I don’t give him a chance to object and take the stairs two steps at a time to fetch my coat, wallet, and keys.By the time I have the place locked down and head outside, Remi’s bike is in the back of my truck, and the kid is sitting in the passenger seat.
I’ve barely pulled away from the firehouse when he pipes up.
“Why are you doing this?”
I glance over, but the boy’s eyes are fixed on the road.
“What am I doing?”
“Being nice and shit.Telling my mom I work for you.Driving me home.”
I chuckle.“Kid, I’m not nice, I’m not that stupid.I would’ve still been stuck fixing those rides you vandalized, plus I would’ve had to do all those damn oil changes myself, if I’d have turned you in.Trust me, this arrangement is not charity.Neither is making sure you get home in one piece, since I’m pretty sure your mom would have my balls if anything happened to you under my watch.I’m looking out for myself here.”
This time when I glance at him, he’s looking at me.Then he slowly shakes his head and rolls his eyes, making it clear he doesn’t buy into a word I’m saying.
“What were you gonna do with them?”I ask, changing the subject.
“With what?”
“Don’t be dense,” I snap.“You know what I’m talking about.The parts, what was the plan?Did someone put you up to it?”
His answer is a firm, “No.”
“Then what?You were just gonna put them on Marketplace?”
From the corner of my eyes, I catch him shrugging.
“I dunno.Yeah, maybe.”
I doubt it.I’m pretty sure Remi is too smart for a dumbass move like that, but he’s clearly not willing to share how he was going to sell them.
Instead of pushing—something that rarely works with adolescents—I switch direction to motive.
“Are you that bored or hard-up for money, you resorted to stealing?”
“It’s good money,” he defends.
“So is an honest day’s work, except you don’t risk getting your ass tossed in jail when you’re caught stealing.Or make life even harder for your mother, who is busting her ass to take care of you and your brother.”
“Right, and what a bang-up job she’s doing of that, hauling us off to this shithole, away from our friends.”
Thick sarcasm drips from his words.This kid is obviously angry.
“Hey,” I return sharply as I shoot a warning glare his way.“Watch your mouth.That’s my town you’re talking about.And if your brother is even half the pain in the ass you are, your mother deserves a fucking medal for putting up with you two.”
The kid barks out a bitter laugh.
“Hardly.Linc’s the perfect son.”
Hmm.That sounds like sibling rivalry, something I’m sadly familiar with.
Difference was, I’m the one who was considered the favorite by my brother.Only to him though, from what I could tell our parents didn’t treat us any differently.I simply made different choices.For my brother, Chance, the idea of being less became the mantra he lived by.If I think of all the unnecessary, fucked-up stunts he pulled, the self-loathing that followed, and the constant relief he sought in the bottom of the next bottle after that, my heart bleeds.
A raging alcoholic, he most recently got tangled up in something that resulted in him taking a sweet old lady hostage in a standoff with law enforcement.He snapped, hurt Mrs.Dixon, and got hurt himself.He’s currently serving time in jail after first spending three months in court-ordered rehab.
Chance cracked that night of the standoff, and in the aftermath, he took ownership for the very first time in his life.He pled guilty to the charges and was willing to face the consequences.
I’d like to be hopeful a change is possible—God knows I tried to help him out of his messes time after time—but my hope has been squashed so many times where my brother is concerned, I’m not holding my breath.
