I need to stop wanting this. Because wanting means hoping. And hoping means falling apart when reality hits.
We don’t get dreams. We get the Crock Pot.
Chapter 3
Ollie
Pink Skies by Zach Bryan
The firehouse is quiet, just the low hum of the heaters and the bite of strong coffee in the air. I shut my locker with my hip. I’ve already worked out and showered, and now we’re in that waiting stretch. Chores are done, gears checked and checked again. Everything’s ready, which usually means it won’t stay quiet for long.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.Owen Murphy.Worry fills me when I see his name light up on the screen. It’s not unusual for Owen to call or text me, although usually it’s just texts, and he calls me ‘bruh’ a lot. But during the school day, this feels off.
I answer instantly. “Owen?”
There’s breathing on the other end that’s quick and panicked. “Ollie?” Owen whispers, voice shaking. It slices right through me. “I’m in trouble, and I need your help.”
My heart practically detonates. “Where are you? What happened?”
“Locker room.” He sounds like he’s crying or trying not to be heard, and I hear yelling and commotion. “They took my backpack and threw it in the shower. My phone screen got broken, too.”
I’m already moving and grabbing my coat. “Who did this?”
He hesitates. “Eighth graders. Coach Toddy told them to teach me a lesson.”
Rage floods hot through my veins. “Are you hurt?”
“Yes,” he whispers. “My cheek hurts. Please don’t tell Poppy. She’s already stressed about Sully.”
“Owen,” I say, voice low and calm. “You never worry about needing somebody. You can call me anytime. I’m on my way.”
“Okay… thank you,” he whispers, voice cracking.
The call ends, and I swear whoever laid a hand on that kid will wish they hadn’t. I’m already grabbing my gear before the call even fully disconnects.
“Gear up, we gotta go to the middle school,” I bark out to the guys lounging in the common room. “We need to go. Now.”
They all look up fast because I never use that voice unless someone is bleeding out. “We gotta go get Owen,” I add. “He called me from the locker room. Eighth graders are beating him up in the locker room, and it sounded like he’s hiding. He said Coach Toddy ordered them to do it.”
Bucky stands so fast that the recliner slams into the wall. “Oh, hell no.”
The rest of the crew echoes it like a war cry. They pull their gear on in seconds, and we haul into the truck and open the bay doors.
Owen’s been coming around here since he could talk. He comes by after school, plays Mario Kart on the old Wii with all of us, and eats spaghetti with us on Thursdays, sometimes evenwhen I’m not on shift. Every one of these firefighters would stand up for him because Owen is a great kid. He’sourkid.
We roll right up to Bridger Falls Middle School like the damn cavalry and haul ass in the front door.
Secretaries stand up, but we stride right past. Bucky murmurs a polite, “Fire department business, ma’am,” and then ignores the frantic questions behind us. Teachers freeze, looking around for an emergency they haven’t heard about. Principal Masters jogs after us like a confused penguin. “What’s wrong?” he pants. “We didn’t have an alarm.”
Bucky stares him down. “No, butwedid.”
The hallway smells like gym socks and greasy cafeteria pizza. We head straight for the boys’ locker room, and I hear kids inside laughing and slamming things around.We push open the door and round the corner to where the stalls are. When I see Owen, red clouds my vision. He’s curled up inside the far stall. Knees to his chest, his hoodie stretched tight over his knees like he’s trying to disappear. Three eighth-grade punks are leaning over the door and top of the stall, laughing, snapping towels at him, and taunting him. One has a phone out, recording.
Owen sees me, and relief fills his eyes. He gets up and steps out, wiping his face like that will hide the tears.
I point at the three boys crowded around him. “You three. On the wall. Now.”
The eighth graders laugh and look at each other like this is a joke. That’s their second mistake. The first one is messing with Owen.
