Rush by Jonathan Friesen Page B

to a blaze fire. These shirts go in slow and calculated.
    â€œShut the door.”
    â€œWith me inside or outside?”
    He straightens, exhales, and gestures toward the desk chair with his head. I quietly slip in, close the door, sit down, and wait.
    â€œAre you just going to watch?” Scottie turns to me and stares, as if he’s looking for something.
    I shrug. “Okay, I’ll bite. Where are you going?”
    Scottie snaps shut the suitcase and sets it beside the duffel on the floor. “I need to leave here. I know something I shouldn’t.” He raises his gaze to me. “I need to take care of it.”
    â€œAnd you have to leave home to do it?”
    â€œI need to leave everything to do it.”
    We look at each other for a long time. He’s still here, and I miss him already. I miss his jerky big-brother act and that stupid poker face.
    â€œAre you coming back?” I ask.
    He looks down.
    I nod. “Sorry about Kyle.”
    â€œWhat do you care?” he hisses, runs his hand through his hair. He closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault anyway. It’s mine. All mine.”
    â€œI’m the one who hurt him.”
    â€œI’m the one who killed him.”
    I frown and lick my lips.
    Scottie walks toward me, reaches down, yanks me up by the shoulders. He hugs me hard. Twice he’s done this, ever, and both within a day. But this one is different. There’s no Dad here, and the hug feels better than good. I don’t know why he’s squeezing me or why I squeeze him back, but it’s right.
    He pushes back. “I don’t understand you. Your wild crap doesn’t make any sense, especially when you have Salome. You have the world, and you keep risking it all.”
    I bite my lip hard. “Nobody has Sal.”
    Scottie picks up his bags, lets out air. “Tell Dad I was looking forward to fighting in Brockton.”
    I’ve dreamed of this day. The day my brother leaves and maybe I exist. But now, holding the moment in my hand,I feel sick. “So you won’t tell me where—”
    â€œForest Service headquarters. I need to talk to them, turn in my gear. Then, who knows, maybe I’ll go see Mom.”
    â€œYou’re quitting?” My knees weaken. “Dad’ll freak. You’re leaving me alone with him?”
    He leans into me. “You’ll be fine. Stay close to Sal, and you’ll be fine.” Scottie frowns. “Where is that cursed scrap of leather?”
    â€œMy room.”
    â€œGet it.”
    I leave and come back carrying my jacket. He grabs it from my hands, drops his suitcase, clicks it back open, and stuffs it in.
    â€œYou’re stealing my jacket.”
    â€œI’m saving your life.”
    He lifts his suitcase, and together we walk into the night.
    We load his truck, he climbs in, and the Chev rumbles to life. “Promise me something?”
    â€œA guarantee.”
    â€œStay away from the Fire Service. And stay away from Mox.”
    â€œWhy?”
    He locks on to me. “Because they’ll be after you, and even you aren’t immortal.”

CHAPTER 10
    DEATH HITS BROCKTON HARD . Usually the town shakes it off, but this death smacked it between the eyes, stayed the talk of the town for days, not hours.
    Scottie’s “death,” that is.
    The town’s favorite son is gone.
    Dad doesn’t go to the mill for a week. He puts on a good face, nods and smiles whenever an old firefighter buddy comes to call. I listen to Dad talk. I hear him explain that firefighting wasn’t right for Scottie, but then comes silence, followed by a barrage of questions he can’t answer.
    Why are Brockton’s crews under investigation? Why do the feds keep showing up in town? Why all the interviews with the Immortals?
    The door slams, and Dad blows. “It’s not my fault. This wasn’t my fault.”
    But the truth is, he’s embarrassed and pissed and