Page 11 of September's Bad Boy: Cooper
The Fire Marshall sets down a clear plastic evidence bag on the table. Inside is a crowbar. One I recognize. My initials are scratched into the metal near the grip.
"We found this at the scene of the duplex fire," Durbin says. His tone is clipped and professional.
Fighting to keep my voice calm, I cross my arms defensively. "That crowbar was stolen from me just a few days after I moved back her. I filed a report. It was taken out of my truck while I was helping Huck on a house out on Quarry Lane."
Lawson nods slowly. "We figured as much. The crowbar was placed near the back of the property—after the fire was already out. It’s obvious it was planted."
The Fire Marshall gives a slow grunt. "Still, protocol. Your prints are on it, and we’ve got people sniffing for a scapegoat."
My fingers curl into fists at my sides. "You think I’d risk everything I’m building to burn down someone else’s place? I’ve been out here day and night trying to make something for this town."
Lawson leans against the table, his voice lower. "No, I don’t think you did it. But not everyone in this town thinks logically. They remember your past, not your progress. And they’ll talk."
The Fire Marshall nods. "We’re keeping it quiet while we investigate but brace yourself. Word’s gonna get out. You might want to be ahead of it."
As I wait for the sheriff to wrap up some paperwork, I stare down at the crowbar in the evidence bag. The sharp edges and worn grip bring back a wave of memories I don’t expect.
Concrete walls. The clang of metal doors. My cellmate’s snores and the distant thud of fists on flesh. Nights spent staring at the ceiling, jaw clenched, thinking about Jason’s voice on the last voicemail I got before they shut off my privileges. “You said you’d come to my game. You lied.” I didn’t get to hear how the game ended. Never got to call him back.
I force the memory back, blinking hard as the sting behind my eyes creeps in. That kid—my kid—deserved a better version of me. Not just now. Then.
And the news about me spreads. Faster than wildfire.
By the time the town meeting rolls around that evening, the community hall is packed to the rafters. Folding chairs scrape. Fans whir overhead. Whispers slither like smoke through the crowd. I stand in the back, hands shoved deep in my pockets, waiting to be called out.
Mayor Nelson starts the meeting with updates on upcoming events, talking about the fall festival and a new mural for the library, but no one’s really listening. Everyone’s waiting for the fireworks.
Finally, he clears his throat. "We’re aware of the recent vandalism and fires targeting reclaimed properties. We’ve spoken to the fire marshal and local law enforcement. There are leads, but no formal suspects at this time." Orville shoots me an apologetic glance. He knows what he said just started the accusations, though he said nothing but the truth, and I can’t be mad at him for that.
That’s all it takes.
A voice rises from the left side of the room. "What about Cooper? His gym was hit. Looks like a distraction tactic to me."
Buzz spreads through the room. People shift in their seats. Some nod. Some frown. Others look around, unsure.
I take a step forward, my boots heavy against the old wooden floor. "You want to accuse me of something, have the guts to say it to my face."
Mr. Ingram stands. Former hardware store owner. Salt-and-pepper hair, always carries the weight of a grudge like it’s his birthright. "You’ve got motive, a record, and a temper. And now your fingerprints turn up at a fire? This town gave you a second chance. What are you doing with it?"
I stare him down, my voice steady. "I’m building something better. For myself. For the kids who come to that gym. Trying to make sure they don’t end up like I did. That gym isn’t just a place to lift weights. It’s a place to keep kids off the streets, to give them purpose."
The tension in the room crackles like lightning before a storm. A few people murmur. Others scowl or cross their arms.
Then, from the back of the room, Huck rises.
He takes his time, as if every movement carries weight. Dressed in jeans and a flannel, dusty from a day on a job site, he commands attention by simply standing there.
"I’ve worked with Cooper on that gym," he says, voice low and firm. "Donated materials. Swung a hammer beside him. Watched him show up every morning before the sun to build something with his bare hands. You don’t fake that kind of commitment. You don’t fake heart."
A hush falls. Someone claps once, then stops.
Then Ruby walks down the aisle. Red lipstick. Bright blue cardigan. Fierce as ever. She stops beside me and turns to face the room.
"You’re not that man anymore, Cooper," she says loud and proud. "I’ve watched you grow. I’ve watched you hurt. And I’ve watched you choose better every single day. This town needs to stop punishing people for becoming who they were meant to be."
Her voice cracks just slightly on the last word, and my chest tightens.
Orville clears his throat again and swiftly moves the meeting to the next item on the agenda, but the damage is done. The room is divided. The fault lines are visible. Some will never believe in me. But others? Others are starting to see.
