9. Chapter 9
What the hell was Beau even doing here?
The same question he’d asked himself when he’d bought those gym clothes, when he’d called Terry and asked if they could use his gym, when he’d started checking out local races and looking into nicotine gum.
Colt stood to face him, cheeks flushed and looking anywhere but in Beau’s eyes. He’d been pink since Beau had wiped the floor with him. Embarrassed that an old man had taken him out without so much as a grunt of effort.
“I want you to do the same thing you were doing on the bench.” Beau took in the rigid set of Colt’s shoulders, the defined traps, the slight bulge of his pecs.
He wasn’t weak. But fit wasn’t the same as racing fit, and Colt had a long way to go until he was there.
“I’m gonna be the resistance. I’ll press against your chest, and you stay steady.
Back straight, neck straight, shoulders straight.
You’re gonna want to compensate for the pressure increase by rolling your shoulders forward. Don’t.”
Colt’s throat worked as he nodded. “Okay.”
Beau placed his hands equidistant across Colt’s upper chest, his thumbs nearly touching—Colt was so small compared to him.
Sweat dripped off Colt’s temple as Colt leaned in, his heart hammering against Beau’s palms. “You need a fitness watch so we can keep track of your heartrate. It’s gonna be elevated for hours in the car, and you’ll pass out if you can’t control it. ”
“O-okay,” Colt grunted. His nose scrunched as Beau increased the pressure again.
“I’m gonna ease up now.” Beau waited for Colt to nod before he gradually released pressure. He kept his hands on Colt’s chest to keep him from falling forward. “Alright?”
“Yeah,” Colt breathed as Beau let go. “Fuck, old man. That was a lot of pressure.” He eyed Beau with mock suspicion. “Are you a government experiment? Why are you so strong?”
Snorting, Beau leaned down and picked up the water bottles he’d brought. He tossed one to Colt, and Colt fumbled it for a second before he caught it. “I’m a six-foot-six mechanic who used to drive NASCAR. You do the math.”
“What’s next?” Colt took a long pull of the water, a bead of sweat dripping down his throat and disappearing into his shirt. “Actually, how’d I do?”
“Your shoulders rolled thirty seconds in, and you kept relaxing your core.” Beau shut his water bottle with a snap and set it back down. “Started shaking two minutes in. You’ll need a lot of work.”
Colt laughed. “Ouch.”
“Neck strength next,” Beau told him. “Come here.”
Colt faced him with a challenge in his eye, making determined eye contact with Beau like he thought he’d do better at this one with sheer force of will. Experience was the best teacher.
“Alright, I’ll put my palm against your forehead.” Beau flexed his fist and rolled his shoulders. “Pressure again, but this time we see how long it takes for your neck to give out.”
“Oh, good, I’ve always wondered what it was like to have my neck snapped James Bond style,” Colt quipped with a cheeky grin.
Always grinning, always joking. Just like—
“Ready?” Beau asked even as he placed his palm above Colt’s brow. “Chin down. Don’t let me move you.”
Colt’s neck strength was trash, as Beau had expected. Most people didn’t think to work out their necks. They moved to planks next, Colt positioning himself with perfect form on the gym floor and a tiny little smirk as he held it like he could do this all day.
“Don’t let your hips drop or pike up. I want a straight line from head to heels.” Beau picked up a twenty-five pound plate and set it on Colt’s lower back, and he sagged immediately before tightening up.
“Got it,” Colt gritted out as Beau stepped to one side of him. Sweat dripped off Colt’s nose and hit the mat, his neck blazing red with strain.
Beau ignored the burn in his left leg as he crouched down.
He hovered his hand near Colt’s core to monitor, and Colt took a quick inhale before letting out a controlled exhale.
Forty-five seconds in, Beau saw it—the minute dip in his hips, the overcorrection upward.
The body trying to cheat what the muscles couldn’t hold.
“Straighten out.” Beau pressed his palm against Colt’s lower back to guide him. The muscles were jumping under his hand, small tremors that said everything about where they were starting from.
Colt’s breathing went harsh and shallow one minute and twenty-three seconds in. His forearms slid forward on the mat, slipping in his sweat, and his jaw was clenched so hard it had to ache.
“You’re done,” Beau said as he removed the weight.
“I can—” Colt started, head whipping around to look at Beau even as his arm slipped again.
“You’re done.” Firmer this time, catching those green eyes. Beau stood and stepped back. “Drop.”
Colt collapsed onto his stomach with a sound that was half grunt, half groan. He turned his face to the side, chest heaving against the mat. “Ow.”
When Beau looked up from the notes he was taking on his phone, Colt flopped onto his back and groaned. He flung one arm over his eyes, his shirt riding up to show his stomach rising and falling as his breathing evened out.
Beau nudged Colt’s bottle over to him with his foot. “Water.”
Colt reached for it without looking, nearly knocking it over before grabbing it and taking a long drink. He let his arm flop back down. “So. Scale of one to ten, how fucked am I?”
Beau considered as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. “You’ve got six months. It’s doable.” He paused. “Barely.”
“Inspiring,” Colt muttered, but there was no real heat in it.
“What’d you eat today?” Beau asked, crossing his arms and looking down at the sprawled figure on the gym floor.
“Uh.” Colt frowned. “Coffee? More coffee. Biscuits at Joyce’s. Half a sandwich someone left in the shop fridge. Don’t tell Liam.”
Beau pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course. “When’s the last time you had a full meal? Protein, vegetables, something other than bread and a diuretic?”
“Hey, bread’s cheap.” Colt sat up, brought one knee up and rested his arm on it while he rubbed the back of his neck. “Street racing only pays if you win, and, you know, kinda got arrested a couple weeks ago. Not a lot of income lately.”
“Mhmm.” Beau put a hand on his hip. “Well, you’ve got a job now.
Your protein intake needs to go up, and your empty carb intake needs to go way down.
Don’t care if you need to cook six chicken breasts and eat them shredded like popcorn.
Not enough protein, and your muscles are going to fatigue real quick.
Vegetables. Complex carbs. I’ll send you a meal prep list.” He paused and sucked his teeth. “Keep it cheap, if that’s better.”
Colt ducked his head, pinched the spout of his water bottle and pushed it until it balanced on the side of the base. “Yeah. Okay. That’d be…thanks.”
Remembering those racing pictures with no parents present, Beau chewed his inner lip. How long had it been since someone had offered to help Colt out? Ten years, if Beau had to guess.
Colt pushed himself to his feet. “Anything else today?”
“Treadmill.” Beau leaned down to pick up his bag. “You’ll run to the shop every morning, too. It’s, what, two miles? No stopping.”
“Ugh.” Colt grabbed his water bottle and headed to the treadmills. “Cardio. Gross.”
Beau huffed and shook his head. This little shit was growing on him.
Like a fungus.