15. Chapter 15
Something was wrong with Colt. That was damn obvious.
Five minutes ago, he’d been bouncing with his usual jackrabbit enthusiasm and flirting with anyone on legs.
Then he’d disappeared, and now he wouldn’t even look Beau in the eye.
His shoulders were rolled in like he was trying to make himself smaller, and there wasn’t a dimple in sight even when he was trying to smile like normal.
By the time Joyce had taken her food with her and the rest of the shop was wrapping up their day, the wrongness of Colt’s silence had settled into Beau’s chest like a stone.
Just over three weeks he’d had that boy in his space all day, every day, and Beau hadn’t known until it was gone how much he’d come to expect the noise.
The tapping of a foot or fingertips, the excited rambles, the directionless flirting, cursing a blue streak when he stubbed his toe or dropped something—Colt was always taking up space.
Not anymore.
Beau watched from his office doorway as Colt wiped down the counters with a look of concentration. The guys were shouting at each other in the shop, but Camila was leaning against a tool bench and staring inside at Colt. She was frowning. Was she seeing what Beau was seeing?
She caught Beau’s eye and looked away.
Frowning, Beau ran his hand down his mustache.
Camila had disappeared at the same time as Colt had during the party, hadn’t she?
Then he’d shown back up a second before her, and his whole demeanor was different.
Now neither of them would look at him. Camila was Colt’s best friend. Maybe he’d told her what was wrong?
‘C’mon, Beau,’ Colt had said, low so no one else heard.
He’d had that mischievous smirk as he’d leaned into Beau’s space, and Beau had shut him down hard and intentionally.
The little shit was a serial flirt, and he’d targeted Beau because Beau was currently his favorite target.
But flirting was one thing. Saying Beau’s legal name here in this shop was another, and Colt was too comfortable if he thought he could.
Colt and Camila had disappeared right after that, though, and now they were both being cagey.
It was Beau’s fault.
Shit.
He’d shut Colt down on purpose because he was being too familiar, and now this was what he got. A quiet that made his teeth ache. Beau didn’t like this subdued husk of who Colt usually was.
But how was he supposed to fix it? He drummed his fingertips on the filing cabinet he had next to his door, the one he’d been searching through when his thoughts had brought him back to Colt.
He’d been looking for numbers, connections he’d let fall through.
Now that Colt’s monitor was off, he could—
Oh.
“C’mere, Colt,” he called.
Colt didn’t call anything back, didn’t rush, just showed up silently in Beau’s doorway and rubbed at his arm.
Stayed in the threshold as Beau leaned back against his desk and pressed his palms into the edge.
When the silence had stretched into uncomfortable territory, Beau realized he’d come to rely on Colt jumping right into conversations before he could even open his mouth.
“I think you should enter the local stock car circuit,” he said, the words spilling out to fill that damn quiet before it could eat him alive.
There it was. Colt’s eyes snapped up to him, his arm dropped, and his mouth perked up into that huge, dimpled grin. A spark of life, a little bounce as he took a step into the room. “What? Really? You think I’m—”
The room that had filled for a moment emptied again. Colt froze, his smile slipped, and he took that step back out of the room. “I mean—yeah. Yeah. I’d really like that, Mr. Moore. If you think I’m ready.”
“Wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.” Beau crossed his arms and watched the stillness in Colt’s feet.
He cleared his throat. “But we’ll need to find a way to get you a car.
Some gear. And stock cars won’t do it in the long run.
You’ll need to get your foot into professional developmental racing before you’re ready for the Cup series.
Think Hardtower owns the series right now.
But I wanna see you on a track, wheel to wheel with other drivers. ”
The shop door opened and someone walked inside the lobby.
“I don’t know,” Colt frowned and looked at the floor. “I’d race for cash, usually. But obviously I can’t do that.”
“I could probably get you a car,” Beau mused. “But—”
“No.”
Beau blinked, and Colt was looking at him for the first time all day with a fire lit behind those green eyes. He shook his head. “No. Thank you, but no. I’ll figure out my own car.”
“I don’t want to step on your toes, but—”
“Yeah, I know I’m poor,” Colt snapped, and Beau felt his own lips briefly part. The kid crossed his arms and looked at a point over Beau’s shoulder. “I’m a big boy. I’ll figure it out. I already owe you enough, Mr. Moore. Don’t make it worse.”
Not one single time since that first night had Beau seen Colt prickly like this. Defensive, spitting like an angry cat with its back up. He stepped away from the desk and held out his hands. “I didn’t mean—”
“You should start posting about your progress,” Camila said softly from the lobby.
She was standing with her hands tucked into the pockets of her jean shorts.
She offered Colt a smile. “You know. Gym pics and videos, fitness progress, show what it takes to go from street racer to NASCAR. You’re already famous.
Ride that wave. People fund their dreams through social media income all the time. ”
Colt was silent again, and he reached up to run a hand over the top of his hair. He nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea. I could post videos of my sim runs. The crashes, then the progress. People will eat that up.”
“And maybe you’ll catch the eye of a sponsor, or Liberty will see and decide to help with the cars or race fees or…
” She pulled her hair over her shoulder and twisted it between her hands.
“I don’t know. I know nothing about racing, but the point is that people already love you.
They’re going to love watching this journey, too. ”
Nodding, Colt tucked his hands in his pockets.
“You’re right, like always. Thanks, Mila.
I’ll start tonight, actually.” He turned to Beau and offered him a half smile.
“Promise I’ll keep you one hundred percent out of it.
I know you value your privacy. No one will see you, or hear your name associated with mine. You’ll just be The Coach.”
“Alright,” Beau agreed. Something twisted in his chest at Colt’s consideration. But it wasn’t new, was it? The boy acted like a wrecking ball, but he was always careful not to topple anything. Pushing, but never too far.
“I was going to take off, since we don’t have training tonight,” Colt said after a moment. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the door. “Everything’s done. You okay if I go?”
No, was the honest answer. No, he wasn’t okay with Colt leaving when he was like this, when Beau hadn’t had a chance to figure out how to fix it, when he didn’t have a clue where to start. But what was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do?
“Yeah.” He nodded and watched as Colt immediately looked away. “See you in the morning.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Moore,” Colt called over his shoulder.
Camila caught his arm as he passed and leaned in. “Hey. Want a ride? We could go somewhere, maybe? Get a drink.”
“I can’t drink right now. Not part of the meal plan.” Colt shrugged her off, but reached out and pulled her head in to give her a kiss in her hair right after. He let her go. “Thanks, though. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Love you,” Camila said as he walked off.
“You too,” Colt called back over his shoulder.
They watched as he walked outside and put his hands in his pockets before turning toward his apartments and setting off into the dimming sun.
“What happened?” Beau asked.
Camila ran both hands through her hair and stopped at her neck, pulled on it and tipped her head back. “I said something I shouldn’t have, and he…dammit. My big fucking mouth.”
“What did you say?” Beau asked, and maybe he was sharper than he’d meant to be, but he couldn’t help it. Everything felt wrong.
For a long moment, Camila kept looking at the ceiling. Then she dropped her arms and shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll fix it.”
“Camila.” Beau stepped forward and ducked his head to catch her eye. “I feel like this’s got something do with me somehow. Tell me what happened.”
But she didn’t give. Camila shook her head and turned away. “It’s fine, boss. Thanks for your concern though. I’m gonna take off, too.”
“Alright,” Beau said, because there really wasn’t anything else he could do.
***
Two days after the party, Colt was quietly cleaning the counters and Beau was trying not to crawl out of his damn skin. Colt was quiet in training, quiet in the truck on the way home, quiet when he showed up to work, quiet when he went to Joyce’s, and quiet when he came back.
Beau fucking hated it.
And he was damn well on his way to hating his own last name now, too.
Good morning, Mr. Moore.
Thank you, Mr. Moore.
Can I go now, Mr. Moore?
“Colt,” Beau called. Colt paused what he was doing and turned his ear toward Beau’s office, and Beau stretched his fingers. “Come here.”
Colt set the cloth down next to the spray bottle and stood up, wiped his hands on the front of his coveralls and came over. He didn’t look Beau in the eye, of course. “Yes, Mr. Moore?”
Jaw ticking, Beau ground his teeth and took a breath. “You wanna come work the sim tonight? Cat would probably appreciate the company. Or the table scraps.”
“We don’t have training tonight.”
No stupid name for Beau’s cat like Trash Goblin or Princess Fluffer the Third. No smile at the mention of using the sim again. Nothing.
“I know,” Beau growled before swallowing down his frustration. “I know that. But I thought—”
“I’m busy tonight,” Colt snapped.