10. Chapter 10
“You look dead, man.” Liam stepped up to the front desk sporting a backwards hat and an energy drink. “Is the boss trying to kill you?”
Colt laughed, and then groaned as his abs protested. “Feels like it. Oh my God. So much pain.”
“What do you two do every day after work?” Liam leaned against the desk on his elbows.
“Liam, if you don’t get your greasy ass arms off the desk I just cleaned—”
Liam held up both hands and stepped back, and Colt glared at the grease spot he’d left on the white surface. He pulled a cleaning wipe out of the jar under him and held it out. “Clean that, you animal, before Mr. Moore tries to kill me for real.”
Liam wiped the counter, laughing. “It’s so weird hearing you say Mr. Moore. Everyone else calls him Merc or boss.”
Something in Colt’s chest twisted, and he cleared his throat.
Seven nights spent with Beau’s hands burning brands into his body as he adjusted Colt’s stance or urged him to tighten his core.
A whole entire week of hours spent alone, and he still wasn’t even allowed to call him boss. Mr. Moore or sir. Bleh.
“So.” Liam tossed the wipe and tried again, “What are you two up to when you drive off together at night.”
“Mind your own business, Liam.” Camila elbowed her way through the shop door and stopped to smirk at Colt. “You look like shit.”
“Aw, I love you too, baby.” Colt blew her a kiss and she flipped him off.
“You all got work to do, or are you planning to stand around gossiping on my dime all day?” Beau called. His voice was gravel rough like it got when he’d been in his office a long time. “Move.”
Colt curled his toes.
“Ah, right.” Liam snatched the clipboard he’d come in for and scurried out to the garage. “Bye!”
“Can you sign these for me, Merc?” Camila walked across the lobby and up to Beau, who had come to stand in his doorway.
Wearing those glasses that Colt was way past trying to deny were hot as fuck, Beau was watching Colt with the sort of focus he usually reserved for training. What was he thinking?
“I’m taking Rourke somewhere,” Beau rumbled as he signed the form Camila handed him. Colt’s back snapped straight. “You got this bunch of miscreants the rest of the day?”
“Of course.” Camila tucked the clipboard under her arm. “I’ll keep the boys in line.”
“Yep,” Colt said, already unzipping his suit. “Sure thing, Mr. Moore.”
Beau went back into his office as Colt hopped around trying to take his coveralls off while also moving toward the garage.
He tripped and slammed his shoulder against the door, and Xavier and James howled with laughter.
Nosy fucking bastards were always watching him like a fish in a tank. He flipped them the bird.
By the time Beau was walking out into the employee parking lot, Colt was vibrating. They’d never gone anywhere during the day before. Where were they going? Not the gym. Beau didn’t like to use it during the day because it was busier.
“Get in.” Beau eyed the way Colt was shuffling from foot to foot. “Calm down, boy. You’re twitching like a jackrabbit.”
“Excuse me?” Colt slid into the passenger seat that was going to have a spot in the shape of his ass on it with how often he was in it now. “A jackrabbit?”
“Mhmm.” Beau shut his door and turned the ignition, the truck rumbling underneath them. “Restless. Jumpy. You’ll have a heart attack before we even get there.”
“Should I be offended right now? A rabbit! Tiny, fluffy, cute—ooh.“ Colt grinned at Beau and leaned across the bench seat. “You calling me cute, Mr. Moore?”
Beau rolled his eyes and put his hand over Colt’s face, shoving him to the other side of the car. “Tiny and ready to shit pebbles on the floor at the slightest sound, more like.”
Grinning like an idiot, Colt looked out his window so Beau wouldn’t see how pink his cheeks were.
He was in deep shit with this man. Just the worst possible person for Colt to want.
Beau had literally shoved his face, and Colt was giddy.
Woof. But Beau had been softer toward him lately.
A lot softer than he’d been the day Colt had shown up at his shop with nothing but coffee and a prayer Colt didn’t believe in. It was doing things to Colt.
“Hey, where are we going?” Colt popped up out of his slouch as they passed Sir Veza’s, a restaurant about a mile from Colt’s apartment. His skin itched under his ankle monitor, and his cheeks burned. “I can’t—I have a radius.”
“Mhmm.” Beau drummed his fingers on the wheel. “Five miles outside your apartment complex in any direction. I know.”
How the fuck?
Colt side-eyed Beau, his ears burning now, too. “Stalker.”
“Camila told me.” Beau shrugged. “I was gonna have you go pick up a car to bring to the shop. Asked if you were allowed to drive.”
Beau flipped the turn signal and took them into a long stretch of set-back ranch style houses surrounded by old mesquites and palo verdes.
Were they going to Beau’s house? Colt’s heart skipped.
They pulled into a long gravel drive, the trees all trimmed to arch over it for some shade, and Colt tried desperately to pretend that he wasn’t one second from smashing his face against the window to get a look at Beau fucking Moore’s house.
It was all red brick, sprawling across one floor like all the best desert houses were.
There were two cars sitting in front of the three-car garage.
“Be—Mr. Moore, is this your house?” Colt hopped out and vibrated in the driveway just like the jackrabbit Beau had compared him to. He bounced on his heels. “Oh, shit. This is your house? What’s in that garage? Can I see? Is there a stock car in there?”
“Boy, you need a gag?” Beau rumbled as he locked the truck. “Can you shut up for three whole seconds?”
Colt choked on air, his cheeks going so hot he felt sunburnt.
Thank fuck Beau had kept walking, because he didn't need to see what Colt’s face was doing after hearing that rough southern accent ask him if he needed a gag.
Jesus fuck. He absolutely did not need the added images that brought to his mind.
Like Beau sitting on a chair with whiskey in one hand, the other pulling Colt’s hair, those goddamn glasses on as Colt stayed on his kne—
Shut up, shut up, shut up!
His coach. That man was his fucking coach. It was bad enough that he spent time appreciating the view. He didn't need to add filthy fantasies to the mix, for the love of fuck.
While Colt desperately tried to fish his mind out of the gutter, his eyes drifted around the yard.
Well maintained, landscaped, and pretty.
Beau probably worked it himself, too. He didn’t seem like the type to hire someone.
He thought about Beau in gardening gloves and a floppy sunhat and grinned. That was better.
He followed Beau's back through the huge wooden front door and let out a low whistle when he walked inside.
It wasn't a rich fuck house like he’d grown up in.
Nothing was extremely fancy or looked overtly breakable.
But everything was quality. A fluffy, sturdy couch, a clean granite countertop, and dark green shaker cabinets.
It was nice.
Colt thought about his alley-pilfered couch, which he had finally broken when he'd flopped on it after training yesterday, and winced. Yeah, between that and the poster he still hadn’t taken down, Beau could absolutely never come to his home.
“This way,” Beau called, already halfway down a hallway to his right.
Oh, the garage. That had to lead to the garage, right? Was Colt really going to get to see a race car? Gen 6? Beau’s? Maybe he’d fixed it up after the crash. Maybe—
Right. No way. Not with the way Beau had gone flat and mean when Colt had mentioned the crash that night, Probably not a car.
Something moved to his left as he took a step toward the garage, and he turned to look. Huge and fluffy, the creature had long, reddish-brown fur that melted into black, huge triangle ears with tufts of hair sticking out their points, and massive yellow eyes.
“Uh, Mr. Moore?” Colt turned toward the animal and tried not to make sudden movements. “There’s, like, a wild animal in here?”
“That’s a cat.” Beau stepped up behind Colt, and the cat fixed its eyes over Colt’s shoulder. It opened its mouth, but no sound came out.
“Pretty sure that’s a small bear.” God, it was freaking cute. Colt knelt down, wincing as his quads protested, and held out his fingers. “Hey, baby. You’re so pretty.”
“He doesn’t like people much.”
Colt wiggled his fingers. “What’s his name?”
Beau was quiet for a long beat. Then, “Cat.”
“Cat?” Colt snorted and scritched his fingers against the floor, Cat’s eyes darting toward the sound. “You did not name this apex predator Cat.”
Cat ambled toward Colt, his fur shining redder in the shafts of sunlight filtering in through the back windows. He fixed his eyes on Colt’s fingers, and Colt raised them for him to sniff. Cat gave him one long smell before he shoved his head aggressively against Colt’s knuckles.
Colt beamed. “Aw, look at that. You’re a sweet thing. Doesn’t like people, my ass. Are you just a big baby?”
Cat meowed, then fit himself under Colt’s hand and rubbed his spine all along it. He was so soft, and the purr that started deep in his chest sounded like a goddamn motor. Colt thought he might be a little in love.
“You're a traitor,” Beau mumbled from behind them.
As if he was trying to prove a point, Cat flopped onto his side and meowed while Colt scratched his belly.
“Alright, if you're done making friends.” Beau sounded grouchy, but not the type of grouchy that resulted in Colt having to take six laps around the outside of the gym. “Come out to the garage, Colt.”
“Bye, Princess Fluff,” Colt told the cat, giving him one more scratch before pulling himself to his feet.
“What did you just call him?” Beau asked as Colt followed him down the hall.
Colt grinned up at him. “Well, you clearly have some ridiculous name for him you're embarrassed to tell me. Thought I'd guess.”
All the confirmation Colt needed was Beau's silence as he opened the garage door. He laughed. “Oh, I was so right! What is it? Noodle? Dingleberry? No. Salmon, Frank, Duchess? How about—”
Every thought scattered from Colt’s mind when he caught sight of what was in Beau's garage. Holy shit.
No way.
Was he breathing?
It kinda felt like he wasn't breathing.
Sitting in the middle of the garage was the reason the two cars were out front.
A cage, just big enough to fit everything you'd have in a cockpit.
Three monitors, a Cosworth steering wheel, and the seat.
Fit for a much bigger man than Colt, a full harness, black leather with red pinstripes. But the logo—
“Is this your sim?” Colt asked as he stepped up and hovered his hand over the back of the seat. “Like, your own personal sim?”
“Mhmm.” Beau put his hand on top of the cage and leaned in. “Ain't gonna hurt you, boy. You'll need to touch it if you're gonna use it.”
“I—” Colt placed his hand on the leather, the exact replica of the seat Beau had been in every time Colt had watched him cross a finish line. Nearly strangled Connor as he looped an arm around his neck and screamed in excitement. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
He came around the side and looked into the cockpit at the pedals.
Even though he knew Beau was expecting him to step inside, he still looked up for approval with one hand on a bar.
Beau was watching, and Colt wondered if he could see the way this moment was dredging up Colt's past. If he could see the cracks in Colt's timeline where Beau had always been.
The older man raised an eyebrow expectantly and nodded toward the seat.
Colt climbed in before Beau could snatch the offer back.
The smell of dust and leather engulfed him as his back pressed against the seat.
There was a sticker on one of the cage bars he hadn't been able to see from the outside.
Small, rainbow colored, a middle finger with a black painted nail.
Colt pressed his thumb against it and felt the way it was peeling with age, and behind him Beau went still.
Another ghost Colt had stepped on. He removed his thumb and wrapped both hands around the wheel.