Page 23 of Under Water

He rolls his eyes, pink still blooming around his cheekbones. “I know. Humiliating.”

“It’s not that bad. You could have a nickname involving farts or vomit or piss. It could be so much worse.”

He grimaces. “Why does it sound like you know from experience?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” I tell him, and he covers his laugh with his palm. “Anyway, you good? I mean, no one’s fucking with you, right? That’s not why you’re all…”

“High-strung?” he offers.

“Anxious.”

He lets out a puff of air, then shrugs. “I think I still feel…like maybe I didn’t do enough at the lake. Rune hasn’t been back to work in a week, and I know he’s taking care of his kid, but you were so fast on your feet. What if I fucked up? I hesitated, and⁠—”

“Ozzie.”

His jaw snaps shut, and I gently tug him toward the doors, holding one open so he can walk in. The station is quiet right now. Most of the guys are either napping or playing video games, and I think Camilo is in his office on a call with some public official.

“Pop a squat, rook. I’m going to make a new sandwich. You want yours?”

“I feel guilty saying yes,” he confesses.

I yank open the fridge and pull out the little tubs of ingredients that North left, then find Ozzie’s sub marked with…I don’t know what it is. It looks like North’s sorry attempt at an otter drawn on the paper.

Tossing it on the counter, I shoot him a wink, then grab the bread from the basket North put on the counter.

“This feels like it should be illegal as fuck,” I say, slicing open the roll. “Standing in the kitchen making sandwiches and getting paid for it?”

Ozzie shrugs as he rolls his sandwich back and forth. “It’s not what I expected it to be like. My oldest brother’s a firefighter. He got into it after, ah—” He goes quiet, and I look over at him, raising a brow. “He was in jail for doing some really stupid stuff.”

“He was in the volunteer program?”

Ozzie nods, blowing out a small puff of air. “Yeah. Those really nasty fires in California a few years ago? He was flown out to do that. He got early release, which…you know. I guess it’s good. He hasn’t reoffended.”

“I mean, that’s what we can all hope for, right?” I ask as I start to layer the meat and lettuce. When Ozzie says nothing, I glance over at him, and he’s staring hard at the butcher paper, like maybe it’s holding the secrets of the universe. “Or not?”

His gaze snaps up to me, and he bites his lip. “He wasn’t ever a nice guy. He wanted to be a cop, but he couldn’t pass the psych eval, which…I mean. You know it’s bad when they hire pretty much anyone with a gun fetish.”

I toss my sandwich onto a plate, then lean my elbows on the counter. “Sounds like growing up with him was hard.”

“It was. Our mom didn’t really give a shit. She had kids because she was supposed to. She was more fixated on her charity work or whatever, and she let Joe handle me.”

The way he says that tells me that handling Ozzie was probably with a lot of cruelty.

“He eventually got bored of tormenting me and started getting really into having kids.” When my brow shoots up, he laughs. “Yeah, it’s as weird as you think. Every year, he had a new girlfriend. He’d get her knocked up, then right before the baby was born, he’d fuck off and never see her again. One of the reasons he refused to work was because he didn’t want to be on the hook for all the child support he owed.”

“Fuck, Oz.”

He shrugs. “My best friend thinks he’s a sociopath. Like, the bad kind who only didn’t turn into a serial killer because he didn’t want to go to jail. But he got involved with some bad people and some scams, and it caught up to him. He robbed my mom first, and then a couple ladies in the neighborhood. He took off with a lot of money and eventually came home and got busted.”

“And now he’s working the same job you are,” I say quietly.

“I had no idea he was doing that. We didn’t keep in touch. I saw him for the first time the year before last, right when I was graduating, and he laughed in my face.” Ozzie lets out a slow breath. “Like, directly in my face. He told me I was a pathetic—well, I’m not going to repeat his words. He said stations don’t want guys like me.”

I think the word probably starts with an F, and it makes me want to meet this fucker so my friends and I can show him what F-words are capable of. North would make him eat his own fucking teeth.

Reaching across the counter, I take both of his hands in mine and meet his gaze. “You know he’s full of shit, right? We want you here. There are more guys like you than there are like him. And Camilo wouldn’t stand for that shit.”

“I know,” he murmurs softly.