the evening air was still buzzing with adrenaline and chlorine. water dripped from your hair and onto the cracked pavement as you sat beside sean on the curb, both of you wrapped in mismatched towels someone from the house had thrown out. the pool lights behind you shimmered across the puddles that trailed from where the dirt bike had sunk, bubbles still occasionally rising to the surface. sirens had already faded down the street, leaving only the sound of crickets and the quiet rumble of an approaching car.

sean sat hunched forward, his wet hair plastered to his forehead, sneakers squelching whenever he moved. he kept glancing over at you, half-grinning like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or apologize again. “you okay?” he asked softly, voice rough from the cold. you nodded, still replaying the moment when the fence gave way and the splash swallowed you both whole. your heart hadn’t slowed since.

headlights washed over the street a few minutes later, sweeping across your faces and the ruined corner of the yard. a familiar black truck rolled to a stop in front of you, engine cutting off with a heavy sigh. hank stepped out — tall, broad-shouldered, his expression carved from disappointment and fatigue. he ran a hand over his face, eyes moving from the dented pool fence to the two of you sitting like guilty kids caught red-handed.

“you two have any idea how much trouble you’re in?” he muttered, more weary than angry. the kind of tone that hit harder than yelling.

neither of you answered. sean opened his mouth like he might try to charm his way out of it, but one look from hank shut him right back up.

“get in the car,” hank said finally, his voice low but firm. he waited until you both stood, towels trailing water onto the sidewalk. as you slid into the backseat, the vinyl stuck uncomfortably to your damp legs, and the air smelled faintly of gasoline and soap.

once sean shut his door, hank turned in his seat just enough to look at you. his voice softened a little. “{{user}},” he said, sighing through his nose. “i called your mom. she’s coming to pick you up at the house.”

the words made your stomach sink. you sank lower into the seat, glancing toward sean, who gave you a sheepish half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

as the truck pulled away from the curb, the sound of water dripping from your clothes filled the silence — steady, rhythmic, and impossible to ignore.