Bucky steps forward, and his shadow alone sends them scrambling to the tiled wall. Bucky is also built like an NFL linebacker, and you don’t mess with Bucky. He’s one of the nicest guys until he isn’t. His mean face could make a grown man cry, and I’ve seen it happen before.
Coach Toddy stands with his arms crossed, smirking like he enjoys the show. “Boys roughhouse. It builds character,” he says with a shrug.
The rest of the firefighters behind me get closer and glare at Coach Toddy. His smirk quickly disappears.
I walk up to him until we’re toe-to-toe. I’m taller, and I’ve got about twenty-five pounds of muscle on him. And I’m a whole lot angrier. I went to high school with Jeremy Toddy. And he was an even bigger prick back then. He’s one of those guys who peaked in high school and wants to try to be cool with the kids. His social media profile features an old high school football photo from ten years ago. Now, he’s still the bully he always was, living out his glory days as if he’s hot shit around here. Spoiler alert, he isn’t.
“Really?” I growl, low. “Three eighth graders and a sixth grader, and recording it is roughhousing to you?”
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “You saw this happening, and you did nothing. Worse, you encouraged it.”
“It’s just locker room jokes,” he tries again.
I laugh, and it’s humorless. “Go on. Say that again while I’m right here.”
He must hear the danger in my voice, because he looks away and at the other firefighters, as if they’re going to help him. We all think Jeremy Toddy is a joke and shouldn’t be coaching kids. And after this stunt, he won’t be. I guarantee it.
I step back and look at Owen. He’s shaking, but he looks relieved. He’s still pretty small for his age, and these kids are huge compared to him. He now stands a little taller because his people showed up.
I crouch in front of him until we’re eye to eye. The second I really see his face, something hot and sharp detonates in my chest.
His cheek is already swelling. The skin under his eye isturning an ugly, sickening shade that means it’ll be black by morning.
Heat floods my veins. My jaw locks so hard my teeth ache. I force my hands to stay loose at my side instead of balling into fists. I take a slow breath through my nose, but it barely touches the rage burning there.
Easy. Not in front of him.
“Hey, buddy,” I say quietly, even though my pulse is pounding in my ears. “Who did this?”
His eyes flick past me, quick and scared, then back again. I don’t have to follow his gaze to know where it lands.
Coach Toddy.
My nostrils flare before I can stop it. I swallow the growl climbing up my throat and keep my voice steady, gentle, like everything inside me isn’t screaming.
“He tripped and fell,” Toddy says defiantly. “You tell him, Murphy.” He practically spits when he says Owen’s last name.
I help Owen up. “Go out in the hall and wait.”
Owen scrambles to pick up his dripping wet backpack and heads to the hall.
The other firefighters close in behind me, not crowding, just enough to be a solid wall at my back.
“Kids,” Bucky says firmly, voice carrying. “Against the wall. Now.”
They scramble without argument, sneakers squeaking as they press themselves shoulder to shoulder along the cinderblock. I glance their way and feel a grim, cold satisfaction when I see it on their faces. Wide eyes glancing around.
Good. They need to be sorry for this.
They aren’t looking at Owen. They’re looking at Toddy.
One of them swallows hard and looks around fearful. Another shakes his head, appearing like he wishes he could take something back. A third won’t meet Toddy’s eyes at all, staringat the floor like it might open up and save him. It won’t. Today they’re gonna learn.
I clock it all in a second. The way their bodies lean away from him. The way none of them step forward to defend him.
“Stay right there,” I tell them, calm and steady.
Toddy shifts behind me. “Look, you can’t just come in here like this,” he starts.
