If Sean ignores that they are going a full fifteen miles-per-hour under the speed limit, then Daniel is doing a pretty good job driving. The little dude is cautious in the way that a mouse is cautious with an owl overhead. His back is straight, his arms are rod-stiff, and his eyes bounce from the road to the mirrors like ping-pong balls. Sean almost starts counting the times he blinks, like Daniel did to him after Beaver Creek.
But Sean gets it. He remembers having his learners' permit. Those first times driving for real with Dad were intense.
He figures that Daniel has a handle on driving, so he goes back to his new focus: taking the waitress's advice to make this an epic road trip. Las Vegas is coming up. He's never been to Vegas, so he starts searching his phone for things they can do with no money.
Most of the really awesome stuff takes money, though. Sean is skimming a Reddit thread about the cool things exclusive to guests in the hotels when, suddenly, Daniel brings the car to a stop on the side of the road. Sweat beads near the kid's hairline, and Sean doesn't think it's from the sun cutting through the windshield. "You alright, bro?"
"I'm not a good driver," Daniel says. "You should take back over."
Sean raises his eyebrow. "You've been doing a great job. I mean, sure, you kind of drive like a great-great-great grandmother, but that's fine. Why are you so nervous?"
Daniel shakes his head. He shrugs. "It's dumb, but I feel like I don't get driving."
"That's not dumb," Sean says. "But I'm not sure I understand what you mean."
"Dad loves cars, right? Like, he lives and breathes automobiles, and I'm pretty sure I saw him bleed motor oil once when he cut himself chopping peppers. And, I know you're not a gear-head, but you get cars too. You used to help Dad in the garage sometimes, and I remember you having no problems driving with your permit, even if I teased you about wrecking the car. But me? This is hard. There are a million things to pay attention to, and I feel like I'm going to fuck up and lose my chance at my license or wreck Dad's car or hurt us or . . . "
"First off, let's take a breath, enano. Second, it's okay if it feels hard. You're learning how to drive. It gets easier, but you have to keep doing it. Let me ask you this—what's the worst thing that has happened when you've been driving with Dad?"
"Oh, that's easy," Daniel says. "One time I stopped too suddenly at a stop sign, and Dad hurt his neck."
"Oh my god, that's it?" Sean bursts out laughing. "Dude, one time I blew through a red light, a truck almost T-boned us, and Dad, no shit, nearly had a heart attack. And the worst part was that even though I was totally freaked out, and he was super pissed at me, he didn't let me stop. He made me keep going. Because that's how it is sometimes. You fuck up, but you have to keep going."
"But I don't want to keep going if I'm going to fuck up and hurt us," Daniel says.
Out the window, there is nothing but miles of empty desert sand. "Pretty sure the only thing that happens if you fuck up is that the car gets dusty, bro. We take it through a car wash, and Dad never knows. But here's my next question—if you weren't so worried about fucking up, would you want to keep driving? If the answer's no, then I'll switch back with you."
Daniel is quiet for a minute, and he chews on the back of his thumb. "I would want to keep driving," he says finally.
"Then keep driving, but, like, relax. I know it's not that easy, but you have to keep in mind that you have driven for many, many hours, right? And for the vast majority of those hours, nothing has gone wrong. Dude, that means you can 100%, do this. I believe in you. You just have to believe in yourself, trust that you know how to do this, okay? And I promise—no matter how hard something is, if you keep going, it gets easier."
Sean watches his little brother's chest expand with a deep breath. "Okay," Daniel says. "If you say it gets easier."
Daniel turns the key in the ignition, and they continue on.
# # #
A few miles down the road, Daniel finally builds up the confidence to press on the accelerator. Slowly, the needle creeps from fifteen under the speed limit to only five. The tension in his neck and arms starts to go away. His hands warm with blood circulating through them again. He takes Sean's advice; he relaxes.
And, it turns out, driving his dad's car on an open road in the middle of the desert is pretty fucking cool.
His heart feels like it's overdosing on adrenaline, though. Part of it is the driving. But the past two days have been wild. He has met his estranged grandparents. Slept in the house his long-lost mother grew up in. And, not even an hour ago, he came out to his brother.
Holy shit, he really did that. He's never said out loud before that he's bisexual, let alone told someone. But now that he has said it, to Sean of all people, it feels like letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding.
He glances at Sean, who's sitting with a knee propped on the glove box, the unshaved part of his hair hanging over his forehead as he scrolls through something on his phone. Maybe Daniel's big brother really has changed. Maybe Dad is right. Maybe Sean deserves another chance.
When Daniel was little, he lived for his brother's attention. Sean was his hero. Sleeping in Sean's room always made him feel safe. Playing videogames with him always made him feel special. Any time he built something, Sean was the first person he wanted to show. At one time, he would have given anything to be on a trip like this one, just him and his brother.
But then Sean went to high school and got 'too cool' for him. Suddenly the person at the center of his little world got tired of him.
And Daniel gets it. He's sixteen now. He wouldn't want to hang out with some annoying nine-year-old. He especially wouldn't want to hang out with nine-year-old Daniel Diaz; nobody really wants to hang out with sixteen-year-old Daniel Diaz either.
It still sucked, though. And it's hard to drop that wall around his heart, let his brother back in. If he keeps Sean out, then it will hurt a lot less when—no, not when but if—it will hurt a lot less if Sean lets him down.
"Hey, did you bring any swim trunks?" Sean says, nose still in his phone.
"Um, no?" Daniel says. "The only thing I brought besides pants is a pair of athletic shorts."
"That should work. Wait, they're not white, are they?"
"They're black. Why does that matter?"
"Well, if they're white and get wet, then your junk shows, and that gets real awkward for everybody."
"So why do we need swim trunks in the middle of the desert?"
"I think I found something cool to do in Las Vegas."
"Isn't Vegas just casinos and showgirls? Are we doing some kind of underwater heist? I'm not going to end up half-dressed on a stage where people throw money at me, am I?"
"No money-throwing or stages, but you'll probably be half-dressed. I found this awesome-sounding pool party on the roof of one of the hotel-casinos that the guests have access to. It sounds wild. The pool is heated. There are, like, a dozen hot tubs. And a bar right next to the water! They also have a DJ and lights and lasers. Some people posted videos online, and it looks like a small music festival or something. They do it every night."
"I don't know, man," Daniel says. "I've never been to a real party before. They sound kind of . . . loud."
"I didn't like parties when I was your age either," Sean says. "But do you really not want to do this or are you just nervous again?"
Daniel shrugs. "Did you say the party was for guests? Isn't Las Vegas, like, hella expensive? How can we afford a fancy, Vegas pool party?"
"Let me worry about that part, bro. I am pretty sure I can pull this off."
"Why is there something to 'pull off'? We're not going to do an Ocean's 11 to get into a pool party, are we?"
Sean just chuckles instead of answering any of Daniel's questions.
It just reminds him that it's been a long time since he has felt like he understood his brother, if he ever has.
# # #
Sean takes over driving at the next gas station, and he drives them into Las Vegas just as the sinking sun paints the desert sky in red and orange. There are a lot of hurdles between them and the pool party, but Sean has broken out of a guarded hospital and an ICE facility, so how hard can it be to break into a swimming pool for tourists?
He parks the car at a Target away from the Vegas strip. It's free, and parking near the casinos and attractions sounds like a logistical nightmare. He grabs a pair of athletic shorts from his bag, Daniel does the same, and then Sean summons a Lyft to take them to the casino.
As the car turns onto the Vegas strip, Sean's senses are dazzled by a million brilliant lights. Every building seems impossible, like they are pulled from a videogame where the level-designers said "fuck it" and threw in everything. An Eiffel Tower. A Roman palace. A giant fountain with jets of water that shoot up in a synchronized aquatic ballet.
Thousands of people march up and down the sidewalks. Most are average-looking tourists and families, but a lot of the people are in costumes. Street performers are dressed as Elvis and characters from movies like, of all things, Freddy Krueger. A lot of the women are dressed like show girls. Sean does a double-take, and, yeah, that lady definitely had her boobs all-the-way out with only her nipples covered.
All of this spectacle hits him with this melancholy stab in his heart. Look at this—another example of all of the things he could have missed while rotting in a jail cell for being judged a criminal at sixteen.
"This is pretty cool, right, Daniel?" Sean says.
"It's way cool," Daniel says in awe, his neck craned upwards taking in as much as he can through the car's window.
Sure, this modern marvel in the middle of the desert is all around him, but that his sixteen-year-old brother, this mopey teenager, can have a moment of wide-eyed, little-kid-like wonder is the coolest thing of all.
The Lyft drops them off outside the casino-hotel with the roof-top pool party. Sean and Daniel go inside, and they stand in an aisle with dozens of people walking past them. To their left are rows of brightly-lit slot machines that seem to stretch forever. To their right are gaming tables—black jack, roulette, games that Sean only knows from watching James Bond movies with Dad.
They need a room key.
Though he can't see them, Sean knows there are security cameras everywhere. Since there are much bigger sums of money played at the gaming tables, the security must be tighter there. The best place to lift a room key is going to be the slot machines.
When he and Daniel were on the run, there were times when they were so hungry that Sean had to steal. He got good at picking marks because he had to. His target needs to be distracted. All of these people are gaming, so finding who is in deep will be key. Inebriation would help, and there are plenty of glasses of alcohol lying around. The most important thing is his own confidence. If you don't act guilty, you can get away with almost anything.
"I need you to do something," Sean says, setting his hand on Daniel's shoulder. "Walk beside me, and act casual, okay? We are just two kids, walking through here to get to Starbucks. Don't look at me unless I talk to you, alright?"
"Why?" Daniel says, clutching his athletic shorts in his hands. "What are you going to do?"
"Don't worry about it," Sean says, already scanning the gaming machines for a mark. He's only partly aware of Daniel walking beside him when he sees the perfect target: a balding man in a suit, three empty drink glasses on the small table beside him. He's sweaty. His tie is undone. He's been here for a while, but he keeps spinning the slot machine in a daze.
His room's keycard is right there among the empty glasses.
As they pass by him, Sean's fingers nimbly take the card from the table. The guy is so focused on the tumblers in front of him saying he's lost again, he never notices. One time at a farmer's market, Sean looked around to check if anyone saw him pocket an apple. Big mistake. He got totally busted. He and Daniel had to run. So he palms the keycard, slips it into his pocket, and never looks back until they get to an elevator.
The sliding metal doors close, and Daniel hisses, "Dude, what the fuck did you just fucking do? Did you fucking rob someone?"
"It's just a room key," Sean says, holding up the plastic card. "That guy can report it stolen at the front desk and get a new one."
"But you took it like it was nothing! When the hell did you learn to be a thief like that?"
"Look, it's just . . ." Sean sighs. "It's just something I can do. I picked it up traveling. It's not a big deal."
Sean double-checks a map on the side of the elevator. He has to scan the keycard on a panel before he can punch in the floor with the roof-top pool.
As the elevator lurches upwards, Daniel crosses his arms and leans against the wall. The inside of the elevator is lined with reflective metal, so Sean is surrounded by his brother's disapproving glower. "Dude, it is a big deal," Daniel says. "You took something that isn't yours. That's wrong. What would Dad say if you stole something?"
Sean starts to raise his voice. He's ready with a defense. But what would Dad say about this? Sean looks down at the card that he took so easily. He read that you have to scan the card to get into the party, and it's charged to the guest's account. He was planning on using it to buy alcohol too. He told himself that anyone staying at this hotel could afford it, and they could always report the card stolen to dispute the charges. A crime that hurts nobody—but still a crime. Because the truth is that he's stealing, and he can rationalize it all he wants, but Esteban Diaz did not raise him to be a thief.
And Sean has fallen so far that he didn't even think about this being wrong.
In the other life, they went hungry for longer than they needed to. Because of Sean's pride. Because, even with Dad dead, Sean still cared what his father thought of him. It was important that, even when everyone said otherwise, the truth was that Sean Diaz was not a criminal.
But he made compromises. He had to. No way around it when he had to take care of Daniel.
But there's no reason to compromise here. He just stole because he wanted to get into a party.
Has he really slid so far from being someone his dad can be proud of?
"Dad would be disappointed, wouldn't he?" Sean says. "Look, I just . . . wanted to do something epic with you. I know you've had a rough year. There was that mysterious black eye you had around Christmas. I know you're anxious and sad. And, I'll be honest, life has kind of sucked for me recently too. I wanted us to do something fun. I wanted all of the bad stuff that has happened to us to . . . go away. For a little bit. I'm tired of feeling bad. I'm tired of you feeling bad."
Daniel's fist hits him gently in the shoulder. "Look, it's really obvious you are dealing with something big, Sean. And I know I haven't given you much of a chance lately. But I know you're trying. And, overall, this trip is already pretty epic. I don't need to break into some wild pool party. Spending time with my big brother is enough."
Sean lowers his head so he can wipe his eye. The elevator stops, and the door opens. They're immediately hit by the throbbing bass of some dope electronic music. But Sean hits a button. The door closes, and they go back to the first floor where Sean leaves the room key at one of the front desks, saying he found it lying on the ground.
# # #
Sean spends a couple of hours walking up and down the Las Vegas strip with his little brother. And it turns out, there is plenty to see without spending money or having to break into anywhere. However, there is still one law Sean figures it's okay to break, especially since Dad more or less gave him permission back in Seattle.
When they get back to their car in the Target parking lot, Sean goes inside the store to buy a six-pack of beer. After they arrive at the campsite just outside of Vegas and they have set up the tent, Sean sits on the trunk of his dad's car with his little brother. They're far enough from the city that the stars shine brightly overhead, twinkling through the infinity of space.
Sean takes one of the beers for himself, and he offers one to Daniel.
Daniel takes it, but he doesn't unscrew the cap. "I don't know. I've never drunk alcohol before."
"You are such an innocent little cinnamon roll, too good for this world," Sean says. "How are you such a better kid than me?"
"I had you as an example of everything not to do," Daniel jokes.
"Well, you shouldn't drink if you don't want to. There is nothing wrong with not drinking. But . . . if you think you're going to have a first beer before you're twenty-one, then it would be pretty rad if you shared it with me. I'd consider it a kind of honor."
Daniel taps his fingers against the bottle for a moment, then he unscrews the cap. They clink their beers together, and Daniel takes his first drink. It makes him cough. "Dude, this is gross!"
"It gets better over time," Sean says.
"But why does everybody act like this is awesome if it takes effort to like it?" Daniel says. He takes another sip, still gagging.
"If you don't want to finish it, you don't have to," Sean says.
"No, no—it's that thing you said earlier. I have to keep going. This is one of those things that will get easier if I keep going."
"Okay, I really meant that for, like, the challenges life gives you. You cannot use that as a reason to get drunk," Sean says. "Shit . . . I'm a bad influence, aren't I?"
"Yeah, you are," Daniel says with a laugh. "You're the worst."
They lean on the car's back glass, looking up at the stars, drinking their beers in silence beside each other.
Sean is nearly to the end of his second beer and Daniel is still on his first when Daniel asks, "Did you ever get that wolf tattoo? The one you drew at Christmas?"
"Yeah!" Sean says. "Wanna see?" He has to pull his arm out of his sleeve in order to lift up his shirt enough to show off the family-of-three wolves tattoo he has on his chest.
Daniel shines the flashlight of his phone on it. "That looks a lot cooler than I thought it would."
Sean pulls his shirt back on. "So you thinking about getting one? Are we the type of brothers that get matching tattoos?"
"I don't know. Maybe we are," Daniel says, tilting his bottle back to finish the last of his first beer ever. "Hey, Sean?"
"Yeah, Daniel?"
"It's been cool. Going on this road trip with you. I'm glad I did it."
"Me too. I could probably go anywhere, and it would be pretty cool as long as it was with you."
