Chapter Five
B irch sat on his front porch and watched as Grey’s old hatchback disappeared around the corner. His brother was anxious to get to campus before the fight for a parking spot took up half his morning.
The early light of dawn was starting to break on the horizon, serving as a reminder of Jocelyn’s parting words the night before.
Same path, same time. If you think you can handle it.
He stared at the beetle waddling across the cement, willing it to pick a direction for him.
If he turned around and went inside, he could get a few more hours of sleep before his first appointment. Maybe take another shower to wash away the hint of perfume he swore he could smell on his skin. Perhaps he could forego his bed and get to work early to straighten up the shop.
The beetle meandered for a moment before toddling toward the driveway, making his decision for him.
Tightening his laces, he checked the pocket of his shorts for his keys and jogged over to his truck, pulling the door closed as he started the engine. Easing onto the empty street, he drove toward the trails, his knuckles white against the steering wheel.
Although he could technically blame the beetle for making the choice for him, it was his own foot sitting heavy on the gas as he drove through the quiet town, his hand hitting the signal as he turned into the park.
He didn’t want her.
He fucking craved her.
Neither of them had said anything when they walked her to her car in silence. He’d given her a tight smile and a noncommittal hmmm when she’d rolled down the window before she hit the road.
“Same path, same time. If you think you can handle it.”
Throwing his truck into park, he killed the engine and got out.
He could handle it.
After all, there was a guaranteed end to whatever game they decided to play. Whether it was two weeks or seven, he was walking in knowing it. And so was she.
Breaking into a jog, he headed down the eastern trail.
Every other part of his life was on track. Serpent’s Tongue Ink was not only staying afloat and paying the bills, he and Ryder had managed to build up a small surplus they’d squirreled away for an emergency. Grey’s car needed a bit of work to keep it on the road, but it was nothing the two of them couldn’t tackle on a weekend. River was steadily building his career, the swimsuit modeling gig he’d landed a few months back plastering his half-naked ass all over social media.
And Winter wasn’t going anywhere for another fourteen years. Nine, with good behavior.
A few weeks of selfish indulgence wouldn’t derail anything he’d sacrificed for.
He picked up his pace and closed in on the blond ponytail ahead, almost tripping himself up when he caught sight of his handiwork running down the length of Jocelyn’s spine, only a few inches of it hidden from view by her black sports bra.
It was mesmerizing, the way the black ink moved along her back and disappeared under the band of her leggings. The memory of her spread out on his chair waiting for him to mark her pulsed through his head and down to his hands and he clenched his fists, keeping himself from reaching out and touching her as he caught up and hit his stride.
“You’re late,” she panted without removing her earbuds.
“Your ass looks great in those leggings.” When she gave him an unimpressed glare, he grinned. “Sorry. Thought we were playing the obvious game.”
They ran the rest of the loop in silence, her pushing harder during the final stretch and him dragging his feet up the last hill while half-wishing lightning from the clear sky overhead would strike him down.
He collapsed on the grass where she paced to cool off, rolling onto his back and tossing his arm over his eyes. “I think you need to carry me to my truck, because I’m dead.”
She grabbed his foot and tugged with an exaggerated grunt before straddling his waist. “I’ll bring a shovel with me after breakfast and just bury you here. But I have to warn you, it’ll be a shallow grave because I have work to do this morning.”
His exhaustion forgotten, he glanced around to ensure they were alone before putting his hands on her hips. “Interested in hanging out tonight? My last client should be done by seven.”
She ran her hands across his stomach, patting his chest as she hopped off him. “There’s a nine o’clock showing of that new thriller, so why don’t you pick me up around eight thirty? That should give you enough time to pick me up a thong you might like to see on me some time, since the one I wore last night wasn’t tempting enough.”
*
Jocelyn turned off the gravel road onto the highway and pulled over at a rest stop before making her call.
“Hey, Angelo,” she greeted her boss, while she hunted through her purse for her lip gloss. “We can strike the Clamburgh Road address off the list of potential locations. Unless you think someone in the graveyard is hiding something.”
She could envision Angelo Herrena in that moment, removing his glasses and folding them, setting them on his desk as he leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his face in frustration. “That leaves the Hullenshead one and the Knot Hill one. Are you close to either right now?”
“Nope. Opposite directions,” she replied, checking the time. “I can probably knock them both off tomorrow if I get an early start, though.”
She could hear the rustling of paper through the speaker. “Works for me. But call me before you go out. I’ve heard rumblings the local police are sniffing around, so if I get the official word, you’ll need to work with them.”
“Will do. Talk to you tomorrow, Herrena.”
“Jocelyn?” Angelo called out moments before she hung up. “Make sure you’re tracking mileage and keeping your receipts. And remember to keep your wits about you. We don’t know the scope of this case or who the major players are yet.”
“Always do. At least, I always do, now.”
Ending the call, she continued on to Epson, hitting the town limits shortly after five and deciding to swing by her parent’s house to kill some time before her date.
Janie Carter greeted her in the garden, her gloved hands filthy. “Hey, sweetheart!” she called over. “Keep me company while I get these marigolds in.”
Perching on the edge of the flower bed, she passed over a plastic container of delicate seedlings. “It’s looking good. The hydrangeas are getting big.”
“I’m a little worried about the hosta in that far corner. It hasn’t come up yet.” Patting the dirt down around the little plant she’d just placed, she sat back on her heels. “Amy Hansen mentioned seeing you and one of those Baker boys on the trails this morning. Is he a runner, too?”
“Subtle, mom.”
“Just making conversation, honey.” She smiled. “Is this the same one you were dining with earlier this week?”
Laughing, she shook her head. “No. I’m cycling through all of them in the hopes of setting the rumor mill ablaze. Yes, it’s the same one. And he’s not one of those Baker boys. His name is Birch, and he’s a nice guy.” Glancing around to make sure the neighbors weren’t outside listening in, she squatted down beside her mom, her stilettos sinking into the soft grass. “He doesn’t talk about himself much though. At least, not about anything about his family except his younger brother.”
“The swimsuit model? River?”
“Swimsuit model? No, he never mentioned that one.” She chuckled. “The one in university. Grey.”
Tugging her gloves off, her mom pulled her phone from her pocket and opened her messaging app, scrolling until she found a series of photos. “Karla sent me these a few days ago. I’ll say one thing about Colton and Willa Baker, they passed along some very pretty genetics.”
Scanning the photos of a gorgeous man outfitted in various swim trunks, she could see the resemblance to Birch. Both were tall and muscular, long-limbed and strong-thighed. She recognized two of the tattoos on his chest, pieces she’d seen in the Serpent’s Tongue album. River’s dark hair had streaks of gold in it, but he had the same square jaw, thin lips, and straight nose.
The biggest difference was their eyes. While River’s held a playful glint, Birch’s hazel ones were hard and cagey, constantly scanning his surroundings as if preparing his attack.
Or retreat.
Handing the phone back, she helped collect the discarded flowerpots. “He looks a lot younger than Birch.”
“Birch must have been the one who took custody of the younger two boys when Colton was murdered. That was…oh my, time passes. That was around thirteen years ago.” Clucking her tongue, her mom shook her head. “As if Colton’s death and Winter’s arrest weren’t enough drama around here, no one was willing to take in the boys. Their mother apparently signed away her parental rights years beforehand and your Birch had to step up so his brothers stayed out of the foster system.”
Doing the math, Jocelyn frowned. “He would have been eighteen. Jeez, mom. Why didn’t anyone help him? Help them? Why didn’t you or dad step up? And he’s not my Birch.”
Her mom went silent for a few minutes, smoothing the soil around the marigolds. “I wish I could say dad and I hadn’t joined the rest of the town in our judgements, but I can’t. If memory serves, the younger boys were nine and thirteen? Maybe fourteen? Not easy ages, especially since the teenager already had a reputation for stealing and fighting. But once the dust settled, the gossip slowed until Birch went to jail, so he must have been doing a decent job raising his brothers.” She got to her feet and collected her gardening tools. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“Thanks, but no,” she replied, mulling over what she’d learned. “Birch is picking me up in a bit and we’re heading to the movies. I’ll call you after work tomorrow though, okay?”
After a quick hello and goodbye to her dad, she drove back to the hotel to get ready for her date, half of her feeling guilty over hearing more of Birch’s story from someone else and the other half glad she had another piece of the puzzle that was the guy she was falling for fast.
Because it didn’t matter how bad the town believed Birch to be, he was nothing like the vipers she swam with in the swamps of the New Jersey coastline.