He didn't race that night.
He'd been planning to. With truck-jacking off the table – he'd nearly lost half his family to that last heist, and it wasn't worth the risk – street races were the big money makers. Between them and the garage and the store, they definitely weren't hurting, and even if things died down with the truckers, he wasn't planning on going back.
It had nothing to do with the buster.
That night was set to be a big score. Some new bloods with deep pockets and big egos looking to blow a couple grand of their daddies' money so they could act like they were tough.
Dom was gonna smoke 'em. Send their trust fund asses all the way back to the Hills. It would be like taking candy from babies, which he wouldn't be too proud of, but it'd put those brats in their place and go a long way towards paying off parts for a new build they were doing, so he'd take one for the neighborhood.
But then he saw Hector, and it turned out Hector's wanted to talk to him. He had some news he thought Dom might want to hear about some crazy ass white boy racer – they called him "The Bullet," which Dom thought was kind of stupid, but that wasn't the time or place – that'd been tearing up the racing scene in Miami the past year.
He didn't know about "The Bullet," but "crazy ass white boy" sounded pretty damn familiar, and he was already getting it in his head to make a trip down to Miami real soon when Hector told him the rest.
Apparently, Hector had a cousin down there, and he'd heard through the grapevine that said crazy ass white boy had gotten himself in with Carter Verone, Miami's own personal Kingpin. The man was in drug running, gun running, and a whole lot of other shit people just didn't talk about.
The thought of Brian being anywhere near a guy like that made Dom's blood run cold and boil all at the same time.
He barely took the time to explain the situation to the team before he hit the road. Leon or Vince could take the race and win hands down, so that was no loss, and Dom sure as shit couldn't sit by with his thumbs up his ass knowing Brian was in with a man that made Johnny Tran look like a fucking saint.
So, after a quick stop by the house to throw about a week's worth of shit together in a bag, he hit the I-10 running and took off for Miami.
It's been two days since then. Forty hours, and he's spent most of them driving, which wouldn't usually bother him, except that's forty hours' worth of trouble the buster could've gotten himself into, and Dom knows from experience that Brian's got a fucking gift when it comes to getting into trouble.
He passed Miami Gardens about ten minutes ago, and he's starting to get impatient. Except that's a lie; he's been impatient since he left LA, and it's just getting worse the longer this takes. He caught something on the news at the gas station he hit on the way into Miami about Carter Verone being taken into custody, and he knows Brian had a hand in it, mostly because they were showing footage of a car parked on Verone's yacht, which is the definition of stupid.
Which means it was probably Brian that did it, that crazy ass white boy.
But he's Dom's crazy ass white boy, and Dom's still not sure whether he's filing that stunt under the 'reasons to beat said white boy' part of his plan, or the 'reasons to kiss him.' Because he's going to do both, soon as he gets his hands on him; it's just a question of when and in what order.
The first question's looking like it's about to get answered, too, because he thinks he sees a sign up ahead for Tej's Garage. He does a quick double check of the text from Hector, and yeah, this is the place.
It doesn't look like much, though. It looks kind of like they took an old fast food joint on the waterfront and slapped a garage on the side of it. But then, Dom knows better than to judge a book by its cover; his garage isn't exactly much to look at, either. The insides are good, though, and that's what matters. And what's inside that garage – at least, what's supposed to be, if Hector's cousin's good on his word – matters more to Dom than he can imagine.
It's almost dark out as Dom gets out of his car. The lights are still on at the garage, but it's not looking like there's anybody home. That's fine. He isn't here for the garage; he's here for what's out back of it. And judging by the '99 Silver Skyline with the busted up front fender he sees parked inside the garage, it looks like he's going to find what he's looking for.
He goes around the back, and he's kind of thrown for a second when he sees a bunch of house boats lined up. He's not real sure which one's Brian's, and Hector's cousin wasn't real specific about then, but he's not feeling really patient at the moment, so he's about to start knocking on doors.
But then he sees it.
On the boathouse to the left, the porch's got car floor mats for the door mat and a table full of parts, and if that's not Brian's place, then he doesn't know him as well as he thinks. And that…that's definitely not the case.
He's trying real hard to stick to the 'don't judge a book' policy as he steps down off the dock onto the porch of the boat, but it's not working for him so well anymore. A garage is one thing, but this is where Brian lives, and as far as he can tell, it's a piece of shit that doesn't even look like it should be floating.
It occurs to him that maybe he should stop for a second, think about how he's gonna do this. He's just tracked down an ex-cop after a year and a half, and he's not really sure they parted under good terms, and Brian's probably still a little on edge after Verone. He thinks he should maybe be a little more delicate with this.
Unfortunately, he's already banging on wall beside the door – because he's not sure the door itself could take much more than a strong wind – and stepping back to wait until the door opens. And it will open, whether Brian's the one opening it or not.
It only takes a few seconds, before he sees the curtain pull aside and the door slides open, and Dom sees Brian for the first time in a year and a half.
He thinks he sees Brian before Brian sees him.
"Tej, man, thanks for the assist, but I'm—" and then Brian looks up, and his eyes go wide, and shit, he couldn't look more thrown if Dom was pointing a gun at his head. "Dom."
"Brian," Dom replies, and he's smirking, because fuck it's good to see Brian again, and part of him just wants to grab him by those thin hips and shove him against the wall of the houseboat and kiss him until he knows where he belongs. God knows he wants to.
The only thing stopping him is the look on Brian's face. It's not so much the deer-in-headlights; that, he can fix pretty quick. It's the haggardness that does it. Brian looks…shit, he looks worn out. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, and it looks like he's got two shiners the shadows are so dark.
Although, now that he's looking at him, he thinks the one on the right might actually be a shiner. His eye's kind of puffy, and there's a pretty wicked-looking bruise straddling his eyebrow that's starting to swell up nice.
"What're you doing here, Dom?" Brian asks when he finally seems to find his voice. Even that sounds rough, like he's been shouting. Whatever reaction Dom was expecting to get from him, this definitely isn't it. He thinks Brian might actually be too tired to get worked up, and for a guy with as much energy as he has, that's kind of scary.
There's a part of Dom, though, that's relieved. He'd been half expecting a shouting match, half expecting some kind of trouble. Hell, he'd had a couple scenarios worked out in his head where this had actually gone to blows. But, no. Brian's just standing there, leaning back against his doorway with one hand in his pocket and the other barred across the door, looking at Dom like he can't quite believe he's there, and hasn't quite made it past that to anything else.
Dom can work with that.
"Two things," he tells him, his arms folded across his chest. "First was going to be beating your Barstow ass for lying to me and skipping town before I could get back." He's not really sure if he means that or if he's just saying that, because looking at Brian now, he's realizing he doesn't think he has it in him to hurt him like that, no matter how angry he was. "But judging by this shiner you've got, it looks like someone beat me to it."
He steps forward, then, and reaches for Brian's face, and even when Brian flinches back, he doesn't back off. Brian's gonna have to learn to trust him again, and this is a good start. He goes until his hand meets Brian's face, until his thumb can trace the edge of the bruising that's just beginning to spread down his cheek. And he can see Brian's eyes starting to widen, can practically see the thoughts behind them. He's starting to get it, Dom thinks. He's a bright guy; he's starting to catch on.
And he isn't backing away.
Dom's thinking that's a good sign.
He feels the muscles of Brian's jaw working beneath his hand, and watches his tongue dart out to over pink lips, wetting them. "And what's the second thing?" And even through the fatigue, Dom can see some of that old spark shining through. The challenge. "Or did someone beat you to that, t—"
Before Brian can even finish the thought, Dom's crushing his lips to his. He steps in closer until he's got Brian pinned against the wall, one hand braced on the wall beside Brian's head and the other still cupping his cheek.
For a second, Brian doesn't respond. He doesn't move; he doesn't even seem to breathe.
But then he does, and fuck, Brian really doesn't do anything in halves. He's kissing Dom back, and it's hard and heated and more of a rush than any quarter-mile Dom's ever raced, and he knows in that moment that no one else will ever be right. It's Brian.
It's always been Brian.
When air finally makes them part – he doesn't think he's ever hated breathing so much in his life – he doesn't surrender any of the distance he gained, and he keeps his hand on Brian's cheek.
"Second thing," he tells him, "is I'm bringing you home." And he knows now that there's no two ways about it: he can't leave here without Brian.
He sees a look flash in Brian's eyes that looks a lot like hope, but then a cloud falls over it. Doubt, confusion…he knows this is a lot to take in, and he knows there's a dozen questions whipping through Brian's head at a couple hundred miles an hour even before Brian opens his mouth to speak.
They'll get to that. For the time being, though…
"Slow down, Buster," Dom says, pressing his thumb over Brian's kiss-reddened lips before he can get a word out. "Talking can wait; I ain't going anywhere, and you…you need a shower."
Brian's brows furrow for a second – and Dom thinks that can't feel great with that lump on his head – before his lips twitch. It's not one of his face-splitting grins, but Dom's glad to see it.
"What is it with you people and showers?" he says, and Dom thinks he's just gonna let that go, because Brian's turning away from him and heading inside. "You can come in if you want. It ain't much to look at, but it's home."
Dom's gonna let that one slide, he thinks. He's got plenty of time to set the record straight.
After all, like he said: he ain't going anywhere.