47. Chapter 47 #4
“My parents, Charlotte and Tobias, own the Rourke Foundation for Theoretical Physics and Global Sustainability.” He let that land for a minute, remembering the way Camila had nearly imploded when he'd told her a couple years into their friendship.
“Sounds fancy,” Beau murmured. “They rich then?”
Colt laughed and kissed Beau’s sternum. “Yeah. Filthy rich. Got a whole building dedicated to them at ASU.”
“And yet here you are,” Beau ventured, all gentle and steady.
“Here I am.” His breath fanned across Beau’s chest as he sighed. “The disappointment who couldn't sit still like his brother, who spent his time in the garage instead of racking up volunteer hours for a future Ivy League application.”
Beau hummed, still touching, not pushing.
“Anyway. Connor was the golden child. They knew he'd get into MIT before he was twelve.” His heart twisted, but it wasn’t the soul-sucking pain that talking about Connor had brought up two months ago.
“And they smothered him to death over it. When he was fifteen, he started street racing in the Corvette my grandad left him. Wiped the floor with everyone.”
Beau snorted. “Genetic, probably.”
“Yeah.” Colt's hand drifted to Toast's head, and he scratched behind those fluffy ears. “Great Granddad raced. Cormac Rourke. Dad hated him for it.”
Beau went still. "Cormac Rourke." Not a question. Recognition.
"You know him?"
"Know OF him. He was—Christ, Colt. He was a legend. Three-time Indy champion in the sixties. They called him the Red Comet." Beau shifted to look down at Colt. "You're his great-grandson?”
“Yup.” Toast batted at Colt’s fingers, and Colt poked his nose. “Great Granddad died when my grandpa was fifteen. Con and I thought maybe that was why everyone hated racing so much. Great Granddad chose it over his family again and again. Then he died and it left a scar on everyone else.”
Beau was quiet, processing maybe. That stillness was one of the things Colt liked best about Beau. Everything about Colt was so loud. The contrast calmed him.
“I went to some kid's birthday party when I was, like, seven.
Connor brought me because our parents had a charity event or some shit, you know, but they'd rented this go-kart place where the karts go a lot faster than they should.” Colt laughed.
“I wiped the floor with every one of them, and Connor said he'd never seen me so happy in my life. Used his street racing winnings to put me in a kart, and I dominated there too.”
“You're looking at the Cup Series.” Fingers traced Colt’s shoulder blade. “You kart because your great-granddaddy did?”
Heat flushed up Colt’s cheeks, and he cleared his throat. “No. Um. I watched NASCAR races with my friend's family and—uh.”
“And?”
Colt sat up and rubbed the back of his neck. “And there was this driver I really looked up to. A rookie who raced like he was a veteran.”
His eyes flicked to Beau, who had pulled himself up on his elbow and was watching him like he knew exactly what he was about to say.
“The Reeve. I know that's—I know it's weird, okay? I didn't—I mean I was just a kid, right? And I know I still have your poster, but—wait, fuck. No, forget I said that. Shit, that's—you know that's not why I—”
Beau’s hand cupped the back of his neck, and Colt stilled. Fuck. Goddamn. This was embarrassing. What if Beau thought that was the only reason he wanted him? Like a goddamn groupie, or—
“Deep breath, boy.” Beau sat up too and bracketed Colt with his long legs. “I knew you watched me race, remember? Wasn't exactly a secret considering the way you talked when we first met.”
When Colt had laid out Beau's past like a moron. Jesus fuck. Colt leaned back against Beau’s chest despite the way he'd just lost it like a freak. “Sorry.”
Beau wrapped both arms around Colt and pulled him closer, hooked his chin over Colt’s shoulder. “Why'd you go to Legend Cars instead of USF2000? Three-time WKA champion—you should have been well up on the ladder to Indy.”
“Ah, well.” Colt shrugged. “I stole Con's street car when I was eleven.
Nearly outraced his best friend before Connor chased me down in the ‘Vet. I liked the power, the dirt, the weight. Besides, Connor was good, but a season of USF2000 is, like, two hundred and fifty grand. Legend Cars cost fifteen k and a willingness to fight dirty.”
“You know what?” Beau shook his head, his stubble rubbing roughly against Colt’s shoulder. “Couldn't picture your feral ass in an IndyCar, now that I'm thinking about it.”
“You wanna see feral? Watch this.” Colt pulled away from Beau long enough to grab his phone off the nightstand before settling back in. He scrolled through his pictures as far back as they'd go and found the one he wanted.
He was fourteen, his hair falling into his eyes, one of which was nearly swollen shut.
Lip split and grinning a bloody, huge grin, Colt was standing on the podium with bloodstains on his white racing suit and holding a trophy that was nearly as big as he was.
Next to him were P2 and P3, and P2 was glaring at Colt like he'd just spit in his face.
Beau buried his chuckle against Colt’s shoulder. “You look like you were in an MMA match, not a race.” He pointed at P2. “You put him in the wall, or beat him in a fight?”
“Both.” Man, that kid had been pissed. “That's Remington Whitney. Legacy, from big oil money. Our families were friends, and we got along for a long time right up until we didn’t.
He'd called Connor a trailer park grease monkey before this race started, so I decided he didn't need a clean bumper the rest of the run.
Jumped me in the pits, but I kneed him in the balls. He's driving Cup Series now, actually.”
Colt turned off his phone and tucked it in his lap, and Toast finally deemed him worthy of affection. He climbed right on top of Colt’s phone and flopped onto his back so Colt could rub his soft belly.
“That race should have been a turning point for us.” He ran his hand up one of Toast’s paws, and Toast grabbed it to nibble his fingers and kick his wrist. “Small sponsors started knocking. Bigger with every race, and we needed them. Our parents flat-out refused.”
The wound of those discussions was scarred over by now, but he could still remember the pain of it the first time he'd come to his parents with a contract offer and they'd looked at him like he'd brought them a dead animal.
Connor had taken him out for a massive milkshake and salty fries they could dip in it, and told him it was fine. They didn't need the sponsors.
“A couple years later, I got a huge offer. They wanted to keep me through Legend and train me for the development series. Massive money.” Toast meowed as Colt buried his hand in his fur. “But I was still a minor, and I still needed them to sign.”
Beau’s arms tightened around Colt’s middle. “They wouldn't sign.”
“They wouldn't sign. And Connor had just finished at MIT and he was furious. They fought like I'd never heard them fight. It was—”
Connor had told him to go to the garage, but he'd sat on the stairs to listen instead. The raised voices that had elevated to screams, the sound of a fist hitting the wall.
‘You're gonna fucking drown him like you did me, and you don't give one shit!’
‘Oh, please. You two have it so easy, and—’
‘Give me custody. Let me adopt him, and I'll take that job you want me to have at your foundation. Just—God. Don't do this to him, too.’
“Awful. It was awful.” His hand went to the wasp still around his neck. “Connor left, and he was so, so mad. And he—um. He went to race Morrow Peak. That was the last time we ever saw him.”
Tears welled and dripped out of his eyes, but he didn't lose his shit this time. “I didn't have funding anymore, and my parents blamed me, and I blamed me. By the time I was eighteen, it had been too long. No more sponsors, no more racing, and it felt like I'd…like I'd failed him, you know?”
“You didn't.” Beau kissed the back of his neck and ran his thumb along Colt's hip.
His voice was fierce. “You didn't fail him.
Your parents did. They failed you both. Connor saw you for what you are, and they saw you for what you weren't. And he got in that car and took that race because of them, not you.”
Colt sniffed and pressed back harder, warm and grounded. Some part of him heard the truth in that, and every part of him wanted to believe it just because Beau was so damn sure. But he'd spent a long time blaming himself. Old habits die hard.
“It helps, you know, what we're—what I'm doing.” He cleared his throat and rubbed his knuckles against Toast’s cheek. “It feels like I've been in stasis for a really long time, and I'm waking up, and I'm doing what we dreamed about.”
“You deserve this, Colt.” Beau squeezed Colt to his chest and kissed his shoulder again. “Connor would be damn proud of you. And, if it’s worth anything, I am, too.”
“Of course it’s worth something, you big idiot.” It was worth everything. Colt turned and nipped Beau’s stubbled jaw, then soothed it with a kiss. “Thank you for getting me here. For taking a chance on me.”
“You got yourself here. I just provided the tools.” Beau tugged him down until they were lying in the bed with Colt in his favorite position as little spoon. He wiggled, happy, and shoved his feet between Beau’s calves. Beau huffed. “‘Sides—couldn’t let down my biggest fan, could I?”
Colt gasped. “Mean!”
“You like me mean, remember?” Beau rumbled against Colt’s back as Toast tried to wedge himself between them.
“Yeah,” Colt admitted. “I really do.”