Page 132 of Jackrabbit

He took the two laps like Beau had told him to, thrumming with impatience. Listening anyway, because Beau had told him to.

“You there, Coach?” Colt asked as he entered the third lap.

“Yeah, boy, I'm here. How's it feelin’?”

Right. This was right. Beau’s voice in his ear, the car slippery and responsive, adrenaline singing through him. He belonged here.

“Like a dream.” He approached the turn and blew past Hoyt's marker. And the next. “Watch this.”

He slammed the pedal at the 1 Marker, and instead of plowing toward the wall his tires dug. As he slid into the turn, his wheel twitchy and perfect, his back end swung. For just a second he saw the vibrant green grass of the infield. Then he caught the slide with a flick of his wrist and mashed the gas, launching his car into the straight with a triumphantwhoop.

“Atta boy,” Beau murmured, no part of him sounding surprised in the least.

The radio clicked again, and he heard Hoyt's voice.“Who the fuck are you, Moore?”

“Language.”

Colt laughed as he took his next turn.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of perfect laps. He was on his last one, watching his dash as he rocketed off Turn 4. The numbers flickered too fast for even him to follow, calculating, finding his time.

When he crossed the finish line, they stopped, and Colt let out a long sigh of relief.

Hoyt had set him a time of 30.40.

He'd come in at 29.98.

Colt had broken the bracket. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

The radio crackled as Colt started his cool-down, his own breaths loud in his helmet as he reeled.

“Sub-thirty,”Beau told him and anyone listening, his voice low, rough,proud.“You're in the show.”

“Goddamn, kid.”Vic’s voice this time, and a low whistle.“You just won me so much money.”

Colt barked an exhilarated laugh and flexed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Bring it home, boy,”Beau rumbled.

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter 56

The click from Colt’s hotel room door closing was still echoing when Colt dropped his bag and whirled on Beau. He grabbed the collar of his black polo and tugged him down in a kiss that was all desperation and heat, and Beau wrapped his arms around Colt’s back like he’d been one second from jumping on him, too.

“I’m sorry,” Colt said against Beau’s lips between kisses as he dug his fingers into Beau’s hair. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Beau pushed his hand up under the back of Colt’s shirt and turned them so he could press Colt into the door. “I know.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Tears pricked at Colt’s eyes even as he pushed his back into the door and used the leverage to wrap his legs around Beau’s waist. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t—”

“I know.” Beau gripped Colt’s thighs and hiked him higher. Turned and walked them back toward the bedroom while Colt kissed every part of his face he could reach.

Tears slipped down Colt’s cheeks, and he dragged Beau back into a kiss, trusting that Beau would get them to the room without tripping. Or that he’d trip and take Colt on the hotel room floor. Didn’t matter.

They made it, though, and Beau lowered Colt down onto the bed like he was something precious, slow and steady. He propped himself up with an elbow and swiped the tears from Colt’s cheek with his thumb, and Colt’s heart stuttered.

“I’m sorry,” Colt whispered.