Page 7 of Grouch-ish

What am I supposed to do with this guy for twelve days?

Chapter 3

[Brock]

I’m pissed that Cap wouldn’t talk to me. His daughter told me not to bother calling him myself as Cap doesn’t answer his phone for anyone on these trips. He only answered her call because she is his daughter, and he hadn’t gotten to the camp yet.

Camp. I don’t remember ever camping.

“I’m Paradise, by the way.” She nods stiffly as we remain outdoors, the snow softly falling around us as a precursor to something heavier. The calm before the storm, so to speak. The magic before the tragedy.

“As in Paradise Farms?” My voice is molasses-thick, almost sarcastic, but it isn’t her fault I’m in this predicament.

She explained how Cap said I was late. True.

He was done talking to me. Harsh.

And I could work on the farm for twelve days.

“You need to find a hotel.”

“At whose expense?” I wasn’t a millionaire, and I also wasn’t interested in forking over money for an eleven-night stay when this wasn’t a vacation. This was Cap’s order.

“Not my problem.”

I sigh and swipe my hand over my head. My hat is in the truck and my hair is damp. The longer I stand out here, the colder I get.

“Maybe there will be another twelve-day retreat,” I say more to myself than to her.

“Do you have time to wait?”

My eyes latch onto hers again. Fuck, she’s pretty. That dark hair contrasts with her cerulean eyes reminding me of the bright blue holiday lights twinkling along houses this time of year.

“I doubt it.” Again, said more to me than her.

Cap must really be at the end of his rope because no man gets left behind is a motto of our department. I realize I was late, but he could have turned around. He couldn’t have gotten very far in twenty minutes. Or he could have given me the address and I’d drive there myself. Still, his actions said it all.

He wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t making an exception for me. Over and over again, he’d gone to the mat for me, but this was like last call at the bar. Time was closing in.

“I guess I’ll call a hotel.”

Noticing that I was continually talking more to myself than her, Paradise doesn’t say a word. Instead, she circles around me to enter the house.

“Good luck,” she calls out after I spin to watch her retreat. She wiggles her fingers in a mocking wave, enters the house and closes the door behind her without a glance back.

What the—

With the billowing snow piling up on the ground, I return to my truck, turn on the engine and search my phone for a local hotel. Nothing pops up with vacancies, not even from a motel that looks more like a rent-by-the-hour than an extended stay place.

“Shit.” I glance out the front windshield where downy flakes are quickly covering the glass. “I should just go home.”

I can handle Cap’s wrath. Take my punishment like a man. Pay a fine or accept whatever ridiculous manual labor Cap dishes out. Scrub toilets with a toothbrush. Clean a grease trap or vacuum behind the firehouse fridge. Your basic probie work.

Still, I remain in the heat of my truck, watching the snow fall like sand in an hourglass. Cap’s silent treatment hurts more than anything. It isn’t like him not to want to talk. He’s good at listening. He’s intuitive and sharp. He knows when to back off and when to step in, but not speaking with me isn’t like him.

He’s really done with my shit, and I need this time, if for no other reason than to prove to Cap I’m solid. I’m strong. I’ll do whatever it takes.

I’ve been sitting here roughly forty minutes, so I kill the ignition on my truck and push open the heavy driver’s door where a cold blast smacks me in the face.