21. 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 he was proud 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—”
“You named your thirty-pound predator Toast?” There were still tears dripping sluggishly from Colt’s eyes, but he was grinning that shit-eating grin when he looked at Beau anyway. “Beau. Oh my God.”
“If you think that cat's a predator, you haven't been paying attention.” Beau glared at the fuzzy menace as he rubbed his body against Colt’s calves. “Once saw a mouse grab food right out of his bowl while he was eating. Damn useless, that's what he is. Let the mouse go without a twitch. And he’s only twenty-five pounds. I ain’t got no obese cat.”
“You've gotta tell me how you named him Toast,” Colt said as he wiped his eyes again. “Come on. You know I'll literally never let it go if you don't. I'll follow you to your deathbed still asking.”
Beau's face was burning. He just knew he was red as he tipped his head back and sighed. “Coyotes.”
Colt sniffed. “What?”
“I have coyotes in the desert behind my house,” Beau continued. “And I like to sit out back and have breakfast most mornings.”
“And..?”
“And one morning I heard them yipping the way they do when they got their prey cornered, and this kitten just yowling and hissing his little head off.” He crossed his arms and looked out his back door. “And I ran to save it, and I had my toast in my hand, and I…threw it at the coyotes.”
Colt gaped at the side of Beau’s face for a long moment before he dissolved into a fit of laughter so hard he had to lean back against the wall and hold his sides.
There were still some tears, Beau could tell, but the kind that were half-joy and half-sorrow.
Beau might just die of embarrassment, but Colt deserved the laugh.
“Did it work?” Colt asked between chuckles as he slid down the wall and Toast climbed into his lap. The cat shoved his face against Colt’s and purred like a freight train. “The toast. Or did you have to get in there yourself?”
“Don't think they knew what to do with toast smacking one of them in the back of the head while some idiot human came running at them in boots and pants and nothing else.” Beau watched Toast licking Colt’s cheeks and shook his head.
“I grabbed the kitten while they sniffed the toast and ran. Went to the vet, and when they asked his name I just said the first thing that came to mind.”
Toast put both paws on Colt’s shoulder and bit at one of his curls, and Colt laughed. “Beau, that's just about the cutest thing I've ever heard in my entire life.”
“S'not cute,” Beau mumbled. He scratched his mustache and glared at the agents of chaos cuddling on his floor. “S'manly. Heroic.”
“Yeah,” Colt agreed as he wiped the last of the tears from his cheeks with the heel of his palm.
The wasp was still dangling from his fingers on the string, and when Colt pulled his hand back he held it up to look at it. He clenched his hand around it again.
“Get up off my floor and come eat something,” Beau said before Colt’s smile could slip all the way off again. He kicked Colt's sneaker. “C'mon.”
“Yeah, alright.” Colt wrapped his arms around Toast, and the cat fixed himself into a comfortable loaf shape. “Come on, crispy boy. I'll feed you under the table.”
“Crispy boy.” Beau sighed as he led the way toward the kitchen.
“Yeah.” Colt nudged Beau with his shoulder. “Coz toast is—”
“Yeah, I got it.” Beau rolled his eyes and gave Colt a gentle shove. “Brat.”
They ate at the kitchen island, Colt feeding Toast bits of rice cracker and not even trying to be subtle about it. Later, Colt fell asleep on Beau's couch again just like he belonged there, one arm slung over his eyes, the scrap of shirt clinging for dear life around his chest.
Beau covered him with a blanket and went to get the check from the entry way table before Toast found it and made it a snack.
When he picked it up and smoothed it out, he let out a soft whistle.
Seventy thousand. Beau had seen custom builds sell for more, but he was still surprised at the amount.
No way Colt hadn't fought for this price in street racing circles.
The name on the check was Rosario Santos.
He put the check in a drawer to keep it safe from questing paws, and looked around for said cat to make sure he wasn't about to try to lay on Colt’s face and smother him in his sleep.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Toast dart across the room with his tail in the air.
He was batting at something, and by the sound of metal against the floors Beau figured it wasn't something he was supposed to have.
“Psst.” He snapped his fingers as he approached, and Toast turned to blink balefully at him. “Don't look at me like that. You got plenty of toys. Go play with those instead.”
Toast meowed at him and came to rub against his legs, and Beau scratched behind his ears as he leaned down to pick up the thing on the floor.
It was the golden wasp. The one he'd seen but not registered that night hanging from the rearview. Beau held it up and watched it spin in the light. Saw that it had little black gems for eyes. He hummed and carried it out into the garage as Colt slept and Toast climbed up onto his legs.