Page 100 of Boss and Brat

Chapter Thirty-Seven

The warmth of the sun and the sting of salt still clung to Ethan’s skin by the time they got back from swimming. He tugged on a pair of jeans, still buzzing with that loose, radiant energy that always hit him after being in the water. Carter looked steady as ever—calm, focused—while Ethan tried not to stare too long at the way his shirt clung to his shoulders.

They took the truck with the bikes loaded in the back, heading toward the motocross trails, and the sight of those machines in the rearview already had something sparking under Ethan’s skin. Just knowing they were back there—real dirt bikes, not the junk he used to patch together as a kid—sent a warm rush through him. His pulse kicked up, his fingers tapping against his knee like they were trying to match the rhythm of an engine that wasn’t even running yet. He could practically feel the throttle in his hand, the vibration in his bones, the freedom of it waiting for him the second they hit the trail.

Once they unloaded the bikes, Carter turned to him with that look—the one that said I’m serious, don’t test me.

“Safety,” Carter told him. “No wild moves or attempted stunts. Nothing that can get you hurt.” Carter’s voice had that low, steady weight to it. “This is your only warning. Ignore the rules, and I’ll beat your ass with a paddle.”

Ethan’s shoulders pulled tight at that—half embarrassment, half… something he wasn’t ready to look at too closely.

He’s not kidding. Don’t be stupid, he told himself. Where did he get a paddle?

At first, he wasn’t. He followed every rule, kept his speed reasonable, stayed on the marked path. Carter kept glancing over, giving him these small nods that loosened something in Ethan’s chest, made him want to keep doing everything right.

But then the engine growled under him, the wind slapped his face, and muscle memory kicked in. One second he was cruising; the next he was leaning too far into a turn, kicking up dirt, letting the back tire slide just because it felt good. He hit a small rise and—without thinking—pulled a stunt he used to do in high school. The rush shot through him like a live wire. God, he’d missed this.

Right up until Carter’s voice cut through the engine noise—sharp enough to jolt the breath out of him.

“Ethan! Enough!”

Ethan slowed, heart still hammering, adrenaline fizzing under his skin. Carter pulled up beside him, jaw tight, eyes dark with that mix of fear and anger Ethan knew too well. He knew he’d messed up. Not a little—big. The kind of big that showed in the way Carter’s whole posture went rigid, shoulders squared like he was bracing for impact.

Carter’s voice dropped low, steady in that way that made the back of Ethan’s neck prickle. “You’re in big trouble when we get home.”

And just like that, the adrenaline twisted into something else—heat, guilt, and a tiny spark of yeah, he probably deserved thatall tangled together. Ethan swallowed, very aware of how fast his heart was pounding.

Yeah… I really messed up this time.

“Get off the bike,” Carter said. “Walk it back to the truck. We’re done.”

Ethan blinked at him. “Walk it? Why? I can just—”

Carter’s eyes snapped to his. Sharp. Furious. Hurt underneath it.

“Walk. It. Back.”

Ethan froze, hands still on the handlebars. His brain scrambled for something—an excuse, a joke, anything to soften the moment—but nothing came out.

Carter’s voice cracked like a whip. “Now!”

Ethan jerked as if he’d been physically pushed. His heart thudded hard against his ribs as he swung his leg over the bike and started walking it toward the truck. The gravel crunched under his boots, loud in the silence stretching between them.

He could feel Carter behind him, pushing his own bike, radiating heat and anger like a furnace. Ethan’s face burned.

God, why did I do that? Why couldn’t I just listen for once?

They reached the truck without a single word. The air thickened enough to choke on. Carter grabbed the ramp and slammed it into place harder than necessary. Ethan flinched. He hated that he flinched.

They loaded the bikes in silence—Carter’s movements clipped and controlled, Ethan’s too careful, like he was afraid to make it worse. Which he was.

Clambering into the truck, Ethan found the cab uncomfortably cramped. The door shut with a heavy thud, and he stared straight ahead, hands clasped in his lap, trying not to fidget.

The truck door thudded shut, sealing them in with the kind of silence that made Ethan’s pulse trip over itself. The cab didn’t feel suffocating this time—just tight, like the space had shrunkaround Carter’s anger. Every breath had been borrowed, like he was waiting for the next thing to crack.

Carter didn’t look at him. Not once. He just gripped the wheel, knuckles pale, jaw locked so tight Ethan could practically hear the teeth grinding.

They pulled out of the dirt lot, gravel popping under the tires. His mouth went dry as Ethan stared out the window, the world outside rushing by in a blurry, unmemorable streak.