Page 68 of Jackrabbit

No. Colt had wanted it, too. Had lunged first, wrapped his legs around Beau's waist, made sounds that would live in Beau's memory until he died.

But wanting it didn't make it right.

His phone buzzed in his pocket four times in a row, and he took it out.

It wasn’t Colt, but it was sure as shit about him.

Someone had posted a video of Colt’s race, and it was trending like fire on every social media site Beau had been watching. Swallowing as his heart did a slow, painful roll in his chest, he opened the first video. It was a TikTok, and the top tag was #PrincessJackrabbit.

A slow-mo opening of Colt driving the pace lap next to Kendrick started, and Colt turned his entire body to blow that asshole a kiss before waving like Princess goddamn Diana at a parade.

“You arrogant little shit,” Beau whispered.

The video cut to the race, to that first drift that had nearly killed Beau while he’d watched. Even in the playback he felt his stomach drop when Colt’s car pivoted in a perfect, controlled slide that shouldn’t have worked on a wet track.

Another video with the tag #JackrabbitRourke popped up, this one on a different platform, and it started with the same princess wave to some 8-bit arcade tune as Colt blew his kiss. Then the video slammed into the cockpit with Colt with that manic grin as the song changed to the opening riff of Rob Zombie’s “Dragula.”

Colt’s hands were a blur on the wheel, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed. Every shift, every pivot, every slide was punctuated by the heavy, thrumming beat. Beau let out a breath as the video switched to external shots, the yellow car a monster in the mist, taking the lead with aggressive, almost violent precision.

Christ, he was good. He was so goddamn good, and Beau had helped him get there. Whatever else was broken between them, this—this was real.

The comments were pouring in as the views shot up, and Beau just knew the whole crew was buzzing as they watched it happen.

Holy shit he's so good! Wtf happened in the last week?

Still hot. Think there's a Mrs. Rourke?

Yo, @LibertyRacing, youwatching?

Four more responses calling for Liberty's attention pretty much guaranteed Colt was about to get it. And he deserved it.

Beau clicked on Colt’s official page and scrolled past gym selfies, clips of practice runs, and even footage of his loss with the caption ‘only way out of the sewers is up, right?’ It was posted the day after their hike. His finger stopped on a picture he hadn't seen yet, though he knew exactly when it had been taken. The day Colt’s car had come in, dented and ugly as hell, but he'd been so proud of it anyway.

The picture was of Colt sitting in the window, his arms folded on the roof, coveralls tied around his waist and showing his skin-tight black t-shirt with a neon green turtle painting the back. His hair reflected the sun, ruffling gently in a breeze, and he was smiling the kind of smile that wasn't for anyone else but himself.

Beau saved the picture to his phone before he could think better of it.

He got another notification and opened it to see that Dead Wake's official page had reposted the video.

Heard Kendrick said Rourke was fucking his coach as payment and Rourke knocked his ass out for it after this race.

Douche deserved it

I've seen those hands on Rourke. I'd bone him too

Wonder if that's the only reason he's doing so well

Beau’s hand clenched on the counter, and he stopped scrolling.

Wonder what the rules are about fucking your coach

Wonder if they've ever heard the term ‘grooming’

Bruh, FR

The phone clacked against the granite as Beau set it down and clicked off the screen.

‘Grooming.’