Page 34 of Jackrabbit

“Yeah, man.” Rosy inhaled, voice thick with smoke when he continued. “I was there when he won it. Nearly creamed myself the one time he let me drive.”

Colt looked around at the interior of the car his brother had used to fund his dreams when their parents wouldn't. He clenched his hand around the wasp and squared his shoulders.

“I want to sell him.”

Chapter 21

Beau sat on his back porch with his cat purring on his shoulders. Whiskey burned down his throat as a coyote dashed across the desert just behind his property.

He’d come so goddamn close to fucking up this afternoon.

You’ve been doing so good. Real good. I’m proud of you.

That’s what he’d almost said.

I’m proud of you. Let me buy you a car.

He knew what that would do to Colt. He'd known even as he'd started saying it. He wanted Beau's approval. It was clear every time he fixed those green eyes on Beau during training, every time he did something risky that paid off on the sim and looked at Beau like he was asking for something.

Fucked up, that's what it would have been if Beau had used that knowledge the way he'd been fixing to.

Though hewasproud of Colt. Damn proud. The way he'd worked—at the shop, where he'd made himself part of the team without trying. At Joyce's, where he barely earned enough to get by but worked like he was making six figures. At the gym, where Beau tried very hard not to notice how thick his muscles were getting when his shirt stuck to his sweat-slicked skin like glue.

Beau had just drained the last of his drink when the doorbell rang. Raising an eyebrow, he turned his head at the same time as his cat. There were three people who knew where he lived, and he doubted at least two of them would be showing up at—he checked his watch as he stood—eleven on a Thursday.

If he'd had any doubt as to who was outside, it left as his cat chittered and dashed past him toward the door. Only one person got his cat riled so quickly. Sure enough, when he pulled his door open he found Colt standing on his doorstep in half a band tee and sweats. He looked at Beau and pressed his lips together like he was trying to hold something in.

Beau took quick stock. Red eyes. Hair a mess. And in one of Colt’s hands was a check, the other a golden wasp dangling from a string.

“Oh,” Beau breathed.

Colt sniffed. “He, um—Connor only raced coz of me. I figured he'd—”

His face fell before he could finish his sentence, and Beau's heart ached as tears flooded Colt’s eyes.

“C'mere, boy,” he said, reaching out and wrapping his hand around the back of Colt’s neck. Colt came willingly, head down as he let out a choked sob. “S'alright. Easy.”

He guided them inside as his cat rubbed aggressively between their legs. The door snicked shut, and Beau wrapped both arms around Colt’s back. Colt pressed his forehead into Beau's chest and gripped his shirt with both hands, the check crinkling in his grip. Beau took it from him and set it down on the entry table before putting his hand on Colt’s neck again. He ran his fingers up the back of Colt’s skull, taking deep, long breaths while Colt’s chest heaved against his.

“Easy,” he said again into Colt's hair. “I know. I got you.”

Shoulders shaking under Beau's hand, Colt took short, sharp breaths. His fingers twisted in Beau's shirt so hard Beau felt the fabric straining, and the wasp pressed between them, the string wrapped around Colt’s fingers. Beau spread his other hand across Colt’s shoulders as he continued to take his slow, even inhales. Colt would match them when he was ready. For now, Beau kept still, let Colt have the time and space he needed.

It didn't last as long as Morrow Peak. Grief came in different shapes. Sometimes it was the kind that got its claws in you and dug until you howled. Others,it came like this. Bright and burning, but brief in the wake of a choice that was as right as it was painful.

When he'd let out what needed to go, Colt pushed his forehead briefly harder into Beau's chest. Then he pulled back and let go of Beau's shirt to swipe at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“I'm sorry.” Colt's voice was raw from crying, still thick with emotion.

Beau squeezed the back of his neck and ducked his head to make eye contact. “Don't. You did something real hard today. You don't need to apologize for how the pain of it came out.”

Whatever Colt was about to say was drowned out by a loud, plaintive yowl. Beau looked down in time to see his cat, who was clearly displeased with the lack of attention, gearing up to take a running leap at them.

“Toast! No!” Beau's voice was firm, and Toast generally didn’t listen, but he knew that tone used to mean a squirt bottle. He sat back on his haunches and gave a silent meow.

Colt went still for a long second under Beau's hand. “Did you just—Toast?”

“Aw, hell,” Beau grumbled. He stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. “Now, hold on—”