Page 6 of Off the Clock

“Beam me up,” added a dark-haired kid, and Scotty winced, nose wrinkling.

“Sorry.” Scotty’s mouth twisted as he came closer to where I was standing. “My camp name was Chester.”

“Huh?” I was all in favor of whatever it took to reboot Scotty’s attitude and behavior, but a name change was unexpected.

“Like the Cheetah in the chip ads? It’s because I run fast.”

“Ah.” I nodded as I held out a hand for his luggage. Scotty was indeed a fast runner to the point of earning varsity status in track and football. “So, do I call you Chester now?”

“Nah. Scotty. Maybe Scott.” Scotty gave an easy shrug as he passed over his backpack. “We’ll see if the team gives me a nickname here. You did get me signed up for tryouts, right?”

Sports were seldom far from Scotty’s mind, so I’d made a point of inquiring about football when I’d submitted his registration paperwork. “Apparently, if you sign a waiver and can pay the fee, you’re on the team.”

“No tryouts? Weak.” He groaned. His Portland high school had routinely finished at the top of their division with multiple state championships. Mount Hope was in a much smaller division with pretty much the opposite reputation, something Scotty had taken issue with from the start. “Told you. This year is gonna suck.”

“It will with that attitude.” My voice took on a clipped edge as I gestured toward the parking lot. “Let’s get a move on.”

“Fuck, Caleb, you sound just like Mom.” Scotty didn’t seem in any hurry to follow me to my truck, so I turned to give him a harsh glare.

“And you sound like a sailor.”

“Since when do you care if I curse?” Scotty wrinkled his nose like I’d forgotten to use deodorant. He had a point. I did sound overly parental, especially considering I was around salty-talking first responders all day.

“Since I signed the guardian papers with Mom.” I made an effort to keep my tone as measured as my steps toward the truck.

“No one asked you to.”

“Mom did.” After our father had died, our mom had a long journey through grief and widowhood, eventually going back to school and getting a business degree and a realty license. Her small business finally turned a profit right as Scotty’s school and behavior problems reached a crisis point. Together, we’d worked out this plan for Scotty’s fresh start, something he’d only reluctantly agreed to. “That matters.”

“To you.” He sounded more seven than seventeen.

“Get in the truck, Scotty.” I unlocked my truck and threw his bag into the back seat.

“Nice wheels.” He cast an admiring glance over the black truck I’d scrimped and saved for after my old beater car had finally died on one too many snowy hills in Mount Hope. “Isee being a firefighter pays beyond the uniform helping you bag chicks. Or dicks.”

“I’m not bagging anyone right now.” I knew better than to take the bait, but my tone returned to clipped. “My only focus is on my work and getting you through school.”

“Ha.” Scotty snorted. “You? Trying not to smash?”

“Maybe I’ve reformed, and you can too.” I matched his sarcasm with snappiness. I’d never been particularly wild, but I had always had a reputation for being social. I was tired of people not taking me seriously simply because I liked to go out a lot.

“Oh my God, now you sound like a motivational speaker at school.” Scotty leaned his seat all the way back and pretended to fake snore as I pulled out of the parking lot.

“So this is Mount Hope.” I took the long way back to our rental. Scotty had left for camp from Portland and had only visited me in Mount Hope a handful of times.

However, he met my eagerness to show off with a scoff. “Tiny.”

“It’s not that bad. Peaceful. Pretty in winter.”

“Don’t try and sell me on the snow.” Scotty gave an exaggerated shudder before brightening. “Unless you’re paying for snowboarding lessons.”

I doubted my budget would stretch that far, even with Mom contributing to Scotty’s expenses, but I didn’t want to start another argument. Instead, I turned onto our street. My rental was at the far end of Prospect Place, past all the famous historic homes, in a light-pink cottage between two more stately Craftsman houses.

“This is our place.” I parked in the driveway, a bonus my former apartment hadn’t offered.

“Tiny like the town.” Scotty pursed his lips. He’d been little more than a baby when my dad had died, and he had zeroclue about Mom’s herculean efforts to keep our spacious family home. His tone was gratingly entitled. “It looks like the two bigger houses had a baby house.”

“Finding a two-bedroom near the high school on a budget didn’t yield many options.” I sighed, already tired from the prospect of months of these tense conversations. “Besides, this place is cute.”

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