57. Chapter 57
They arrived for their meeting with Liberty at eight fifteen in the morning, and Theo was already standing out front waiting for them.
Wearing flowy black pants that looked like a skirt when he stood still and a white blouse, he smiled as they approached and held out a cup of coffee for Beau and an energy drink for Colt.
“Oh, I think I love you,” Colt sighed as he took the drink and cracked it open.
“Flattered, baby, but you know I’m happily married.” Theo winked at Beau, who raised both eyebrows.
Hell. Was it obvious?
Colt laughed. “Yeah, I saw the picture on your desk. He looks amazing. Local shows?”
Opening the door and ushering them through, Theo nodded. “Yeah, but he travels to host burlesque shows around the state.”
“So cool.”
They kept chattering, and Beau was content to follow along.
When they walked over the chassis shop, he looked down in time to see the Jackman from yesterday, Hank, catch sight of him and wave.
Beau waved back and shook his head. He’d been brought in by a lot of teams during his career, invited to tracks across the country when they needed someone who could tame a road course.
But he’d never seen a team like this, really.
Colt was going to fit here in a way Beau wasn’t sure if Colt had ever fit many places in his life.
The thought shouldn’t have made his stomach twist.
Theo guided them to his desk, the door to the command center tightly closed. He looked up at the clock. “They’ll be out for you in just a few minutes. Make yourselves comfortable while you wait.”
Colt hopped up on Theo’s desk and grinned as Beau rolled his eyes, and Theo sat next to him. He crossed one leg over the other.
It was only a few seconds before the sound of a raised voice had Beau’s shoulders tensing.
He looked at the door to the office and stepped closer to the desk, and Colt snorted, probably amused that Beau felt like he had to stand between Colt and a threat.
Of course he knew Colt could fight for himself.
He’d seen it with his own eyes. That didn’t change his instincts, though.
The door flew open, and Marcus Hoyt stormed out of the room, red-faced and seething. “—the most unprofessional operation I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe you—”
He stopped when he caught sight of them, his lip curling at Beau. “You. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”
Beau crossed his arms and shrugged as Colt came to stand next to him. “Might be.”
Hoyt ground his teeth, and his eyes flicked to Colt. But whatever he wanted to say, he seemed to think better of it, because he straightened his shoulders, huffed, and walked past.
“Bye Mark,” Colt sing-songed, waiting until Hoyt turned to tell him off to give him a little finger wiggle like a wave.
Beau smacked his hand down, and Hoyt growled before hurrying out.
Theo came to stand on Beau’s other side. “Well, that was exciting.”
There was no time to answer. The click of high heels drew their attention. Walters stood in the doorway and adjusted the cuffs of her white suit jacket. She smiled at them. “Now that we have that all sorted out.” She gestured into the room. “If you’ll both follow me, please.”
Colt went first, and Beau followed after a gentle nudge from Theo.
Last time he’d walked into this room, he’d been summarily dismissed in a way that still made him clench his teeth.
But this time there were two chairs in front of Walters and Navarro, who had her head propped in her hand and was tapping her tattooed fingers against Beau’s tablet.
They sat. Colt turned to give Beau a huge, dimpled smile, and waited for Walters to take her seat, too.
“So,” she started, lacing her fingers together on top of the table. “Quite the exciting weekend, wouldn’t you say?”
Beau snorted, and Colt laughed.
Walters leaned back in her chair and regarded them with shrewd, dark eyes. “As you’re both aware, this weekend was a test for Colton. But it was also a test for Marcus, and, to a lesser degree, for you as well, Mr. Moore.”
“Excuse me?” Beau looked at Walters like he was seeing her for the first time, and maybe he was. “Why were you testing me?”
“Because Mr. Rourke made it incredibly clear in our first meeting that you were more than qualified to continue on as his coach, if not his Crew Chief.” She looked at Colt, who was avoiding Beau’s gaze, then turned back to Beau.
“And we wondered why a mechanic from Southern Arizona with seemingly no connection to racing might have that level of faith from an admittedly very talented driver.”
Beau’s hand clenched into a fist on his thigh, and his mouth went dry, and he knew what was coming before it was even said.
“So, we researched Mercer Moore, and do you know what we found?”
“Jack shit,” Navarro piped in, all cheer—a menace just like Colt.
Walters smiled indulgently. “Jack shit. Yes.”
Don’t.
The thought slammed against his teeth, but nothing came out, and his shoulders went stiff. Colt finally turned to look at him, chewing the inside of his cheek.
“Imagine my surprise when we took a deep dive into your shop records and discovered your real name isn’t Mercer at all.
” Walters leaned forward again, unaware or uncaring that Beau was starting to sweat, that his legs were starting to cramp with the need to run.
“But Beauregard Mercer Moore. The Reeve.”
“Hey.” Colt slapped his hand on the table and Beau took a sharp breath. “Stop. Don’t do this to him. He doesn’t want it. Just—look at him. Leave it, Walters.”
Navarro wasn’t smiling anymore. She leaned forward and shook her head. “We aren’t going to tell the world, Rourke, Moore. That wasn’t—that’s not what this is. And that’s exactly why we didn’t say anything the first day. We knew he was hiding for a reason. But, look, after yesterday—”
“Yesterday, you proved that you belong here, Beauregard.” Walters had gentled her voice, and was watching Beau with soft eyes full of compassion.
“In the world of racing. You knew what he needed, you stepped in like you'd been doing this all your life, and you gave it to him.
The pit crew hadn't spoken to you one single time, but they listened to you because they recognized the same thing I did: Beauregard Moore belongs on that War Wagon.”
Beau didn’t know what to say, how to move, how to unclench his jaw.
A knee pressed against his thigh as Colt leaned close to Beau and lowered his voice. “Do you want to go? We can go.”
Colt’s hand slid on top of his and pushed until Beau parted his fingers, and Beau turned to look into his green eyes. Fingers slid between his and squeezed, and Beau took a breath.
We can go.
Just walk right out of the biggest opportunity Colt might ever be offered, like it was nothing. And he would, too—Beau knew that stubborn set of his mouth.
“You're not goin’ anywhere.” He squeezed Colt’s hand and held on as he turned back to Walters, who was watching them. “What do you want from me, Walters?”
“We want you as Colton Rourke's crew chief.” Colt sucked in a sharp inhale, and Walters turned a smile on him before focusing back on Beau. “For the remainder of the season, at least, though we'd gladly take you as far as Colton will go.”
Before Beau could answer, she pushed two stacks of paper toward him, one larger than the other. “We'd like you to take the week to decide.”
“And Colt?” Beau asked as Colt ran his thumb along Beau’s knuckles.
“We want Colton on our team either way, of course.” Walters tapped the smaller stack.
“If you decide you don't want the position, I've provided a shortlist of retired drivers we think might be a better fit for Colton than Marcus.
You might know some of them, and we'd like you to give your opinions.”
“Look, Moore.” Navarro sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. “As a professional courtesy, I'm gonna tell you that you're in the promo video Overthrow plans to release. Coach supposed to be doing the handoff takes over and hops into the pits like he owns the place while the crew chief has an aneurysm? Marketing gold.”
Walters nodded. “Yes. Whether you want it or not, you're associated with the racing world again. And someone, somewhere, is going to find out who you are.”
Colt’s fingers tensed. “Can't you have them cut him out?”
“I'm afraid not.” Walters did sound regretful as she shook her head. “Overthrow doesn't work for us, and neither of you were contracted with us when they filmed. We agreed they could take whatever footage they needed. We just didn't expect…well. This.”
This was bound to happen. Beau had known, somewhere deep inside, that the more famous Colt got, the more likely it was Beau’s identity would get out. The world tilted as he considered what it was going to be like when people knew.
What would his crew say?
Joyce?
Would someone who used to know him seek him out?
And Sutt's parents. Hell. They were going to see his face everywhere if they still followed racing. The face of the man who had gotten their son—
“Beau?” Colt tugged on his hand, and Beau blinked at him. “Let’s go. They can send the contracts, and we can—we can talk.”
Beau took another breath, the ringing in his ears quieting as he squeezed Colt’s fingers again. “No. No, this is your moment, Colt. I won't take it from you. You start goin’ over your contract, and—”
“And, what?” Colt shook his head. “You think my wild ass can read through that legalese today and make sense of any of it? I can barely sit through reading a freaking menu. We need a lawyer, and I have shit to think about, too.”
When Beau didn't answer, Colt let go of his hand and turned back to the others. “We'll take the week. Can you send the contracts to my address?”
Walters pushed the list of possible crew chiefs toward Beau and pulled the other stack of papers back. “We'd prefer to send Beauregard's to his own home.”
“Well, you're not getting his address.” Colt picked up the list and reached across the table to take Beau’s tablet back. “So, you can send it to the shop, or to mine.”
Navarro was looking at them both with a smirk like she was watching her favorite kind of chaos. “That's fine. We can send it to the shop.”
“Vic.” Walters sighed when Navarro shrugged at her. “Alright. Yes. We'll send them to you at your shop.”
“Thanks.” Colt tugged Beau up, and Beau went willingly.
Then Colt pushed him toward the door. He paused with his hand on Beau's back to turn and smile at the others like he'd just remembered what this meeting had been about.
“Thank you for the opportunity, Ms. Navarro, Ms. Walters. You won't regret it.”
He kept pushing until Beau was in the lobby, and finally let go as they passed Theo, who waved with one hand, a phone to his ear with the other. Colt waved back, and Beau followed as he headed out of the building, over the shop, and to the parking lot.
“Keys,” Colt said with his hand out as they approached the truck.
“Colt, I can—”
“Keys.”
How was he supposed to argue with the way Colt was looking at them all serious and big-eyed, after he'd just offered to walk away from this opportunity for Beau? Beau dropped the keys in Colt’s hand and got into the passenger seat.
The only noise on the drive was Colt drumming the steering wheel, and they didn't say a word all the way up to Beau’s room. Beau fished the key out of his pocket and Colt shoved the door open.
“Our flight back is in six hours,” Beau said, toeing off his boots and leaving them at the door. “Are you packed?”
“Beau.”
Beau turned toward the living room and picked up a discarded shirt. “We should get to the airport three hours early. Security has always been a nightmare here.”
“Beau.” Colt stepped in front of him, and Beau moved around and folded the shirt on the way to his duffel, which was on the kitchenette counter.
“We should probably—”
A hand slipped onto his forearm as he put the shirt in his bag. “Baby, look at me.”
Swallowing past the thickness in his throat, Beau turned.
Colt was staring up at him like he was seeing what Beau had been shoving down deep, and Beau didn’t know what to do.
But Colt did. He ran his hand up Beau’s arm to his elbow and tugged until Beau followed him to the couch.
Then he gently pushed Beau onto it, and climbed up into his lap with one knee on either side of Beau’s hips.
“Talk to me.” Colt grabbed Beau’s hand and laced their fingers again, pressing both against Colt’s chest. “Please talk to me.”
“I can’t.” Beau’s voice came out strained, and he closed his eyes. “You want me to go. You want me to say yes.”
“It doesn’t matter what I want.” Colt shifted closer so he could push Beau’s hair back from his forehead with his free hand. “This is about Sutton, isn’t it?”
Hearing Sutton’s name out loud right now was like missing a step on a staircase. But he wasn’t going to lie. Not to Colt. So he nodded, Colt’s steady heartbeat under his palm.
“Is it…are you afraid to go back to the tracks you raced with him?” Colt’s voice was gentle, as soft as his hand on Beau’s cheek.
“My parents died in a wreck when I was fourteen.” Colt sucked in a breath, and Beau opened his eyes. Colt was watching him. “And my best friend’s parents took me in without one second of thought. Kept up with my racin’, went to every practice, every meet. Treated me like their own.”
“Oh,” Colt whispered.
“How can I—” Beau’s eyes burned, and he focused on the feeling of Colt’s lungs filling under his hand. “They’re gonna see me, they’re gonna see my face everywhere, and they’re gonna know that the man who—” He closed his eyes again. “I lived, and their son died, and I can’t—”
“Okay.” Thumb rubbing against Beau’s cheekbone, Colt kissed Beau’s hair. “Okay, baby, I hear you.”
“I’m sorry.” Beau opened his eyes and a tear dripped down his cheek. “This was your moment, and I—”
“No, shut up.” Colt shook his head and swiped the tear away as another one fell. “I don’t care. And it’s my fault anyway. I dragged you into all of this. Just—it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
Beau’s breath hitched, and more tears spilled over, and he pressed his face into Colt’s neck and let himself cry while Colt ran soothing hands down his back, through his hair. Colt had said ‘I’ve got you’, and Beau…believed him. Even if it didn’t solve anything.