“You need some better friends, half-pint,” Mac said flatly.
Now, the boy’s cheeks flooded with heat, and I felt a small pang—really small, mind you—when I remembered how hard it was to be a teenager. I’d always had good friends, though. I’d been popular and well-liked and hadn’t needed to impress anyone overmuch or try to elbow my way into a friend group by committing petty crime.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
He hesitated, and Mac shook her phone at him for emphasis. “Amos.”
“Amos what?”
“Amos Coates.”
Mac and I shared another look, this one longer, with undertones ofah, fuck.
I only knew one Coates in Kirby Falls, and it was Rhonda. She was a bartender over at Firefly Cider. She worked for Jordan Rockford and had a lot on her plate. A single mother with no nearby family to speak of. If this was her kid, then there was no way I was letting Mac connect that call to the sheriff’s office.
With a sigh, I kept one hand wrapped around the scrawny arm beside me and got us both to our feet.
“This is what’s going to happen, Amos Coates,” I said sternly. At least, I hoped I was stern. It wasn’t something I attempted very often. “You’re going to get in that truck, and I’m going to drive you home, where I will speak to your mother about your nighttime activities. You will report here after school tomorrow to start working off the damage you caused.”
He made an abbreviated sound of protest, cut off when Mac shined the flashlight in his eyes again briefly.
“And you will work here as long as it takes—with your mother’s permission—if you don’t want me to let my friends down at the sheriff’s department know exactly what you’ve been up to.”
I could feel Mac’s attention on me as I spoke.
The kid kept his eyes downcast on his muddy black-and-red sneakers before nodding jerkily.
We all made our way to the truck, the flashlight bobbing across the ground and illuminating ragged shreds of red and blue nylon every so often.
The cab was silent as I drove back across the street to drop Mac off at the tiny house, where her car was parked.
She lingered outside my window, eyeing the surly teenager in my backseat. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” she whispered. “I’m good backup.”
I smiled. “Oh, I know. You killed it at bad cop out there tonight.”
Mac’s lips stretched wide as she took a few steps backward. “Good night, Brady.”
“’Night, John Mac-Lane.”
Her quiet laughter filled the space between us, making me wish I was following her back inside instead of dealing with the mess I was currently knee-deep in.
My gaze drifted to the rearview mirror and found the kid watching me before he quickly glanced away. I couldn’t help but wonder for the hundredth time if I was doing the right thing.
I didn’t sleep after I left Rhonda Coates’s house early this morning. She lived in a small two-bedroom duplex near Tanner Park. Amos had a little sister who was six, and I’d had to keep my voice low to avoid waking her up while Rhonda and I discussed what to do about her son.
Rhonda had been deeply apologetic and mortified to hear about what Amos had been up to. The kid was fourteen and a freshman at Kirby Falls High School. She’d said he had trouble making friends and spent a lot of time playing video games while she was at work. The neighbor on the other side of the duplex babysat for Rhonda in the afternoons and evenings while she worked her shifts at Firefly.
After Amos had stomped off to his bedroom, his mother and I worked out an arrangement to deal with the vandalism and destruction of property. One that didn’t involve the sheriff’s office or Rhonda attempting to empty her savings account.
I remembered what it was like to be a dumb kid with too much time and energy on my hands. I’d been a troublemaker at a young age before leveling up to class clown during my teenage years. The difference was I had been well-liked, and I’d charmed my teachers and administrators while I was at it.
However, I wasn’t blind to the concept of being bored enough to find trouble. I’d just had better influences like Cole Abernathy and a voice of reason in Jase Wilcox. I’d burned off energy playing sports and genuinely enjoyed being part of a team. And I’d had a strong support system in my siblings and parents. Plus, the idea of purposefully damaging someone’s property never would have crossed my mind—even on a dare from older kids.
Though, now, staring at the bits of brightly colored nylon that Amos had hacked up behind the Apple House, I was cursing my benevolence.
It was just after seven in the morning. This day was going to be a long one.
“Rest in peace, Brad and Chad,” I mumbled as I got to work cleaning up.
