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Brian had never gone in the garage before. Not the one at the house. It was a rickety old building, leaned a little to the left. There’d been one afternoon when they’d been tinkering under the Supra’s hood on the driveway—Jesse had heard something on the ride over and wanted to poke around—and needed a wrench. Dom had sent Jesse to get it.
So the garage, Brian figured, off-limits. In the back of his head, he knew that meant he’d have to do some clandestine exploring just in case there was a stash of stolen DVD players in there. Something. But he kept putting it off. Dom wasn’t stupid enough to hide loot like that on his own property. And besides, Brian still had a knot on his head from Vince beating him down at El Gato Negro. He wasn’t eager to add a matching one.
Excuses. Bullshit.
So Dom bringing him here…it was weird and unexpected, and how the hell had they gone from the standard brother-to-a-boyfriend threats regarding Mia to Brian sitting on a creaky stool surrounded by memorabilia of Dom’s father. And the Charger, damn. Dark, sleek, not subtle at all. The opposite of subtle. So much power that the chassis had twisted. Yeah, Brian believed that.
What he didn’t believe was that Dom had never driven it. Had bent it back into shape and tucked it back in this garage where even the tools on the walls were a generation old.
Then Dom starts talking about his dad’s death and screaming and beating a man until he couldn’t even lift his own arm to hit the man again.
(Days later when Tanner and Bilkins and people in suits who he’s never met and never wants to see again are in his face screaming “what were you thinking?”, this is the moment his brain will seize on as the point where he was really and truly fucked.)
The real pressing question was what the hell did he do to deserve such honesty from Dominic Toretto?