I never made it.
Why? Because I'd gotten only half a step when the limo driver made his move. He charged forward, looking to take the stranger by surprise. That didn't happen. As if the stranger had anticipated this all along, he stepped to the side and lifted a clenched fist, which the driver promptly ran into, face first.
What a dumb-ass.
The guy staggered backward, lost his footing, and tripped in a pothole, sending him sprawling sideways on the darkened concrete.
All three of us stared down at the guy, groaning in the street. My mom scurried forward and said, "You're not hurt are you?" She glanced down at her watch. "Because we really do need to get going."
And this is when deja-vu hit like a ton of bricks – because what did I see rounding the nearby corner?
Headlights – all over again.
Chapter 3
I gave a little shriek even as the car roared closer. Without thinking, I plunged forward, wanting to alert the driver to the body in the road.
A hand on my elbow yanked me back. I whirled to look. It was the stranger, saying, "It's fine."
Tires squealed, someone screamed, and the headlights came to a screeching halt just a few feet away from where we all stood – well, except for the limo driver, who was still lying on the pavement.
In cheerier news, he wasn't groaning anymore. So that was good, right? The headlights were nearly blinding, and I shielded my eyes as I stared down at the guy. He looked perfectly fine – a little traumatized maybe, but weren't we all?
I gave him an encouraging smile. "You're okay, right?"
My mom said, "Of course he's okay." She gave him a little nudge with her foot. "But you'd better get up," she told him. "We don't want to be late."
In front of us, the headlights cut out, leaving spots dancing in my vision. I squinted in frustration, and the new vehicle finally came into focus. It wasanotherexotic sports car.
What were the odds?
The driver's side door opened, and the driver emerged looking like – huh? – almost an exact replica of the first stranger, right down to the tuxedo.
I looked from guy to guy, wondering what on Earth was going on.
As if reading my confusion, the first guy said, "My brother."
"Oh."
"Andmy car."
I looked toward the first car, the one that had crashed however long ago. Just as I did, the guy's brother must've looked too, because he practically yelled, "My car – what the fuck?"
The first guy shrugged. "I told you there was a problem."
"But you didn't say you fuckin' crashed it."
"Hey," the first guy said, "watch your language, alright?"
"Fuck if I will," the brother said.
The first guy turned to give me an apologetic smile. "Sorry. He's an asshole."
The brother gave a hard scoff. "Yeah. And you'd be an asshole, too, if someone crashedyourcar."
"Youdidcrash my car," the first guy said. "Last month. Remember?"
More confused than ever, I turned to look at the second sports car, the one that had just arrived. It looked perfectly fine to me.
