front seat.”
You rolled your eyes playfully and leaned your head back against the seat. “Flatter me again and I'll never leave.”
He turned to face you more fully, arm resting on the steering wheel, jaw ticking like he wasn’t sure whether to smile or fall apart again.
He shook his head. “How are you real?”
You laughed under your breath. “You’re dramatic tonight, Maddox.”
“I’m serious,” Logan said, still watching you with that smirk, trying so hard not to turn it into something more. “You don’t even know. You’re sitting over there like a whole dream, and I’m just—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “—trying to remember how to breathe.”
You laughed, warm and free. “You’re laying it on so thick right now.”
“I’m honest,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
You nudged his shoulder with your foot. “Okay, Honest Logan, then be honest, did you actually like prom?”
He tilted his head and gave it a thoughtful pause. “My dancing sucked. I stepped on your foot twice tonight.”
“Three times." You said smugly.
“But,” he continued, shooting you a sidelong glance, “I liked seeing you all beautiful and happy. All of us together one more night before graduation. Dressed up. Laughing with our friends. Spinning you around under cheap string lights, looking perfect as always.”
Your cheeks burned. “Damn,” you muttered. “There you go again.”
“Can’t help it,” he said, quieter now. “You make it easy.”
Something shifted in the air. Your smile dimmed, softened. “You know, this is the best night I’ve had in a long time,” you admitted, your voice gentler. “Maybe ever.”
He blinked, his expression open, stunned almost. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You were quiet for a moment, fingers brushing over his knuckles. Then, softly. “I don’t want this to end. Ever.”
“It won’t,” he said. “We’ll get out of here. We’ll figure it out. Even if we don’t have a map yet.”
You smiled at him, full, radiant, sure. “I’d go anywhere with you.”
Logan looked at you, serious for a second. “Where?”
You blinked, surprised. “What?”
“If we could leave right now,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against your knee, “no plan, no money, no anything, where would you want to go?”
You smiled softly, eyes flicking to the window like you could see the whole world from the passenger seat.
You shook your head. “Yeah. In one of those tiny towns off the coast that smells like salt and has bad coffee and fishermen who know your name.”
Logan chuckled. “Sounds romantic, I'm in.”
“Someone has to be. I gotta balance out your grumpy realist energy.”
He smirked, glancing over at you. “Alright. Tiny town. Lake house. You, me, maybe a dog?”
“Definitely a dog.”
“What kind?”
You grinned. “The kind that’ll dig up all your socks and shoes. Golden retriever.”
He laughed an honest, full laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
And for a second, it felt like the rest of your lives were already beginning.
You sighed, reached down to find your shoes blindly under the seat, half-heartedly searching, then gave up. “This night would be even more perfect, though, if I hadn’t dropped Mom’s shawl earlier. She’s gonna give me hell.”
Logan looked over at you, already sliding his tux jacket more around your arms. “You’ve got this,” he said. “Just keep it on all night.”
You glanced down at it, too big, sleeves bunched, but warm. His. “But it’s yours.”
He shrugged. “It looks better on you anyway.”
You raised a brow. “You saying I pull off oversized jacket chic?”
“Better than I ever could.”
You bit your lip, hesitating. “Still… I liked that shawl. It was my mom’s.”
Logan paused. Then reached for the keys in the ignition.
He grinned. “Then let’s go get it.”
You sat up straighter. “What? No, Logan, it’s late.”
“So?”
You gave him a look. “It’s almost midnight. We should be inside Darren's after-party.”
He shrugged, tapping the steering wheel. “It’s prom night, party's not going anywhere. If we leave it in the parking lot, someone else’ll grab it. And I’m not letting you get screamed at tomorrow morning by your mom when I accidentally decide to bring you home late because you’re stubborn.”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You just want an excuse to see my shoulders again.”
“Damn right I do.”
You shook your head, biting back a smile as he shifted the Mustang into gear. The engine growled to life beneath your feet.
“You’re trouble.” You told him.
He looked over at you, soft and sure. “Only for you.”
And then he drove.
-
The Mustang rolled to a soft stop, headlights casting two long beams across the mostly empty lot. A few stray balloons had found their way into corners. Glitter clung to the asphalt.
Logan turned off the ignition, the engine ticking softly as it cooled.
“I can get off and get it for you,” he said, smirking at you in the glow from the overhead lights. “You could get cuts on your feet, you don't even have your shoes on for one, or get mauled by a raccoon.”
You were already cracking the passenger door open. “I’d take both those things over facing my mom tomorrow without it.”
He laughed and stepped out of the car. You followed, bare feet hitting the asphalt, dress brushing your knees as you hugged his jacket tighter around your shoulders.
“Okay,” you said, eyeing the shadows. “Let’s divide and conquer.”
“You’re not going alone.” He said immediately.
You gave him a look. “It’s the high school parking lot, not the wilderness.”
He shrugged, walking with you anyway. “Still. Now, if I were a wrap, where would I be?"
"A shawl!" You corrected him.
The two of you made slow laps near the entrance, eyes scanning the pavement and the stairs where you'd been earlier. The air was cooler now, crisper than it had been when the sun was up.
You didn’t realize you’d been holding your breath until you spotted the shawl, crumpled and half-slipped under a bush near the steps.
“There!” You said, jogging forward in your bare feet.
Logan made a sound of protest but didn’t stop you.
You scooped it up, shaking off bits of mulch and glitter, then turned with a triumphant grin. “Got it!”
He raised a brow. “Worth it?”
You nodded. “Every bit.”
You walked back toward him, your shawl now clutched in one hand, the other still wrapped in the warmth of his jacket sleeves. He watched you with that look again, soft, still, a little in awe.
“What?” You asked, smiling.
“Nothing.” he shook his head. “Just… the way you look at me when you’re happy. I can't believe I get to call you mine.”
You blinked, caught off guard, not by the words themselves, but by the way he said it. For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then you broke into a soft smile, heartbeat thudding somewhere in your throat.
“I’m just picking up a shawl, Logan.”
He gave a slow shrug, his thumb reaching to caress your cheek. “Nah. You’re wrecking me.”
You rolled your eyes, walking past him toward the Mustang. “You keep saying stuff like that, and I’ll start to believe it.”
“Maybe that’s the point.” He said quietly behind you. "God, I love you..."
You stopped. Turned.
He was standing there, caught in the pale halo of the Mustang’s headlights, one hand in his pocket, the other running along the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that the words were out.
You didn’t speak right away.
Didn’t have to.
Your heart was doing that fluttering thing again, like it knew something your head hadn’t caught up to yet.
So you walked back to him.
Lifted up on your toes, and kissed him.
Just a soft press of lips. A pause. A promise.
When you started to pull back, his breath caught, and he leaned forward, chasing the warmth of you without meaning to. Like he’d already gotten used to the feel of it before he fully cherished it.
You smiled faintly against him.
“Take me to the loft?” You whispered.
His voice was low, hoarse in that way he only got around you. “Yes, ma’am.”
And with your fingers still curled in the front of his jacket, he opened the car door for you, his hands steady, his heart anything but.
-
The road was empty. Quiet.
You and Logan were still laughing, about what neither of you would ever remember. Something stupid. Something soft. You’d said something about how ridiculous he looked in a tie, and he’d countered with how you somehow managed to make bobby pins look sexy
Your legs were curled up in the passenger seat, Logan’s too-big tux jacket still wrapped around your shoulders. You were barefoot, your heels resting somewhere in the floorboard, forgotten.
The warmth in the car wasn’t from the heat. It was from the feeling. From the way he kept glancing over at you when you smiled. From the way his hand stayed resting on the gearshift like he was itching to reach for yours again.
He slowed at the four-way stop just past the gas station, engine humming low beneath you.
No cars in sight.
The whole world was asleep.
Logan rolled forward, easing through the road like he’d done a hundred times before. He turned toward you, another joke halfway up his throat.
And then.
His face fell.
Mouth still open.
Eyes going wide.
Two headlights appeared like ghosts, sudden, close, fast, coming from your side.
A blur of silver and screaming tires.
You barely had time to blink.
“Logan, what's wrong?” You whispered, brow furrowed, confused.
He reached out for you, out of instinct, no time to speak. His hand had barely wrapped around your neck.
And then the impact.
A sickening crunch of metal.
Screeching.
Glass.
Your side crumpled instantly. The sound tore through the night, echoing down the street like something unnatural. Logan’s scream was drowned in it, a desperate, guttural noise swallowed by steel and smoke.
Your body jerked violently.
The world flipped sideways. The window exploded into a thousand glittering pieces. The smell of blood hit the air before the smoke even cleared.
And just like that, the warmth was gone.
-
The world didn’t make sound anymore.
Not in the way it should have.
Not in the rumble of the engine, or how the music would hum low from the radio, not in how your laughter would echo through the car.
Just ringing.
Whirring, endless ringing.
And smoke.
Thick, choking smoke, curling up from the crumpled hood of his mustang like something dying.
Logan’s hands fumbled for the door.
He couldn’t feel the handle.
He couldn’t feel anything.
But he knew.
He knew.
He turned, neck stiff, limbs numb, toward the passenger side.
“Y/n—”
His voice cracked, raw and strangled.
You were slumped.
Bent sideways against the shattered door, dress soaked dark from the glass and the impact, face covered by half of his jacket. The passenger side was caved in nearly to the console. The windshield had blown out in a web of glittering shards.
“Y/n!” Logan’s voice was rising now. Sharper. Terrified.
He shoved his own door open with a grunt, nearly collapsing out onto the asphalt. His knees buckled. He scrambled across the front of the car, slipping on debris, lungs barely pulling in air.
The driver who hit you was gone. A coward.
No brake lights. No apology. Just two headlights and then nothing.
He reached your door. It wouldn’t open. Twisted, wrecked. Caved in deep.
He didn’t think.
He just moved. Pushing past the ache that ran through his whole body.
One hand braced against the shattered frame, the other tugging at the handle with everything he had. When it didn’t budge, he backed up and kicked at it, once, twice, three times, until it finally gave with a scream of metal and swung open just enough for him to crawl in.
“Y/n baby, hey,” he gasped, cupping your face. “Look at me. C’mon, you gotta look at me.”
Your eyes fluttered, just once. Your mouth parted like you wanted to speak, but no words came.
“No, no, no, no. Stay with me,” he choked, slipping his arms under you, pulling you gently toward him, cradling you like porcelain. “Don’t go quiet on me, okay? You’re alright. You’re okay.”
His hands were slick with red. It was on your dress. On your chest. On him. Running down your temple. Your arm hung too loosely against your side, much to his liking.
He looked around wildly. No one had come yet. No headlights. No sirens. Just silence. And the horrible ringing in his ears.
“Someone help!” Logan screamed into the night, voice cracking. “Help! I need help!”
But there was no one. Just you. Unconscious in his arms. Soft. Bleeding. Still.
He pulled you in tighter, pressed his forehead to yours, rocking you ever so slightly, even though he wasn’t sure if he should be moving you at all.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking apart. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve seen it. I should’ve—”
Your breath caught, shallow.
A gurgle.
Then nothing.
-
He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting there. In the middle of the road. In the dark. Smoke curling around him like fog, the shattered glass glinting on your dress like frost.
His lip was split, and he could taste the iron. His jaw ached, one side of his ribs screaming from not having put his own seatbelt on. But none of it mattered. None of it mattered because you were in his arms, and you weren’t waking up. But you were still breathing, just barely.
Logan sat slumped against the side of the car, brushing blood away from your face slowly, his thumb gentle at your temple.
“You’re okay,” he murmured, voice dazed. “You’re okay. You’re fine.” His fingers were trembling as they smeared another splodge of red away. He pressed his head to your chest again, then again, trying to hear it. To feel it. It was there, very faint, but still there. Your heartbeat.
“See?” he whispered, nodding to no one. “You’re still here.”
His tears dripped onto your collarbone, mixing with your blood and sweat and perfume. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder. To your forehead. Then pressed his cheek to your chest again, his ear flattening to your sternum, waiting for another tiny thump.
“Come on,” he begged softly, like he was trying not to scare you. “You’re the tough one. You always were.”
The blood kept coming, but so did your pulse.
Faint. Inconsistent. But there.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said. “We’ve got that tiny town, remember? Salt air, bad coffee, a dog that chews through all my shit—” His voice cracked through a laugh. His hand cradled the back of your head, shaking now. “Y-You don’t get to leave me. Not after tonight. Not after what we said.”
He didn’t realize his own blood had soaked into the string of your dress. Didn’t realize that sirens had started faintly in the distance.
All he knew was that you were still breathing, and he didn't want to let go of you. Not until someone pried you out of his arms.
-
He didn’t remember the ride.
Didn’t remember the paramedic trying to check the gash above his eye, or someone tugging gently at his shoulder to get him to let them examine his wounds. He hadn't even known he had any of his own. Not when he sat back and watched your arm dangling off the gourney.
He’d fought to stay by your side in the ambulance, shouting until someone gave in.
And now he was standing in the ER hallway under lights that felt too clean, too sterile, while your blood, dried in cracked patterns, was on his hands mixed with his own from the cuts he got.
His knuckles were scraped raw. His ribs throbbed. His lip was split and already swelling. But he hadn’t sat down.
He hadn’t blinked.
He hadn’t let go of your shawl they had handed him, now folded in his hands like something sacred.
The nurse had asked him three times to sit.
He didn’t even answer the third.
He just kept pacing, boots leaving faint streaks of red on the tile floor.
They’d taken you back. Hooked you to machines. Called codes he didn’t understand. And then nothing. Silence.
It had only been twelve minutes that felt like a lifetime.
The glass doors behind him whooshed open. Footsteps pounded across the tile.
“Where is she?!” Your mother’s voice cracked like glass across the ER.
Logan froze. He turned, slowly, like a man underwater.
Your dad was right behind her, his hand gripping her arm like it was the only thing keeping either of them standing.
Logan’s throat went dry. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.
Your mom’s eyes landed on him, and the color drained from her face. Her hand flew to her mouth at the sight of him. “Oh my god.”
Logan looked down. He hadn’t realized how bad he looked. Your blood was everywhere. On his arms. His neck. The front of his shirt was probably making him look serial killer-like.
“I—” he started, voice low and hoarse. “S-She was breathing, I felt it. Her heart—”
Your father stepped forward. “Where do they have, Logan?”
“They’re working on her,” Logan said. “She wasn’t awake, but she was still…” He couldn’t finish.
He clenched the shawl tighter in his fists like he could squeeze time backward. Your mom reached out, her hands shaking as she touched his face. Her fingers ghosted over the cut on his cheek.
“What happened?” Your mother’s voice was trembling, a raw edge underneath every word.
Logan’s eyes burned. He nodded, swallowing hard. “She lost your shawl in the school parking lot. I took her back to get it. She wanted to get it and said it was yours. Said it mattered.” He blinked, like the memory was stinging even in real time. “I told her she could wear my jacket all night, but she…” His voice cracked. “She wanted to go back for it.”
Your mom’s breath hitched. Her hand slowly lowered from his cheek.
Logan took a shaky step back, like he needed space to say it.
“I was taking her to—taking her home. There was a four-way stop. I slowed. I stopped. It was clear. There wasn’t a car in sight. No one and then…" He trailed off, eyes distant. Haunted.
“And then the lights came out of nowhere. I didn’t even hear it. I just saw it. I couldn’t stop it-”
Your dad looked like a man trying to keep his fists from curling, trying to stand still when his entire world was tilting.
He didn’t finish. He couldn’t.
He choked. “I-I held her the whole time. She wasn’t gone. She wasn’t gone. She was still breathing.”
Your mother was crying now, but she didn’t scream. She didn’t curse him out. She just stepped forward and folded him into her arms.
He didn’t expect it. Not in a thousand years. Last, he was aware of was that your parents weren't quite fond of him, but tolerated him.
But the moment she wrapped her arms around his bloodstained shoulders, Logan collapsed.
Not physically. Not yet. But the weight, that unbearable, agonizing weight, cracked something wide open in him.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered against her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve just told her to take my jacket for the night. I should’ve—”
“Logan,” she said softly, through tears. “She would’ve gone back anyway. You know she would’ve.”
He clenched his eyes shut and nodded. Because it was true, and that only made it worse.
The doctor approaching hadn't eased his mind either, not when he broke the news.
“Based on what we’ve seen, the impact caused significant trauma to her chest, enough to collapse both lungs. Symptoms would normally present as rapid breathing, a racing heartbeat… but when she arrived, her breathing was shallow, and her heart was already irregular. It’s possible she held on longer than we expected, maybe at the scene, maybe even on the way here. We did everything we could. Administered oxygen, performed emergency surgery, searched for internal damage… but there was just too much trauma. Too much damage to repair in time. I’m so sorry. She didn’t make it.”
That’s what the doctor had said.
Logan didn’t hear anything after that. Not the apologies. Not the medical jargon. Not the shit instructions on how to collect personal items or make final decisions.
Just those four words.
She didn’t make it.
He slid down against the wall in the hallway, bloodstained and silent, holding your mom's shawl in his lap, still faintly scented like you, tangled with glass-like particles and blood.
He hadn’t gotten up to see your body. Your parents had taken the lead on going ahead first. Saying he shouldn't let his last memory of you be this way. Telling him to stay.
Logan nodded numbly. Trusted it. Even as your parents left him alone to cry. Not realizing the weight of their actions. He didn’t notice they’d never let him say goodbye. They’d never plan to.
He didn't take into account that eventually his rush of adrenaline would ease out, and that sooner or later he would have passed out on the floor. Finally caving in to the horrid night he endured.
Synopsis: (Y/N) returns to Ironwood after years away to uncover the truth about her missing father. In the town’s old workshop, she reunites with Logan, the man who was once both her father’s friend and rival. Amid engines, silence, and open wounds, they rebuild more than just a car.
Warning: Contains emotional language, themes of family loss, and romantic tension between characters with an age gap. No smut. Drama, nostalgia, and slow-burn romance.
Author’s note: Hey! This is my first one-shot on Tumblr after switching from Wattpad, and I’m really excited. English isn’t my first language, but I try my best. PLEASE send me one-shot requests because I’m very inspired, whether about motorheads or any fandom. Thank you so much, and I hope you like it <3 If you do, please hit the heart.
The smell of old oil and burnt metal hung in the air of the workshop. The place hadn’t changed much since (Y/N) Reyes had last seen it, over five years ago. The same tools hung on the walls, the same dust rested on the shelves, as if time in Ironwood had come to a halt. But she hadn’t. She had changed. At twenty-three, she returned a different woman, hardened by absence, by years away from the town, and by the wound that had never healed: her father's disappearance.
Logan Maddox had his back to the entrance, crouched next to a disassembled engine. The clang of a wrench stopped when he heard footsteps. He turned, and his gray eyes met hers. He had aged, of course, but still had that solid, steady presence that sent a chill down her spine. He had something more now. Maturity. Silence in his gaze. Something built over time... and through loss.
“I thought you’d never come back—at least not for a few more years,” Logan said, wiping his hands with a dirty rag.
“I thought so too,” she replied, folding her arms. “But I’m not here for nostalgia. I need your help.”
Logan set the rag aside and stood up. He was taller than she remembered, stronger, but also more worn.
“What kind of help?”
(Y/N) pulled an old, rusted key—a heavy iron cylinder—out of her bag. Logan frowned when he recognized it.
“That’s the engine from my dad’s Charger. I found it in a junkyard up north. It’s in pieces, but I think there’s something in it. Something that can tell me what happened to him.”
Logan didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened, as if holding back words he didn’t want to say.
“And what makes you think I want to dig all that up?”
“It’s not about what you want, Logan. It’s about what I need. You were his rival, but you were also his friend. You know things. And you know cars. If anyone can get that engine running, it’s you.”
The silence between them thickened, heavy with the past. Finally, Logan gave a curt nod.
“Bring it in tomorrow. We’ll take a look.”
Weeks passed.
The engine arrived the next day after that conversation, and over the following days—and then weeks—(Y/N) and Logan worked side by side in the shop. At first, everything was tense. Their movements were mechanical, their words short. But over time, that tension shifted into something else—something harder to name.
Logan, though reluctant at first, threw himself into the work with near-obsessive focus. (Y/N) wasn’t far behind. Though she didn’t have his experience, her determination was undeniable. She learned quickly, dirtying her hands, wrenching bolts, covering her face in soot. Logan watched her in silence when he thought she wasn’t looking.
“You work just like your father,” Logan murmured one night, as she struggled to unscrew a housing, jaw clenched.
She glanced at him sideways, a mix of pride and pain in her eyes.
“I wish I had his answers too.”
There were nights they shared cold beer and old music playing in the background. He told her stories of past races, of how the roar of an engine could say more than a thousand words. She listened closely, discovering a man who wasn’t as unreachable as she’d remembered from childhood.
Sometimes they argued. She was impulsive, stubborn, explosive. Logan was quiet, blunt, direct. But in those clashes, in those sparks, something grew. A brush of hands when he passed her a tool. A glance when she fixed something on her own. Silences that said more than any conversation.
One night, while a thunderstorm roared outside, Logan turned on a portable lamp and they both sat on the floor in front of the open engine block. The air smelled of wet earth and metal. She hugged her knees, exhausted.
“Your father…” Logan began, his voice low and rough. “He was impulsive. And proud. Like you.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Is that a compliment or a warning?”
He gave a small, lopsided smile.
“A bit of both.”
She looked down, fingers playing with a bolt.
“I never thought I’d come back here. Let alone end up… with you, in a workshop, chasing ghosts.”
“You’re not the only one who didn’t expect this,” Logan said, and his gaze lingered on her longer than it should have.
The silence between them slowed, heavy. And then, as if fate nudged them, she pulled out the carburetor filter and noticed something strange. A compartment sealed with electrical tape. Logan knelt beside her. Together, they opened it.
Inside was an envelope.
(Y/N) held it in trembling hands. She opened it. Papers: bank accounts, coordinates, names. And a note in her father’s handwriting:
"If something happens to me, Logan knows why."
Her heart stopped.
She stood up abruptly, envelope in hand, eyes blazing with betrayal.
“What does this mean?”
Logan didn’t move. Didn’t look at her at first.
“It means he didn’t want you involved. He thought that if I pushed you away, you’d be safe.”
“You pushed me away on purpose?”
Logan finally looked at her. His eyes held no defense—just sadness. A deep, real sadness.
“I promised him. I said I’d protect you if something happened. But I didn’t know how to do that without making you hate me.”
“So you lied. You made me believe he just… vanished. Abandoned me.”
Logan took a step closer. He didn’t touch her. His voice was barely a whisper.
“I couldn’t save him. But I could try to save you.”
Tears burned behind (Y/N)’s eyes, but they didn’t fall. She pressed her lips together. She wanted to scream, to shove him. But her body wouldn’t move.
“You can’t keep carrying this alone,” she said at last, without looking at him. “Not if I’m going to carry it too.”
Logan watched her for a few seconds. Then he stepped closer, slowly. She lifted her gaze. For the first time in weeks, there was no anger in her eyes. Just pain. And something deeper. Something that had always been there, growing with each touch, each silence.
“(Y/N)…” he murmured, a mix of longing and fear in his voice. “I’m not the kind of guy who—”
“Shut up, Logan.”
And she kissed him.
The kiss was soft at first, like a test. Their lips barely brushed, timid and trembling. But when Logan lifted his hand to her face and held it gently, everything broke. They kissed like the world was ending. Like redemption could be found between their lips. Their bodies drew closer—hesitant at first, then certain. She clutched his shirt; he wrapped his arms around her waist with a need bottled up for years. And time stood still.
There was nothing but them. The workshop. The rain pounding on the roof. And two broken hearts finding each other in the middle of the storm.
Weeks later, when all the pieces had been cleaned and reassembled, the Charger roared back to life. She and Logan stood in silence, listening to the sound of the engine. There was something poetic in it—rebuilding the heart of something that had been broken for so long.
But it wasn’t just the car. It was them.
(Y/N) had followed the clues in the papers and confirmed what she had feared deep down. Her father had died. He had given his life to make a deal with dangerous people, settle debts, and keep her out of harm’s way. His sacrifice had been his way of protecting her. And Logan had covered for him—for the same reason.
That truth didn’t bring peace, but it brought answers. Closure.
One morning, instead of packing her things to leave, (Y/N) showed up early at the workshop. Logan was already there, as usual. She stood in the doorway, the Charger’s keys dangling from her finger.
“I’m staying,” she said bluntly.
Logan looked up, eyebrows slightly raised.
“You sure?”
She nodded.
“There are things I need to fix here. And I don’t just mean cars.”
Logan gave her a small smile, that serene expression he wore when something hurt and felt good at the same time.
“Then welcome home.”
She walked up to him. Kissed him. This time with no storm, no engines roaring. Just the soft warmth of midday light streaming through the window.
Ironwood wasn’t what she had lost. It was what she could still build.
And Logan… Logan was part of that.
don't forget to send me any requests for another character, I'm open!
The lot was buzzing. Engines revved like beasts in cages, headlights sweeping through the dark as burnouts smoked the air. Marcel, Curtis, Caitlin, and Zac leaned back on Curtis’s bike, half-watching the contests, half-people-watching the crowd. Nothing too serious. Not yet.
Then they heard it—a low rumble, deep and smooth, too clean to be local. A car cut through the haze like a shark through water. A bright red Dodge Challenger, spotless, muscular, and proud. It rolled in slow, its engine purring with restrained menace.
Zac’s eyes widened. “Holy shit… who is that?”
The door opened. Out stepped a woman—all legs and attitude. She was dressed to stun: latex shorts, fishnets, and a zipped-down racing bodysuit that left little to imagination. She moved like the pavement owed her something.
Curtis stiffened beside him. “Oh shit…”
All eyes shifted to Ray across the lot. He’d been mid-conversation, half-smirking—until he saw her. Now, he was standing stone still, locked on target.
Caitlin noticed immediately. “Ray’s enemy?” she asked under her breath.
“Not quite,” Curtis replied, gaze fixed.
The woman didn’t stop. She walked directly toward Ray, cool and unflinching. Her voice rang out clear, controlled. “I just want to talk to you.”
Ray didn’t move, but his voice cut through the lot like a blade. “About two and a half fucking years late.”
A few racers turned to watch. The sound dropped just a notch.
“Ray, come on—” she tried again.
But he stepped forward now, his jaw clenched. “No. You just left. In the middle of the night. No note, no goodbye. Nothing. For three fucking years.”
The lot went silent.
Zac leaned toward Curtis. “Ex-girlfriend?”
Curtis didn’t look away. “Not quite.”
“You can’t just show up at my race and act like I’m the bad guy because I don’t want to talk to you,” Ray said, voice rising.
“You are such a stubborn prick,” she fired back without hesitation.
“Oh, please,” he scoffed, turning to walk away.
“Race me,” she said.
He stopped dead.
“No.”
“If I win, you let me talk.”
Ray glanced back over his shoulder. “And if I win?”
“I’ll go back to the city,” she said without flinching. “You don’t have to see me again.”
For a long moment, he didn’t respond. Then, without a word, he turned and climbed into his car. The message was clear.
She returned to hers.
Zac watched them both. “Love of his life?”
Curtis shifted forward slightly, his voice lower now. “Closer.”
Engines growled awake. Y/N gripped the leather steering wheel. In the rearview, she touched up her lip gloss with trembling fingers, stole one last glance at herself.
Ray sat motionless, but his eyes never left her. He couldn’t help it. He never could.
“Let’s get on with it,” he muttered, finally pulling his gaze away.
She gave him one last look—pleading, searching—but then locked in.
The flag dropped. Engines screamed, tires tore into asphalt, and they were off like bullets from a gun.
Ray pulled ahead, then she caught up. Side by side, the cars tore through the course. At the turnaround, she reached it first, tail-spinning slightly but controlling it like a pro. Ray slipped through the inside.
On the final stretch, they fought for inches. It was brutal. Fast. Relentless. But she nudged just ahead.
Curtis sat back, exhaling. “Soulmates.”
The crowd roared.
After the race, Y/N climbed out of her car, slow and steady. Ray followed, saying nothing. She walked toward Curtis and the others.
“Hey, Curt,” she said, brushing a hand through her hair. “Would you mind getting my car back to town?”
“No problem,” Curtis said with a faint smile. She kissed his cheek gently.
“It’s good to see you,” he added.
She smiled back, then looked to the others. “Hey, Marcel.”
He was too stunned to reply.
As she walked away, Zac turned, eyes wide. “Shotgun. I’m driving that thing.”
“No fucking way,” Curtis muttered. “She will actually kill you if anything happens to it.”
“Come on, I’m the best driver. Plus, it’s either that or I ride your bike home.”
Curtis didn’t argue. He just handed over the keys.
Zac peeled out down the road with Caitlin in the passenger seat. Curtis followed on his bike, Marcel trailing behind.
Not ten minutes later, Zac hit a massive pothole, lost control for half a second, and skidded off the road. The front end slammed into a tree. Not hard—but hard enough to leave a big, nasty dent on the front left side of the hood.
Curtis pulled up, his mouth dropping open. “Oh, we are so dead. She’s going to break our kneecaps and leave us out here to die.”
Zac rubbed the back of his neck. “Cait, can you fix this?”
Caitlin crouched down, inspecting the damage. “I think so… if Logan has the right shade of red.”
Zac glanced at her. “How long do we have?”
Curtis frowned. “Depends.”
“On what?” Caitlin asked, standing.
Curtis sighed. “On how many times they fight and make up before they get over themselves.”
They drove it back to the garage, quiet and tense.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Meanwhile, Ray and Y/N were sitting up on top of his car, parked under the bridge. The world felt far away up here, still and quiet.
“It’s beautiful,” Y/N whispered.
Ray stared out at the water, his voice cold. “Why are you here?”
She swallowed hard. “Straight to it, huh.”
“I missed you,” she admitted after a moment.
He scoffed bitterly. “Missed me? You left me.”
“I had to,” she said, her voice cracking. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it,” he snapped, standing now, pacing. “Don’t lie. Don’t sugarcoat. Just say it.”
Her eyes filled. “Ray, I—”
“No, Y/N. No more bullshit.”
“I can’t.” Her voice broke. “I had no choice.”
“You wanted to talk,” he said through gritted teeth, “so fucking talk.”
Tears started to fall as her hand went to her mouth. “I can’t…”
He stepped toward her, softer now, but still sharp. “Y/N. Talk to me.”
She looked up into his eyes, breath shaking. “I… I did something bad. And your dad—he found out. He had evidence. He said if I didn’t leave town… if I didn’t leave you… he’d turn me in.”
Ray froze. “What did you do?”
Her voice trembled. “I—” she stopped again, covering her mouth, trying to breathe.
He knelt in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. “Shh, baby. I’m here. Please talk to me.”
“I killed them,” she whispered. “It’s my fault. I killed them.”
His voice cracked. “Killed who?”
“Melissa,” she sobbed, “and her little girl.”
Her words poured out now—stumbling, broken, jagged. “I was driving. I stopped at Saltwater Creek Crossing. It was empty—or I thought it was. Then everything flipped. My car spun. I woke up upside down. Head pounding. I heard tires, screaming…”
Ray stood, face pale, heart pounding.
“My vision was blurry. I heard the sirens. Your dad showed up. He said it was my fault. Said I was driving too fast. He had photos. Skid marks. Wreckage. He said if I stayed, I’d go to prison.”
She looked up, tears streaming. “Ray, it’s my fault.”
“No,” he said firmly. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it was,” she whispered. “I killed them.”
“No,” he repeated, kneeling down again. “It was her asshole husband.”
She blinked. “What? No. Your dad—”
“He lied to you,” Ray said. “Her drunk, abusive prick of a husband came into the bar bragging. He cut her brakes. Said he’d ‘teach her a lesson.’ My dad knew. He covered it up.”
“Why?” she choked.
“To keep you away from me,” Ray growled. “He wanted me to crawl back to him.”
Her whole body shook. “We lost so much time.”
Ray pulled her into him, holding her tightly. “We’ve got the rest of our lives to make up for it.”
……………………………………………………………………………………
Back at the garage, Logan stormed in, eyes narrowing at the dented Challenger.
“What the fuck is this?” he barked. “Whose car is this?”
No one answered.
He circled the car slowly, freezing when he spotted the lightning bolt embossed on the steering wheel.
“Oh no,” he muttered. “What have you done?”
“Okay, it might’ve clipped a tree,” Zac grimaced.
“That’s Y/N’s car. You idiots damaged her car?” Logan’s disbelief cut deep.
“We’re fixing it. Chill,” Caitlin said sharply.
“She will bury you alive in the woods if this isn’t perfect,” Logan warned.
“You know her?” Zac asked.
“Everyone who matters around here knows her. And knows not to mess with her car,” Logan murmured.
He stared at Curtis. “How could you let this happen?”
Curtis glanced at Zac, who shrugged nervously.
“Where is she?” Logan demanded.
“She’s with Ray,” Marcel said quietly.
Logan shook his head, pacing. “Great. So either she’s in a bad mood and we’re dead. Or in a good mood and we’re still dead.”
Caitlin cut in, “Do you have the right red paint?”
Logan muttered, fetching the cans. “Let’s fix this before she kills us.”
……………………………………………………………………………………
Meanwhile, Ray and Y/N drove back to his place in silence. His hand never left hers, squeezing tightly as if afraid she’d vanish again.
Inside his room, he slowly peeled off her clothes and replaced them with one of his worn NASCAR shirts—the one she always liked. They slid under the covers, her head resting on his chest, his arms circling her like a shield.
“I missed you, Ray,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I never stopped thinking about you. Loving you.”
Her lips brushed a small kiss onto his stomach.
“I was so scared,” she admitted softly, “but I never should have left. Especially not like that. Without saying goodbye.”
Ray said nothing, staring at the ceiling. Silent tears fell down his cheeks.
Finally, he pulled her tighter, vowing silently never to let go again.
Her breathing slowed, her body relaxed.
Ray lay awake, eyes open, already plotting how to deal with his father—how to finally put this nightmare behind them.
……………………………………………………………………………………
I had this sitting in my drafts for a long ass time and thought I better just post it! I love this TV series and i hope they make a million more seasons!! I also can’t remember if I edited this and can’t be bothered to now so I hope there is no mistakes!
Sorry I have been MIA, I’ll try and post some more uk YouTuber imagines soon xx
Logan had been up since the crack of dawn, helping Zac, Caitlyn, and Marcel with restoring Christian's car. Finally, mentally and physically drained, he decided to run into town for food and coffee, mainly coffee for him. He was just walking out the door with the coffee and food when he almost bumped into a woman who was just about to enter.
"Sorry about that, didn't mean to almost knock you over," Logan apologized as he held open the door with his foot to let her in, and then started toward his Mustang, not knowing that he had run into an old flame from high school, hell, it had been years with no contact. He was just loading the stuff into the passenger's seat when he heard his name, and he straightened up and turned around to find the same woman looking at him.
Summary: Curtis might be “right,” Harris felt right, even when it didn’t make sense.
00
Leah Maddox
Leah is the kind of girl who can rebuild an engine before breakfast and still ace her physics exam by noon. She inherited her love for cars from her dad, spending weekends elbow deep in grease and grinning through the smell of motor oil. Intelligent, driven, and endlessly kind, Leah balances her popularity with genuine warmth people gravitate toward her because she listens, cares, and never forgets where she came from. To her family, she’s the glue that holds everyone together. To the world, she’s proof that brains, beauty, and heart can all belong in the same person.
When she’s in love, Leah is both soft and strong. She’ll hold your hand while driving stick shift, tease you about your music taste, and then quietly kiss your cheek when you’re too tired to talk. She’s fiercely protective of the people she loves, and once she gives you her heart, she’s all in steady, fearless, and beautifully real.
But after her mother passed away, Leah’s world shifted in ways she never expected. The confident, warm girl who once held everyone together now carried an invisible weight. Without her mom’s steady presence, the emotional anchor of her life was gone, and Leah struggled with a quiet loneliness beneath her usual strength.
At first, she threw herself even harder into her passions fixing engines, excelling at school to fill the void and keep from breaking down. Yet those around her noticed a subtle change: the easy warmth in her smile sometimes faltered, and the laughter that once came effortlessly now felt rarer. Leah became more guarded, reluctant to lean on others the way she used to.
Still, through the grief, Leah grew in unexpected ways. The loss deepened her empathy; she listened more, understood pain in others better, and her kindness became a refuge not just for friends and family but for herself too. She learned that strength doesn’t mean carrying everything alone, and slowly, she began to let people in again.
Leah’s love became even fiercer protective not just out of loyalty but from a profound appreciation of how fragile life is. The girl who could rebuild an engine and ace physics became someone who rebuilt her own heart piece by piece, balancing resilience with vulnerability. Her mother’s memory became a quiet strength inside her, guiding her forward.
Logan Maddox and Leah Maddox
| My little girl - Tim McGraw |
You remember the day I show you how to drive?
Oh the thing I remember is how scared you were about something happened to the mustang
Well I have to take care of my baby and now you have to take care of yours, here it’s the keys baby
You’re kidding right
You’ve earned it, all those hours learning from me, all the hard work
Thank you, Dad. This means everything I love you
I’m proud of you, Leah. Now, get ready this Jeep’s got a lot of miles and memories waiting for you
Emma Miller and Leah Maddox
| In My Daughter’s Eyes - Martina McBride |
Mom, I don’t want to say goodbye
I know, sweetheart. Neither do I
I don’t know how I’ll do this without you. You’re the one who made me believe I could do anything… even when I doubted myself
You’ve always been stronger than you think, Leah. That fire you have for cars, for life it’s all you. We just helped you see it
I want you to know how much I love you. How much I’ll miss you every day
And I love you. Always remember, you carry a piece of me wherever you go. In your heart, in your courage, in your kindness
I promise I’ll make you proud
You already do, every single day.
Leah Maddox and Harris Bowers
| Style - Taylor Swift |
Looks like dinner’s on you, Harris
Alright, alright you earned it fair and square. You crushed me out there
Told you. You better start practicing your apology speech
You know, you didn’t just win the race today… you kind of won my heart all over again.
Smooth. Very smooth
I mean it. Racing with you — it’s more than just competition. It’s… fun. It’s us.
Yeah. It is.
Leah Maddox and Curtis Young
| Too sweet - Hozier |
You’re easy to be around, Curtis. It’s… peaceful. I don’t feel like I have to be anything
Same. You’re like a deep breath after a long day. But
But?
I think I’m into someone else
Oh. Who?
Caitlyn…
Leah Maddox and Caitlyn Torres
| Dorothea - Taylor Swift |
Okay, you were right. It was the timing belt. I owe you soda and eternal mechanical respect
Told you. This car’s practically speaking to me at this point
Yeah, well.. Dad and Logan would be proud if they saw us in here like this
It feels like we’re fixing more than just the car, you know? Like… something between us. Something from before everything got complicated…
I never stopped having your back, Leah. Even when I didn’t say it. Even when Curtis happened
I know. I think I just needed to come back to places like this — where I still feel like me
Well, for what it’s worth… there’s no version of my life where I don’t want you around. You’re more than my cousin, you’re my constant
Damn. That was deep for someone with a socket wrench in her hand
Garage therapy, baby. The grease helps the feelings come out smoother
Leah Maddox and Zac Torres
| Everything I wanted - Billie Eilish |
Hey, Leah… I brought you something
Thanks, Zac
I know this has been… really hard
Hard doesn’t even cover it. It feels like the ground’s been ripped out from under me. Like the part of me that made sense of everything is just gone
I don’t have the right words. I just want you to know you’re not alone. You don’t have to be strong all the time
But everyone’s been looking at me like I’m supposed to hold it together for my dad, I don’t know how
Nobody expects that. Not really. You can cry, you can break down. I’m right here ready to catch you if you fall
You always were the steady one. I don’t know what I’d do without you
You don’t have to. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this, one day at a time
It’s just… Mom was my anchor. Now I’m adrift
Maybe I can be your anchor for a while. Or at least your lifeline
Lifeline sounds good. I think I’m going to need a lot of those
And you’ll have them. Me, Logan, everyone who loves you. We’ll hold you up when you can’t stand
Thanks, Zac. For reminding me I don’t have to be alone in this.
Always, Leah. Always
Leah Maddox and Marcel Crawford
| Matilda - Harry Styles |
You know I can’t fight with them right?
Marcel I don’t need you to fight with anyone, I can do it on my own
Cool, cool, cool… just a friendly reminder in case you forgot where your best backup is
Backup? I’m the whole team
Alright, but don’t come crying when you need a sub!
Harris is alive because I want him and Zac to form a friendship full of layers because I know they can be incredibly good together. I feel like in the last episode with the scene before the accident they had seen each other as equals, two people passionate about racing and both are the person who speeds.
