53. Chapter 53
Charlotte
“Jesus fuck.” Colt winced as he took his first inhale of air that hadn’t been conditioned. “It feels like trying to breathe through a damp towel.”
Beau snorted. “Desert baby. This isn’t even bad.”
Colt took his bag off his own shoulder and dropped it on Beau’s as they stepped out onto the curb. “Fine. Take my bag then, since I’m a baby.”
“Mature.” Beau hefted the bag anyway, and Colt bit his lip to keep from smirking at how he looked in his dark green polo carrying Colt’s loud-ass bag. “Got a rental. Supposed to meet at the office in Concord in an hour.”
A group of travelers dashed past them, roller bags droning as they whipped by. The older man was yelling at the teen in another language. They were probably late.
“And you’re taking me by Bojangles, too, right?” Sweat trickled down into the collar of Colt’s t-shirt, but it didn’t matter because everything was fucking moist. Gross. “I am starving.”
“You’re not eating fried chicken before you get in a car going a hundred and eighty miles an hour.” Beau stepped around a mother tying her little girl’s shoes. “Unless you want your legacy to be ‘Kid Who Tossed His Cookies Day One’.”
“At least I’d have a legacy.” They filed into the rental building behind a line nearly out the door, and Colt sighed in relief at the feeling of fresh, conditioned air. “Bright side.”
Beau chuckled and shook his head, and they waited in silence for their turn to get their car.
***
Colt watched the trees zip past his window, sitting in the passenger seat of a gray Tacoma and trying not to feel the silence.
Not literal silence—Colt’s phone was connected to the bluetooth, and Bohemian Rhapsody was blaring over the speakers.
Beau, however, hadn’t said a single word in twenty minutes.
Not even when Colt had played that Bloodhound Gang song about boning like animals.
Just gripped the steering wheel with both hands, eyes firmly on the road. Silent.
Twenty-two minutes later, they exited the highway toward a warehouse complex, and Liberty Speedworks sprawled out before them. Glass and steel reflected the sun back into Colt’s eyes when he hopped out of the truck, and he squinted as he dropped his sunglasses back down onto his nose.
“Mr. Rourke, Mr. Moore.”
A man was hurrying toward them from the building. Deep blue suit, dark skin, electric blue hair, the man held out his hand to Colt first, the nails painted the same color as his hair. Colt took it and shook, and the man turned to Beau.
“My name is Theo,” he said, smiling and showing off the jewel embedded in his right incisor. “I was sent to bring you into the command center. Are we ready?”
“Yeah,” Colt agreed since Beau was still playing statue. “Thank you.”
“Of course!” Theo gestured for them to follow, and they fell into step behind him as he led them to the main building entrance, a huge circular front made entirely of glass with a massive pride flag waving next to the stars and stripes.
Colt grinned up at it as they passed under. Sam hadn’t been wrong that he could really fit in here.
Toward the back of the starkly white lobby was an archway, and Theo led them through it and paused a few feet in.
Which was good, because Colt had to stop and stare.
The whole hallway was more like a catwalk with a glass floor.
Beneath their feet was a chassis shop, people in Liberty-colored coveralls scurrying around working on a car that hadn’t been painted yet.
“That’s so cool.” Crouching down to get a better look, Colt peered toward the other side of the room and found Vic Navarro’s car with three people working on it. Black and neon sulfur and plastered with a bunch of logos, it was badass under the shop lights.
“It is, right?” Theo smiled at him, genuinely warm. “Wait until you see the command center. Come this way.”
“Command center,” Beau said as he hauled Colt up by his bicep. The first words he'd spoken since they left the airport, and he wasn't looking at Colt at all. “That the war room?”
Beau dropped Colt’s arm.
“Sure is!” Theo started walking, and Colt followed, the warmth from Beau’s grip still seeping into his skin even though he'd let go. “But Laura is a bit of a sci-fi fan. Prefers command center.”
Theo led them across the catwalk to a reception desk with no one behind it. A framed photo sat on top—Theo perched on the arm of a massive, gorgeous man in full bearded drag. Two guesses whose desk it was.
Colt loved this place.
The command center was a big-ass room with a million screens and one wall made completely of glass so they could see into the shop. Walters, Navarro, and Hoyt were gathered around a conference table waiting for them, all three heads turning as they walked in.
Walters stood and crossed the room with a red-lipped smile that matched her pantsuit. “Thank you for being here, gentlemen.”
She offered her hand to Beau first, which gave her instant points in Colt’s book.
“Thank you for the opportunity.” Colt grinned at her and waved to Vic, who saluted him and dropped her loafered feet on the table.
“Let's get down to it.” Hoyt remained seated, and Colt resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He'd followed Hoyt's career tangentially. Never liked how rigid he was, though he really was talented.
“Give ‘em a second to breathe, Mark, geez.” Vic flicked a paper triangle at him, and he swatted it away.
“If I have to tell you not to call me Mark one more time—”
“You'll what?” Smirking, Vic laced her fingers behind her head. “You're that poor sucker's Crew Chief, not mine.”
“Not yet.” Hoyt raised an eyebrow at Colt and gestured to the chair in front of them.
The single chair.
Colt raised both eyebrows. “Oh, looks like you forgot a chair, actually.” He spotted the extras lined along the back wall. “No worries, man. I'll go get it.”
“That's not necessary, Mr. Rourke,” Hoyt said as he folded his hands on top of the table. “Theo is already prepared to give Mr. Moore a tour of the facilities while we discuss the schedule for the next few days.”
“Oh, that's nice.” Colt nodded and turned toward the row of chairs. “But, you know, should probably have my coach here. You get it.”
“Mr. Rourke—”
“Colt.”
Colt froze, one hand on the back of a rolling chair, that rumbling single syllable something his body obeyed on instinct at this point. Beau was watching Hoyt. Blank, if you didn't know him. Assessing if you did. Like he was sizing the other man up, or seeing him clearly.
“Sit down.”
Fuck that and fuck Hoyt and fuck—
“Colt.” Beau turned to him then, not blank anymore, but soft, maybe. “Sit.”
Walters and Navarro were watching the exchange like a tennis match, and Colt didn't want Beau to go.
But Beau was just trying to keep the peace, and he didn't want Colt’s temper to fuck things up day one.
So Colt gritted his teeth and went back to the table like he hadn't just tried to put Hoyt directly in his place.
The chair squealed in the silence of the room as it took his weight.
Theo, standing in the doorway through it all, cleared his throat. “If you'll follow me, Mr. Moore.”
Beau’s eyes settled on Hoyt one more time before he nodded at Colt and left, Theo smiling at the room at large before he snicked the door shut behind them.
And for the first time since Colt had gotten that phone call, he was alone in this.
He turned back to the Liberty crew, and Vic caught his eye before subtly rubbing the tip of her nose with her middle finger.