Page 79 of Boss and Brat

They changed fast—helmets, gloves, padded jackets, special boots that clunked against the concrete floor. Ethan adjusted his gloves; the kid’s hands were shaking just a little from excitement. It made something warm settle in Carter’s chest.

Out on the practice loop, they each mounted their bikes. Carter kicked his engine to life; the familiar rumble settled into his bones. Ethan did the same, already looking like he belonged there.

They rode the long circle first, getting used to the weight and balance. The dirt kicked up behind them; the wind rushing past, the music thundering from the speakers. Carter kept an eye on Ethan—steady, focused, confident. He rode as if he had been waiting years to breathe again.

After a few laps, Ethan pulled up beside him, lifting his visor. “I used to practice going up that hill,” he said, pointing to a steep rise at the far end of the track. “I’d spring into the air and try to somersault the bike, then land it. But my dad put an end to it.”

Carter stared at him. “Ethan, that’s too damn dangerous.”

Ethan shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “I know. But it was fun.”

Carter leaned closer, voice low but firm. “I’d put an end to it too. I don’t want to lose you.”

Ethan froze for a second—just long enough for Carter to see the words hit him. Then he smiled, soft and warm, like Carter had handed him something precious.

They rode again, this time faster. Carter led for a while, then let Ethan take the front. The kid handled the bike like it was an extension of his body—leaning into turns, kicking up dirt, laughing through the roar of the engine.

Ethan cleared the jump clean, landing smooth, steady, confident. Pride slammed into Carter so hard his breath hitched. The feeling didn’t match anything from his childhood—none of those sharp, cold jolts he used to get when his old man barked approval after a win.

This one burned warm. Heavy in the best way. His hands tightened on the handlebars, chest going tight as Ethan looked back at him with that bright, reckless grin.

Damn. Watching Ethan fight his way back like that—Carter felt it hit deeper than he was ready for.

The practice loop had just felt smooth when Ethan pulled up beside Carter, visor lifted, eyes bright with mischief.

“Race me,” Ethan said, breathless with excitement.

Carter snorted. “You sure? I’m rusty, but I ain’t slow.”

Ethan grinned. “Prove it.”

That grin—God help him—Carter would follow it anywhere.

They lined up at the start of the practice track. Carter revved his engine, the steady rumble settling low in his gut, familiar and grounding. Ethan leaned forward on his bike as if he’d been waiting his whole life to be right there, ready to launch.

“Three,” Carter called.

“Two…”

Ethan shot him a look that said try to keep up.

“One!”

They took off.

Ethan launched ahead immediately, kicking up a spray of dirt. Carter pushed harder, leaning into the turns, but Ethan was riding like he had something to prove—fast, sharp, fearless. Too fearless.

“Damn it, kid,” Carter muttered under his breath as Ethan took a turn so low his boot nearly scraped the ground.

Ethan hit the hill next—too fast—and for a second, Carter’s heart stopped. Ethan didn’t somersault the bike, but he sure as hell tried to get air. He landed hard, wobbling, then corrected.

A heavy weight settled right behind Carter’s breastbone.

He’s gonna get himself killed.

Ethan crossed the finish line first, throwing a fist in the air. Carter rolled up behind him, half proud, half ready to strangle him.

Before he could say a word, the owner stormed over—a big guy, sunburned face, arms crossed like a disappointed uncle.