Page 108 of Jackrabbit

Hoyt laughed. “Well. I was. Now I'm mostly coaching.”

“Is there somewhere we can talk?” Walters glanced into the shop where every one of Beau’s employees was pretending to work but obviously watching. Beau jerked his head at them, and they all scrambled to do their actual jobs. Walters smiled. “Privately, if you please."

“Can use my office.” Beau hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the open door. “Might be a tight fit with all of you, but there's room.”

“You too, Mr. Moore.” Walters turned her smile on him and nodded. “If you have the time.”

He knew it was a mistake to look at Colt, but he did it anyway. Glanced over to see those huge green eyes watching him like heneededhim to say yes. And at the end of the day, he couldn't say no, could he? Half of him was screaming to run, and the other half was screaming to make sure these corporate sharks weren't out for blood.

Nodding, Beau ran his hand down his mouth. “Alright. Head in. I'll tell the boys to stay in the shop and be right over.”

“Excellent.” Walters held her hand out toward Beau’s office, and Navarro and Hoyt filed in.

Colt kept watching Beau, though. Worried. Excited. Probably scared, too. Beau nodded and flicked his eyes toward his office, and Colt headed in after the others. Beau could feel Laura Walters still watching him as he turned toward the garage.

Power tools cut off when Beau popped his head in. Xavier was just whirring his air ratchet for the sound. Beau raised his eyebrow at him, and Xavier grinned. “I'm nosy.”

“Well, get your nosy ass to work before I fire you.” An empty threat, and they all knew it. “Liberty Speedworks is in there right now. No, I don't knowwhat they want. I can guess, though. Keep yourselves busy out here, alright? I'll handle phones. They want privacy.”

A chorus of ‘yes, sir’ echoed through the garage, and Beau pulled back to close the door. He was stopped when a hand reached out for the handle and held it open.

Camila. She leaned in and lowered her voice. “Are you…Merc, are you alright?”

“Course I am.” Beau held her gaze like he could convince her if he just kept his face blank enough. But she was astute, like always, and he could tell he hadn't fooled her. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Get back to work. Keep the boys in line, will you?”

For a moment, she searched his face. Then she nodded and tapped her knuckles against his shoulder. “Always, boss.”

He shut the shop door and walked into the bathroom, flipped the light, and ran his hand over his mouth. Four months. They were supposed to have four months. If Liberty was here, that timeline was fucked.

Fuck.

Beau moved to the sink and turned it on so he could splash cold water on his face. Then he gripped either edge of the porcelain and hunched his shoulders, squeezed until his fingers ached.

It didn't matter. This had always been the plan. They'd worked and worked to get Colt noticed, and he had been. Maybe it was in a much bigger way than Beau had guessed, but that was good. Good for Colt. His career. The dream his brother had died funding.

You selfish old fuck. Get out there and help your boy.

Because hewasBeau's. At least for now. Beau couldn't—wouldn't—let him down. He took a long breath and wiped his face with paper towels before squaring his shoulders and heading into his office to do his job.

Walters was sitting in Beau’s chair, of course, Navarro and Hoyt standing together against his bookshelf, and Colt tapping his foot like a nervous rabbit in one of the chairs facing the desk.

When he walked in, Walters smiled and gestured to the chair next to Colt. “Mr. Moore. Please have a seat.”

Restraining a snort—barely—at being invited to his own guest chair, Beau settled himself.

“Mr. Rourke,” Walters started as she folded her hands together on top of Beau’s desk. “You've come a long way since we last spoke.” She set a tablet between them on the desk. “And we've done our due diligence on you.”

Colt tensed, such a small movement that Beau was sure no one else noticed. But he did. He wished he could do something about it. Could put his hand on Colt’s neck or press their shoes together or anything to let Colt know it was okay. He couldn't, not with all these people in here, so he was silent as Walters turned on the screen and pulled up a video before turning the screen toward them.

“Colton Rourke. Three-time WKA Regional Karting Champion. You were a top-tier Independent—the kid who showed up with an unbranded trailer and beat every factory-backed prospect on the East Coast. You even took the Charlotte Summer Shootout title in your first season behind the wheel of a Legend Car.”

She looked up and tapped the edge of the tablet. “That’s a hell of a pedigree for a kid currently famous for running dig races on the blacktop. You didn't just learn to drive on the streets, Colton. You were bred for the Cup Series.”

Christ. Colt hadn't told him any of that. Beau didn't have to ask to know why, either. Connor had funded his early career, and when he'd died, Colt had lost it all. Of course he didn't want to talk about it. Made no difference, though. He'd known Colt was a prodigy the first time he'd seen him in a car. Learning about his past just confirmed it.

“That doesn't matter.” Colt shrugged and drummed his fingertips against his knee. “That was over almost a decade ago.”

“It matters a great deal, Mr. Rourke.” Walters left up a video of a white car with no branding taking a lap two cars ahead of the others. “Considering your recent success on your local track, your internet notoriety, and the sponsor offer we just received contingent on whether we sign you, our interest is no longer passing.”