Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“You sure he actually hates you?” I kept my tone conversational as I started checking wear on various pieces of turnout gear. “I have younger sisters, and I’m pretty sure they hated the entire world between thirteen and eighteen.”
“It’s more than generic teen angst.” Caleb stopped abruptly and shook his head. “Sorry. You don’t need the whole story.”
“We’ve got nothing but time.” I gestured at all the shelves of counting and sorting awaiting us. “And maybe talking will help more than snapping at your new coworker?”
“Point taken.” Caleb moved to check the contents of the medical kits. “Scotty got in trouble at school last year—again. Bad friend group. Drinking. Partying. Dangerous pranks. He got kicked off the football team, and my mom sent him to me for a fresh start. Which he doesn’t exactly want.”
“You’re a good brother to take that responsibility on.”
“Yeah, I’m decent.” Caleb’s tight expression said he believed the opposite. “But the problem is, I’m a big brother, not a dad. I have no clue how to be any sort of parent. “
“God, how I know that feeling.”
“Oh?” Caleb sounded genuinely curious, and I couldn’t exactly encourage him to talk without doing the same.
“Told you. I had sisters. My old man was pretty much worthless by the time I reached high school. Our mom was long gone. Left it to me to try to be all the things—big brother, mom, dad.”
“How’d that turn out?” Caleb looked up as he zipped one of the black canvas bags and checked the shoulder strap.
“About as well as you’d imagine.” I chuckled self-consciously. Talking about my past always felt weird, a tightrope between complaining and bragging. “I worked too much at my part-time mechanic job, got crappy grades, and barely managed to keep my spot on the football team.”
“Of course you played football.” Caleb gave a sarcastic sigh.
“Something wrong with the game?”
“You’ve seen how good I am at it.” His pink blush gave way to bright red spots on his cheeks. “But football is all Scotty lives for, and I’ve got another month before practice even starts to keep him busy.”
“Bring him by Eric’s tonight. John and my nephew want me to throw for them, but if your brother has an arm, he’d be the better pick.”
“Scotty has a good throwing arm and speed.” Pride tinged Caleb’s voice. “He’s the whole package. And not a bad kid when he’s not running with the wrong crowd or complaining about how tiny Mount Hope is.”
“Bring him over.” I nodded sharply. Eric’s place was always overflowing with kids’ friends, one of those true hangout houses for the whole neighborhood. “We’ll give Scotty something to do, maybe some better friends.”
“Thanks.” Caleb went quiet for a few minutes as he made some notes on the clipboard we were sharing for inventory. Setting the clipboard aside, he glanced over at me. “How’d your sisters turn out? Give me some hope.”
“Not gonna lie, it was a wild few years.” I clapped him on the shoulder. My palm tingled and fresh awareness shot through me as I forced myself to drop my hand and keep talking. “The youngest is still a hooligan but a gainfully employed one at a music venue in Portland. The other two are nurses and moms.”
“I can’t let Scotty have any more wild months, let alone years.”
“And you can’t take on that responsibility,” I countered. I could see hints of my younger self in Caleb, especially his weariness and the worry lines around his otherwise youthful eyes. That similarity only strengthened his pull over me, making me want to touch and comfort. “You can’t let yourself bear that burden.”
“I kind of already took the job on.” Caleb made a vague gesture as if I were missing the obvious.
“Learn from me. All you can do is be the best big brother you can.” I distilled years of painful lectures from my sisters to one of the hardest lessons I’d had to learn. “You’re not going to be a parent, and you won’t be able to stop all his mistakes.”
“I can try.”
“Ha. I’m going to tell you what my youngest sister used to scream at me. It’s not about you. Or even how hard you try. I didn’t want to admit it for a long time myself. My sisters are all successes now, but that has far more to do with them than me.”
“Maybe you don’t give yourself enough credit.” Caleb was maddeningly earnest. And lord, did I remember those years of thinking a little more money, a little more time, a little more attention would fix whatever ailed my sisters.
“Maybe you give us both too much.” My heart gave a weird squeeze as I stepped closer to Caleb. I had no clue what I was doing, only that the need to comfort him had reached near-painful levels. Inhaling deeply, I was hit with another whiff of lemons and grass. Dammit. At this rate, I was going to get inappropriately distracted the next time I had my favorite lemon meringue pie. And that thought should have been enough to make me move away, yet I took another step. “I know it’s hard.”