Page 49 of Avery's Hero

“What is it, then?”

“Life,” he mutters. “My life.”

“Well, it’s not your own to direct until you’re eighteen. I’ve been trying to be the best father I can, and you’re just pushing it and pushing it, Linc. You’re about out of rope.”

He turns those angry, reckless eyes on me. “Yeah, well, I guess I better get a knife, then.”

A vein ticks in the side of my head. Something in my skull is at serious risk of rupturing. I shove up from the table and stride through the aisle between the tables of diners. My chest feels like a boa constrictor has me tied up.

My vision is blood red. My pulse is pounding through me, right down to my fingertips.

I’m sure I’ve never felt this exact surge of emotion inside of me before now.

Breathe, breathe. Breathe.

Be the adult.

I pace the parking lot until my blood pressure returns from the stratosphere. Then, I go in and pay at the cashier.

Linc finishes his breakfasts, both of them, and walks right past me and straight to the truck.

As soon as I get back to the station, I’m calling the damned private school. Because for the life of me, I can’t figure out how to stop him, and I’m scared as shit that one of those calls is going to be for something far more tragic than getting arrested for trespassing in some snooty ass neighborhood.

I know what it’s like to be his age. I know what it’s like to be wired like I am. One step away from making a fatal mistake for some instant gratification.

Linc might have inherited my genes, but there’s no reason to believe he also inherited my luck. And that’s the only thing that’s saved my ass.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

One look at Brock’s expression when he returns, and I know I need to stay very far away.

He looks wrecked. Stressed out to the point of breaking.

My heart aches for him. It must have been really rough with his son. I can’t imagine parenting a strong-headed teen.

Everyone else must know the deal too. No one bothers him. The day passes, he doesn’t leave his office.

The next day too. He doesn’t talk to anyone again. My worry grows by the hour.

Later that evening, one of the guys cooks a big meal in the firehouse kitchen, but the chief doesn’t come out tojoin us. After we all eat, I offer to clean up, hoping everyone will leave the kitchen.

They don’t argue over my offer and head off, some going home, some going back to the movie they were watching in the lounge. My real motive, of course, was to fix a plate for Brock. When the kitchen is tidy, I carry it up the stairs.

I’m nervous the whole way.

For a few seconds, I stand outside, palms clammy, fidgeting. After our last encounter, I don’t know what to expect. But I feel really bad for him. I’m sure parenting alone and managing a big job like his has to be isolating.

Finally, I get the nerve and rap on the wooden door. He grunts a reply, “Yeah?”

I turn the nob and push open the door, but don’t enter. “Hey. Thought you might need something for dinner.”

He stares at the plate in my hands, then flips his eyes to me. “You broughtmefood?”

He says it like it’s the biggest shock in the world.

I nod. “I thought you’d be hungry by now. Knowing how you turn into a bear, we can’t have you ripping your desk apart or anything. I don’t think the department has the budget to replace it.”

I walk slowly toward the desk and he takes the plate. When he looks under the foil, his eyes soften. “Thanks. I was approaching bear level. This should tame the beast.”