Jared’s shoulders slump further with each step I take, bracing for impact.
Instead of speaking, I pull on my work gloves and position myself on the opposite side of the fallen plywood.
The crew falls silent as I flatten my palms on the smooth surface, fingers spread for balance. Their mockery curdles into unease as it dawns on them whose side I’m on.
I ignore them to focus on Jared. “Hold it like this.”
After a beat of confusion, Jared mirrors my stance.
“On three,” I say. “One, two, lift.”
The sheet rises between us, our arms extending in unison. With the weight distributed between us, the awkward size becomes manageable. We pivot together, maneuvering around the mess of scattered tools until we reach the stack where the plywood belongs.
“Steady,” I murmur as we lower it into place. “Corner first, then ease it down.”
When the sheet settles onto the stack, Jared steps back, wiping his palms on his jeans. His head stays lowered, avoiding looking at me.
“You don’t have to prove yourself like this,” I say, aiming the reassurance for his ears alone. “Do the job you were hired for. That’s enough.”
His head snaps up, surprise replacing shame in his expression. “I want to help.”
“Help, then, but don’t hurt yourself.” I gesture toward the scattered tools. “This site has procedures for a reason. Safety protocols. Two-person lifts.”
“They wouldn’t—” He cuts himself off, eyes darting to where the crew has found other tasks requiring their attention.
No one looks at us now, their earlier mockery forgotten in the wake of my intervention.
“Wouldn’t help?” I finish for him. “Did you ask?”
His throat works as he swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “No.”
“Construction workers like to razz the new guys. It’s all part of the industry.” I rest a palm on the stack. “But they won’t leave you hanging if you ask for help. And if they do, report them. They’re putting everyone in the crew at risk, and we can’t let that stand.”
His eyes cling to mine, hungry for confirmation that he hasn’t ruined everything. “Thank you. I will.”
“Next time, wait for proper equipment or assistance.” I bend to pick up a stray hammer, passing it to him. “You’re no good to anyone with a slipped disc.”
Around us, the site returns to normal activity, power tools whining to life, hammers resuming their rhythm. The crew gives us a wide berth, their earlier amusement gone in the face of my silent rebuke.
“I should clean this up.” Jared gestures to the scattered tools, his shoulder brushing mine as he moves to kneel.
“Let the electricians handle their own equipment.” I touch his arm, stopping him. “Take a break. Drink some water before you get heatstroke. Then report to Clint for your actual assignment.”
Confusion furrows his brow. “But I volunteered to?—”
“And now I’m un-volunteering you.” My hand falls away from his arm, the brief contact leaving warmth on my fingertips. “Working yourself to the bone won’t change minds, Jared. It’ll only prove you’re trying to compensate for something. Trust me, I know from experience.”
Understanding dawns in his expression. “Is that what you did when you started?”
“Yes. And it nearly broke me.”
He stares at me for a long moment, the connection between us thickening. I rub at the ache in my chest, hoping I got through to him.
He tracks the movement before he steps back, creating space between us. “Water first. Then I’ll find Clint.”
“Good man.”
As he walks toward the water cooler, his stride steadier than before, I notice several workers watching him with new consideration in their expressions. Not respect, not yet, but reassessment. Sometimes, that’s all you can hope for.