Page 123 of Jackrabbit

"Hi, baby boy," Colt rasped. He scratched behind Toast's ears with clumsy fingers.

Missed Beau. Which was stupid, because he was just in the other room.

But Colt's chest was tight with it anyway. He wanted him back.Needed—

What did he need?

He didn't know. Couldn't think through the haze.

***

Beau dropped the laundry into the machine and shook out his hands, which were shaking.

Fuck.

What had he done? Colt was crying, not talking, and he said he was good, but—

But Beau had never made anyonecrybefore. Not like that. Like he'd—had hehurthim? He'd been rough. Rougher than he'd ever really been with anyone else, definitely.

He put the soap and softener into the machine and flipped it on.

Colt would have told him, right? He wasn't afraid to tell Beau what he'd done wrong.

Shit. What should he do?

Water. Colt needed to hydrate, right? Just like after a workout or track time. Hydration and food. It was four in the morning. Colt needed to eat before he slept.

Beau hurried into the kitchen and pulled a bottle out of the cabinet, filled it with cold water and Colt’s favorite electrolyte flavor. Then he looked in the fridge while he shook the drink up.

What did you feed someone you'd just fucked into tears?

Not helpful.

Yogurt was good. Sugar, fat, protein. He had some cut strawberries in a container, and he dumped those on top.

What else?

More protein. Nuts? He had some pistachios, which would have to do because Colt didn't like pecans, and that was all he had otherwise.

Half of him wanted to linger and give Colt space, and the other half screamed to get the hell back in there and fix whatever he broke. The second half won, of course, because this was Colt. And he didn't justwantto fix it. Needed to, more like. An itch beneath his skin.

He carried the bottle and bowl back into his bedroom and stood for just a moment in the doorway to look. Colt was still sitting where Beau had left him, tear tracks on his cheeks, rubbing behind Toast's ears. He was smiling a sort of small, dreamy smile like he'd been drugged.

But he was smiling. So. Small mercies, maybe.

Beau sat down on his side of the bed. Not that he had a side, since the whole bed was his. But over the past week, they'd fallen into a lot of routines. One of them was that Beau slept closest to the door and windows.

He pushed the bottle into Colt's hands. “Drink some of that. Sip slow like you do after a race.”

Colt made a face, and another piece of that worried, tight thing in Beau’s stomach unclenched. Two sips later, Beau took the bottle and handed Colt the bowl instead.

“I'm…not really hungry.” Colt cleared his throat and looked up at Beau.

For what?

“Eat anyway.”

Colt picked up the spoon like Beau had pressed a button that made him. One bite, small, hesitant. Then he made a soft, groaning noise and shoveled the rest into his face like he'd been starving. Which he had been, probably. It had been a hell of a task keeping this boy fed the past week. He'd had luck at the shop, even enlisting Joyce to force food on him at the diner, but at home, Colt was on the sim or falling asleep at the kitchen counter.