29. Chapter 29 #2
Toast just might love Colt more than he loved Beau.
Right after Beau settled himself, he nuzzled Beau’s cheek and hopped down to trot across the room.
He jumped up onto the couch and shoved Colt’s legs with his body until there was enough room for him, turned in a circle, and settled down with his nose buried in his own tail.
The whiskey glass was cool against Beau’s skin as he pressed the rim against his forehead and watched Colt’s back rise and fall.
***
Beau’s eyes snapped open. The clock read 4:17 AM. Why the hell was he awake? He rubbed his cheeks and blinked blearily at the ceiling.
A loud, distressed yowl echoed through his house, the kind Toast almost never made. The cat had spent hours glued to Colt’s side, comforting him, and he was gonna ruin all that by screaming at the asscrack of dawn.
Yawning, Beau rolled out of bed and slipped his shirt back on. He padded across the room and out into the hallway, but stopped at the couch to make sure Colt was still out. The blanket was dangling onto the floor, and there was a glass of water on the coffee table. Colt wasn’t there at all.
Toast yowled again, and Beau followed the sound through the kitchen and to the door leading to his garage. The furry menace was stretched up with his front paws against the wood while he made all that ruckus. Colt must be in the garage, and it didn’t take a genius to guess why.
“Alright.” He nudged Toast away from the door with his foot. “I’ll go get your boy. Just shut your fuzzy trap, will you?”
The cat gave him an unimpressed sneeze, and when Beau opened the door, Toast tried to dart through before Beau could. Beau caught him around the middle and dropped him back in the hallway, ignoring his indignant meow as Beau slipped into the garage and shut the beast out.
His eyes zeroed in on the sim immediately, up and running, the light from the three screens washing the garage in blue because Colt hadn't turned on the overhead lights. With a soft, puffed-out exhale, Beau walked barefoot across the mostly clean floor and came to stand behind the seat.
Colt was sweating, his cheeks pink from fatigue, exertion, the sauna the garage became with the doors shut in monsoon season.
His hands were tight on the wheel, and he was running a sim with nineteen other cars.
No sound, but Colt had his noise-cancelling headphones on.
As he watched, Colt took a tight turn, tried for an opening, and crashed.
The sim blipped and started back on the grid, and Colt blinked.
From the number of runs listed in the sim data, Colt had been at this for a long time. Beau came around the side where he knew Colt could see him, but Colt kept his gaze firmly on the sim. So Beau reached out and removed the headphones.
Colt glanced at Beau briefly, but went right back to the race. Bags under his slightly glazed eyes, Colt looked dead tired. But he pressed his lips together and kept going anyway.
“Turn it off, Colt,” Beau said.
“I just need to—”
“You need sleep,” Beau interrupted as the lights flickered across Colt’s cheekbones. “This isn't helping you. You're punishing yourself.”
“Well, maybe that’s what I deserve.” Colt’s eyebrows drew together as he took a turn on the sim. “I just need to get it right.”
“You’re not gonna get it right when you’re like this.” When Beau reached for Colt’s shoulder, Colt dipped out of reach. Beau settled his hand on the seatback instead. “I’m tellin’ you as your coach: turn it off. Now.”
Colt still didn’t shut it down, so Beau leaned across him and did it himself.
The screens flickered off just as Colt’s car was veering into a wall again, and the garage went dark without the lights from the sim.
Moonlight filtered in through the garage windows, and Toast threw himself against the door leading to the inside.
“What the fuck, Beau?” Colt hissed, whipping around in his seat. He hadn’t even done the harness up. “Why would you do that?”
“You’re not helpin’ yourself. Ain’t fixin’ nothin’.” Beau raised both eyebrows at Colt and tightened his hand on the seatback. “All you’re doin’ is relivin’ your pain on repeat, and I won’t sit here and watch you do it.”
“Then go back inside.” Colt turned back to the sim and flipped it back on.
“Colt.”
Colt squared his shoulders and started the next round, the little—
Growling, Beau moved to the other side of the sim and yanked the cord out of the wall socket.
“Goddamnit!” Colt scrambled out of the seat and stormed over to Beau, pointing a finger at his chest. “What’s your problem?”
Beau crossed his arms. “You know what my problem is, boy. Get your ass back in the house before I carry you there myself.”
“You wouldn’t.” Colt was seething, but Beau could see right through it to the pain of it all. He stood his ground as Colt paced away and ran his hands through his hair before storming back. “You don’t get to make that call.”
“I'm the only man who gets to make that call.” Beau kept his voice calm and even. “You don't get to choose this when you're losing it.”
“Move,” Colt snapped.
“No, I don't think I will,” Beau drawled.
Quicker than Beau could have tracked if he weren't expecting it, Colt tried to dart around him and grab the cord. Beau snatched him around the waist with one arm and lifted him off his feet.
Colt kicked his feet and flailed as he tried to get back to the floor. “Let me down,” he snarled as he tried to twist away. “This is bullshit!”
“Mhmm.” Beau hiked Colt over his shoulder like a sack of grain and carried him toward the garage door.
As Colt kicked out and gave a wordless, strangled scream, Beau turned toward the back yard instead. The whole way, Colt fought. He was exhausted, underfed, dehydrated, in the middle of self-flagellation, and absolutely checked out of his body.
Beau carried him to the bean-shaped pool, littered with leaves on top from the storms but otherwise clean. Shifted his grip. “Sorry about this.”
Then he tossed Colt into the water and hopped right in himself.