Page 142 of Jackrabbit

Because Beau was standing in front of Colt with a fucking cat backpack, Toast's face smashed against the front plastic bubble while he wailed his displeasure. Beau had that army green bag with the Rolling Stones patch on one shoulder, and the traffic-cone-orange one Colt had left at his house on the other.

Colt's eyes drifted down to the Grateful Dead patch slapped on the front, covering up a skull's eye.

“Toast wouldn't give it back.” Beau's voice was a low, honey-dark rumble, and when Colt looked into his eyes again he saw so much uncertainty there. “He put a hole in it with his teeth when I tried to take it. Clung on until he dropped.”

Tears burned Colt’s eyes, and he swiped his nose with his arm, chuckling a broken kind of chuckle at the image. “He's a menace.”

“Yeah.”

Toast screamed, and Beau stepped closer, and Colt desperately told his tears to get the fuck back in his eyes. He would not cry like an idiot in Sky freaking Harbor.

“You came.” It dropped out as a whisper, but Beau heard him anyway.

He nodded and held out his hand. “Yeah, boy. I came. You were right.”

Taking a shaking breath, Colt stepped closer and took Beau’s hand, and one of his stupid tears escaped. Toast slapped the plastic bubble with his paw and yowled. Beau tugged Colt forward, and Colt dropped against him with a sound that was definitely not a sob. They hugged until Toast tried to slam his way out the top of the bag and airport security was starting to look interested.

Colt pulled back and scrubbed his eyes. “Is he wearing the harness?”

“Course he is.” Beau set the backpack on the ground and pulled Toast's leash out of his pocket to hand to Colt. “TSA website said he needed a carrier through security though.”

“Poor baby,” Colt cooed while he unzipped the bag and darted his hand in to grab the harness before Toast could escape. He clicked the leash into place and hefted the beast out with a grunt. “I've got you.”

Toast meowed at him, a frantic set of sounds like he was telling Colt a story while he shoved his face repeatedly into Colt's chin. Colt wrapped his arms around the cat so he could stand up again, the leash twisted in his fingers.

“You'll spoil him,” Beau murmured.

“Too late.” Toast climbed until his front legs were on Colt's shoulder, tail flicking as he purred so loud Colt felt it in his chest.

He turned and stood with his shoulder against Beau’s side, and Beau settled his hand on the back of Colt's neck while they watched their plane taxi toward the gate.

Reviews are everything for indie authors. There's no publisher, no marketing team—just me, this book, and readers like you telling other readers it's worth their time. If Colt and Beau got under your skin, a review on Amazon or Goodreads (even a sentence or two) is the single best way to help them find more people to embarrass. And it means the world to me. Truly.

— Cole

Chapter 60

The Charlotte skyline's glass and chrome had given way to rolling hills and red dust fifteen minutes ago, that smoggy city smell burning off into fresh, sharp pine. Colt’s bare feet rested on the open window as he sang, loudly and absolutely off-key, his phone on his stomach and his fingers laced with Beau’s on the seat between them.

Toast lounged in the back seat on the car bed Colt had bought him. He was buckled in because Colt wasn't risking his fuzzy baby flying through the windshield if they wrecked. And maybe because he'd tried to climb on Beau's head while he drove the first time they'd put him in the truck.

Soda had come out of Colt’s nose from laughing so hard. It was awesome.

“Bowie is rolling in his grave right now,” Beau murmured as he stroked Colt’s knuckles, his mustache twitching as he tried not to smile. “Glad you chose racing instead of a musical career.”

“Oh, ha-freakin’-ha.” Colt stuck his tongue out at Beau, whose smile broke through, and felt his cheeks heat. God, he was so handsome with the early morning sun against his tan skin. Colt's stomach did that stupid swooping thing it always did when Beau smiled like that—unguarded, just for him. “Bowie would have loved me. Two peas in a pod.”

“You're queer enough for three of Bowie.” Beau flipped the turn signal and switched lanes, their exit into Sophia, North Carolina, coming up in two miles.

Colt laughed. “Best compliment I've ever heard.”

“You eat like I told you?” Eyes flicking to the rearview and then the side mirror, Beau pulled into the next lane over.

“Yup.” Colt squeezed Beau’s fingers. “While you were loading the car into the hauler. And, yes, I took my fiber pills. Which, by the way, are disgusting.”

Beau took the exit, and Colt pulled his feet in from the window. “Wait till you eat the pickles.”

“Excuse me?”