Page 103 of Jackrabbit

The #22 dived low in Turn 2, her nose pulling even with Colt’s door.

“Diamond, Colt—give me one more pivot!”

“Fuck,”Colt snarled. “Fucking shit fuck, fuck—”

The turn-in was terrifyingly late, and for just a heartbeat it looked like #22 had him cleared. Then Colt snapped the car with a wordless, ragged yell and shot out in front of her by a full car length. She'd been beat and she knew it.

“Good! Yes. Just two more turns.” Beau tracked Colt’s car through one turn, two—“Checkers!”

He put both hands on his head as Colt crossed the finish line, relief flooding through his body like ice. “Fuck! That's my boy. That's myfuckingboy!”

“I can't—Where do I go? I'm—”

“Follow the flags to the pits.” Beau shoved past the crowd of spotters and jogged toward the stairs. “Crew's there, and I'm on my way. You did good, boy. So good. Bring it home.”

The suit was standing on the top step, and she stepped aside at the last possible second as Beau barreled through. She was smiling, but Beau didn't have a second to think about it. His boots slammed against the steps as he took them two at a time.

Colt, Colt, get to Colt right now, he needs you, go—

He made it to the pits just as Camila took Colt’s helmet. Colt smiled at her and then turned to heave, barely missing Xavier's boots.

Chapter 45

Acid burned Colt’s throat as he hurled all over the ground, Xavier hopping out of the way just in time while Camila made worried, fussy noises that sounded just like her mother. His side was screaming, a soul-deep ache that made him want to curl into a ball a little. Nothing broken. He'd broken plenty of ribs before. This wasn't that.

But it still fucking sucked.

A large, warm hand slid up the back of his neck and rested there, and Colt closed his eyes with a noise hereallyhoped no one else heard over the roar of the crowd and the other cars pulling into the pits.

“That's it, boy, breathe.” Beau’s voice washed over him like something physical, and Colt took a long, shaky breath. “Good boy. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Alright, guys, let’s give them a minute,” Camila said, and started barking orders about getting the car to testing and checking the tires.

Colt pulled himself up with Beau’s hand still on his neck, shaking and probably pale as fuck but alive. Shit. He was alive. Felt like death that had gone through a meat grinder and been made into chicken nuggets, but breathing. They made their way through the crowd, people parting for Beau and his driver as they did, and Beau guided him up into the hauler.

The door shut behind them, muffling some of the sound, and Colt turned and pressed his forehead into Beau’s chest for one long, unsteady second. Beau smelled like cologne and sweat and Colt pushed his nose into his shirt like acomplete freak. But, hey, he deserved it after running an all-day race with a bruise the size of Toast on his ribs, right?

Beau ran his fingers through the sweaty hairs at the base of Colt’s skull. “You’re alright. Good boy. My good boy.”

The noise that came out of him was half-sob and pure, aching relief.Mygood boy. Fuck. “That was fucking awesome and fucking terrible and I can’t decide which one is winning, but—” He popped his head up and blinked back a wave of dizziness before fisting Beau’s shirt. “Oh my God. OH MY GOD.”

“Yeah.” Beau pushed Colt’s hair out of his eyes. “You fuckingwon, Colt. Gave me a goddamn heart attack, but you won. I’m so proud of you.”

Embarrassingly, Colt’s eyes burned with tears, and he sniffed. “It’s the adrenaline, I swear.”

“I know.” Beau swiped under Colt’s eye with a thumb. “We gotta get back out there before someone comes looking so you can get your trophy and your big-ass check. Just the podium now, and then we can go. Can you do that for me?”

Privately thinking that if Beau asked it, Colt would do literally anything for him, Colt nodded. He pushed back and winced. “I feel like a prune.”

“Mhmm.” Beau made sure he was steady with a hand at his elbow. “Got a drink ready for you in the truck, but you’ll only get a sip or two before the podium. We’ll get you properly recovered after.”

“Beau.” Colt grabbed his arm one more time and shook his head. “We won. I can’t believe—shit.”

“Come on. If you don’t get a drink before the podium, you might fall on someone.” Beau guided him back out into the night, moths smacking Colt in the face immediately, drawn to the back lights of the hauler.

“That might screw my image.” A moth landed on his mouth and he blew it away.

“Can’t have that.”