Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE JUST FINE.
Juniper
Dash cups a palm to his ear. “Come again?”
Sterling’s eyes stay trained on me when he replies. “She said she’s burying the man she killed today.”
Sterling points to the uprooted spot on the ground, looking at Dash. “You gonna remember this spot?”
Dash nods, shock sweeping his usually sexy features. “Yes.”
Sterling dips his head. “Perfect.” He points the flashlight on his cellphone toward the bridge and says, “Let's take her back to the house.”
“I’m not done,” I protest, stomping my foot in the cool dirt. But when Sterl takes a step my way, I know I’m going over his shoulder, and as much as I need to finish what I’m doing, I also know I have hours. And I owe them explanations.
I’m not getting out of it now.
On the walk back, draped over Sterling’s body, I listen to their conversation.
“I know as a cop you’re probably freaking out, but, buddy, just… take a breath, okay? Let’s just get up to the house. Let’s get up there and just… see what’s what, okay?”
“Yeah… sure.”
Dash’s disconnected demeanor and distant tone make my stomach curdle. He knows, and now I’m gonna lose him. I ball my fists in Sterling’s sweatshirt, clinging to him in so many ways as he continues the trudge up to my place.
We fall silent for the rest of the trek.
Twice on the walk back, he claps his hand along Dash’s back, and my insides tighten at the loving gesture, and the easy way he’s taking care of both of us at once. I’ve always loved being Sterling’s friend, but I’ve equally loved watching their friendship evolve, even if they haven’t explored those feelings at all. I’m certain there’s more, I’m certain there is not one single thing Sterling wouldn’t do for Dash, and vice versa. Being with them is one thing, but watching them together is being in the presence of the purest love. And they aren't even aware of it.
“Everything’s gonna be all right. I’ll make sure of it,” Sterling says as the porch lights come into view.
Finally, we’re at the house, and by the time Sterling has lowered me to my feet, we’re inside my cozy little outdated farmhouse kitchen. Sterling is drenched in sweat, and Dash is pacing the strip of linoleum between the stove and sink, hands stuffed into his hair like he’s on the brink of a meltdown.
Sterling flattens his palms out between us. “Juniper, go get in the shower, sweetheart. Okay? Get yourself cleaned up, and while you do, Dash and I will take off our shoes and I’ll sweep up the house so there’s no dirt.”
“Tea,” I whisper, the reality of the situation crashing down around me, shattering the illusion of safety I’d been living in. Even on the walk back, foolishly, I clung to safety and hope. But Dash is a mess, and I think I’ve wrecked everything. I lick my lips as tears burn behind my eyes. “Can you put on some tea?” My bottom lip wobbles as I stare between the two men I love and adore.
They’re my whole world, outside my sisters and my jam, and once I come clean with everything else, they won’t want me anymore.
How could they?
Good, decent, hardworking, handsome men do not want to be with a murderer.
No matter how good the jam is.
“Sure, sweetheart. I’ll put on tea.” Sterling closes the gap between us, stroking a big, dirty hand through my hair, tenderly gazing down at me. I love how small I feel when I’m with him, how much safety his arms and chest provide, how much clarity I feel when I’m pressed against him. “How about some toast, too? Would that be good?”
I nod as he presses his lips into my hairline. My body is always on her own wavelength, and despite the seriousness about to crash into this kitchen after my shower, my lower half clenches with need at his caring touch.
In the bathroom, I focus on the shower. Washing away the silt and dirt, kneading my fingers into my scalp my shampoo bubbles over my knuckles and wrists. The steam. The scent of almond blossoms and cherries. A fresh nightie. Warm socks.
Everything is going to be okay, Juniper, I repeat over and over, ignoring the fact that I’m about to share the only true secret I’ve ever had.
Everything is going to be just fine.
That’s the most work a shower has ever taken. Every two seconds, my mind would slip to what I’m about to do and panic would set it.
I know those men deserved what they got, especially the man from this afternoon. But if taking their lives means that I will lose Sterling and Dash, then the cost far outweighs the worth.
I can’t lose them.
Losing them would be like losing Dolly and Ivy.
Tugging on a dusty rose-colored long silk slip nightie, I comb through my hair, leaving it down and wet around my shoulders. Nighttime routine is less important than getting to the men in my kitchen and making them understand.
Explaining the side of me they don’t know.
Light on my feet, I creep down the hall, stopping mere feet from the end to take in the most perfect sight. Dash and Sterling, sitting hip to hip at my kitchen counter. In front of them are plates with toast, and mugs full of tea, steam drifting lazily off the tops. Sterling’s got one arm wrapped tightly around Dash, his face turned toward him, speaking softly and privately. I can’t see Sterling’s face, but I can see Dash’s.
I see the way Dash’s focus swims between Sterling’s deep hazel eyes and his mouth. The way Dash listens to Sterling is brimming with intimacy, and my entire body squeezes at the sight of them. If I had to guess, Sterl is reassuring a very nervous Dash.
I hate to put them in this situation. One where they have to make a choice, not just about me, but themselves, too. Honoring their own lives over mine means turning me in for everything I’m about to share. And I wouldn’t hate them if they did that. I would understand.
My heart would be broken, though. I can’t deny that.
“I wish I had a photo of this,” I breathe the words out quietly in trial, trying to gauge if they’re ready for me.
Sterling’s arm drops off the back of Dash, and he twists on the stool to face me. Two sets of the most handsome eyes take me in and Sterling pulls out the stool next to him, patting the top of it. A mug of tea and a plate of toast is there, too, waiting for me.
“What do you want a photo of?” Sterl asks, nudging the mug of tea into my hands.
“You two, talking, looking like you fit perfectly in my kitchen.” I sip the oolong. “Like you’re both where you belong.”
It’s an admission of sorts, a very passive one, though, I’ll admit. But with what we’re about to get into, admitting my desires for them right now feels like the wrong time.
Dash leans forward, looking like he’s aged five years in the last twenty minutes. A groove of unease carves through my chest, and I reach past Sterling to link my fingers around Dash’s wrist.
I don’t know what to say. Apologizing feels too small, so instead, I just smile.
“Juniper,” Dash starts, a slight tremor in his voice. “I only have one request.”
I nod, and look up at Sterling, to find him nodding at me, too. Whatever Dash is about to request, Sterling is privy to, and agrees with. “What is it?”
“The truth. Every single word you speak in this kitchen tonight, it’s gotta be the truth, okay?”
Releasing his wrist, I sink into my barstool, looking between the two of them. “Okay.” Their gazes still weigh on me, so I add, “I promise.”
Staring at the sourdough toast plated in front of me, I cautiously hedge, “What do you want to know?” It’s a stupid question because they want to know everything. Of course they do. If the roles were reversed I would want every morsel of knowledge, too. But I’ve never spoken about any of this aloud, to anyone, ever. Not even myself.
It’s proving to be more challenging than I thought.
Sterling’s arm comes around my back, and the scrape of his barstool feet against the floor tells me he’s moved closer. His body rains heat down on me, his comforting scent of sweat and cologne make my skin tingle, bumps erupting. I let my head crash against his shoulder, and set loose a decade-long trapped sigh.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Just start with tonight. Tell us about the man you killed and buried.”
Stomach acid burns at the back of my nose at his choice of words. Killed and buried.
He’s not wrong—that’s what I did tonight. And that wasn’t even close to my first time.
But Sterling. He’s so strong and kind, his heart is so pure. I dragged him—and Dash—into this. I pulled two of the best human beings in Bluebell into my mess. They don’t deserve this stress.
A tremble rolls through my bottom lip, but I tip up my chin and take a deep, steadying breath. No dragging it out. Time to rip off the Band-Aid.
“I was out today, picking up some stuff for dessert tonight, you know, after Goode’s Italian.”
Our dessert tonight. The plans I had in store—they all tumble by the wayside as tears cloud my vision. I bring my fingers to my eyes, rubbing, determined not to cry my way through the truth. Sterling’s solid hand strokes up and down my spine, and I notice now Dash is standing on my other side, leaning down, listening intently.
I swallow hard through the knot of humiliation and shame, and continue. “Anyway, on the way home from the market there was a man selling fresh strawberries on the side of the road. I mean, I have a berry guy for jam but I wasn’t going to see him for two more days, and I wanted to make you guys strawberry shortcake tonight.” I sniffle, remembering how they ate the entire dish the first time I made it, in one sitting. “Because you both love it, you know?”
Dash pats my hand and Sterling sweeps my wet hair off my shoulder, smoothing his palm down my arm. “We do,” he says softly, bobbing his head, urging quietly for me to continue.
“So I got out, and I asked him how much he wanted for a whole flat. He said twenty-two dollars, which is really not that great of a deal, like, at all. I told him that, then I started bargaining. I asked him if he’d take eighteen dollars instead. We went back and forth for a minute and finally, he said eighteen would work. I was getting cash from my wallet for a minute but when I found the twenty-dollar bill I was looking for, I turned around and…” I pause, my tongue feeling too big for my mouth at this part. Suddenly my head feels a little woozy. Sterling, always sensing what Dash and I need, brings a piece of toast to my lips.
“Bite,” he urges, his smoky rasp causing me to pull my legs together beneath the counter. I take a bite, the flavor of Blueberry Sin easing my nerves a bit. This is my favorite flavor. And the familiarity is helping to already soothe me. “Sip,” he says, bringing my tea to my lips. After a sip, I wipe stray tears from my cheeks, share a comforting glance between them, and continue.
“His thing was out, draped across the flat of strawberries. He said, ‘I’ll take the eighteen if you take this eight.’”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” Dash grouses, pushing off the counter to run a hand through his hair. He looks like a million dollars when he’s in his uniform, but a messy Dash in jeans and a hoodie? Way hotter.
“Who the fuck was this guy?” Sterling groans, anger clouding his eyes, turning his chestnut gaze dark, brimming with rage. His knuckles curl, draining of color on top of the counter as his nostrils flare. Taking a deep breath, Sterl’s chest inflates as he struggles for self-control.
Dash slides onto a barstool, his normally sun-kissed skin now pale and sallow.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, stroking my hand over his cheek. I turn to Sterling, paler than usual, definitely in shock of some sort. I cup his cheek and turn his face, bringing our eyes together. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll fucking kill him,” Sterling seethes, while tenderly wrapping one arm around my waist, sliding me onto his lap. I’ve never sat on his lap before, and I never imagined it being while talking about my secrets, but still, I’ve never felt so safe.
With his monstrous arms keeping me snug against him, Dash twists, aligning his knees with Sterling’s. He looks up at me, still pale but not defeated. In fact, he manages a partial smile as he looks up at Sterl. “You forgetting why we’re here? She already took care of that.”
“I don’t blame you, sweetheart,” Sterl says against my hair.
Dash’s face falls, as if reality is edging into his brain in small, manageable doses. “Wait—how did you kill him?”
Chewing my lip, I consider how this will sound aloud. I’ve never said the words out loud until earlier tonight, much less gone into detail. But there is detail. And I’ve kept track of it all. But tonight is just about that: tonight. And maybe the guy from yesterday.
“Well, all I had on me was my economy jam jar. It was in my purse. I was on my way to Goode’s to deliver it—it’s their replenish jar. They refill the table jars with the one big one.” I use my hands to show them about the size of the jar. “Anyway, I knew it would work so I reached past my wallet, grabbed it and… clobbered him.”
The kitchen falls silent, and Dash loses his remaining color. From behind me, Sterling says, “What do you mean you knew it would work?”
I grip the counter and slide off, getting to my feet between them. “Because I killed a man on the ravine turnout up north yesterday using a jar of jam that size.” An awkward smile lifts the edge of my lips. “That’s where I got the yellow dog. I was driving by, doing deliveries. The man was beating the yellow dog, so I pulled over and ordered him to quit. He didn’t, and he cursed me out, so I saved the yellow dog. I had to.”
Dash’s eyes go distant, unfocused and a little hazy as he gets to his feet, too. So does Sterling—and just in time for him to catch a fainting Dash.
I hope I didn’t break him.