Page 57 of Boss and Brat

“A complaint?” Mr. Evans barked. “About what?”

“Some bullshit fight Tomás started,” Carter said. “It’s handled.”

“Handled how?” Mr. Evans demanded. “Because Duarte called me this morning asking if I knew my son was involved in an assault.”

Carter pinched the bridge of his nose. “I talked to Tomás. He withdrew the complaint.”

“You talked to him?” Mr. Evans repeated, tone sharp. “Carter, you can’t just—”

“I handled it,” Carter said, firmer this time. “Ethan’s fine. It’s done.”

There was a long silence on the other end. Carter could practically hear Mr. Evans grinding his teeth.

Finally, Mr. Evans exhaled. “I don’t want that boy getting into more trouble.”

Carter glanced back through the open door. Ethan stood there, helmet in hand, looking like he expected to be blamed for everything again.

Carter’s chest tightened. “He’s with me,” he said. “I’ll keep him out of trouble.”

“You’d better,” Mr. Evans muttered. “Because if Duarte calls me again—”

“He won’t,” Carter cut in. “I said it’s handled.”

Another pause. Then Mr. Evans hung up without a goodbye.

Carter lowered the phone and let out a long breath.

Ethan stepped onto the porch, voice lowered. “He’s pissed off at me, isn’t he?”

“He’s always mad,” Carter said. “Don’t worry about him.”

Ethan nodded, but the worry didn’t leave his eyes.

Carter clapped a hand on Ethan’s shoulder, firm but gentle. “Come on. We’re still going. I’m not letting him ruin our day.”

Ethan’s expression softened, relief flickering across his face as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to feel it. That familiar ache hit Carter right in the chest again—sharp, warm, dangerous. He tried to ignore it. He always tried.

He patted Ethan’s shoulder once more and headed toward the shed. “Let’s ride.”

They each rolled out a motorcycle, engines rumbling low and eager. Dust puffed under the tires as they eased down the dirt path. The morning sun cut through the trees, warming Carter’sneck. He glanced over—Ethan already looked lighter, wind tugging at his hair, shoulders not so tight.

Good. The kid needed this.

A few minutes in, Ethan pulled up beside him, grinning as if he had a secret. “Wanna see where I used to race?”

Carter raised a brow. “You raced?”

“Yeah,” Ethan’s grin widened. “Bet I can still smoke you.”

Carter snorted. “You think so?”

Ethan revved his engine. “I know so.”

That spark—wild, reckless, alive—flashed in Ethan’s eyes, and Carter felt something twist low in his gut. He hadn’t seen that side of him before. It was… something.

They took off.

Ethan shot ahead like he’d been born on the damn machine. He leaned into turns with a confidence Carter didn’t expect, kicking up dirt, taking lines Carter wouldn’t have risked himself. The kid was a natural—fast, fearless, almost too fearless.