Chapter 12
twelve
“The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire.” - Ferdinand Foch
Cole figured it was about right that Jocelyn Murphy walked into the Nail the same day his mama ordered him to invite her to supper.
And that was what she’d done—ordered him.
Sat like a weight in his gut as he watched Jocelyn cut a line for the corner booth, folder in hand, jaw set hard enough to tell him she wasn’t there for wings and a beer.
The room was quiet for now, but he knew what was coming. Thursdays meant sing-o night—families piling in, kids hollering, a DJ cranking music so loud it rattled the glasses. If Jocelyn planned on digging into that folder, she wasn’t going to get far once the place filled up.
Didn’t take a genius to know what she was carrying. Fire reports. Old ghosts. Her eyes gave her away—guilt slipping through before she shoved it down under all that determination.
He told himself not to care. He wasn’t interested, not in her or her questions.
Mama might’ve wrung a half-hearted promise out of him, but the more folks in town tried to push him toward Jocelyn Murphy, the more he wanted to dig his heels in.
And the fact he couldn’t stop noticing how damn good she looked sitting there?
Just one more reason to keep his distance.
So he handed her section to Bea and steered clear. Safe plan.
Except he kept looking over anyway, catching every sigh, every shake of her head. His scowl deepened until Terra snorted on her way past.
“Better fix your face. You’re scaring the kids,” she said. “What’s your problem?”
Cole shot her a look. “Thought you were off thirty minutes ago.”
“Just stickin’ around to watch you work at staying thirty feet from that Murphy girl like she slapped a restrainin’ order on you.” She hauled a tub of dishes toward the back, grinning.
“Shut the hell up and go home.”
Her laughter trailed after her as she headed out through the back.
Soon after she left, Garrett Harrington pushed through the door, lugging his DJ-ing gear like a man dragging a corpse.
Cole pulled the sing-o cards and markers from under the bar, and moved around the restaurant to pass them out across the tables.
Which meant he had to head Jocelyn’s way. No dodging it this time.
She looked up when he stopped. “What’s this?”
“Sing-o.”
Her brows rose.
“Bingo. With a DJ.” He jerked his chin toward Garrett.
She pursed her lips, unimpressed.
“Come on. It’s fun.”
She shot him what could only be characterized as a scowl.
“You do have fun sometimes, don’t you?” He rattled the bucket.
A grin stretched across her face as she raised a brow in challenge. “You playing?”
Well, hell. Hadn’t planned to. But he couldn’t walk away from a challenge. “I will if you will.”
She pulled out two sets of cards and slid one across the table. Invitation made.
Cole sighed, muttering under his breath. “Be right back.”
Turned out she was good. Better than good.
She knew her music like she’d been raised on every station the dial had to offer.
Her grin widened each time she beat him to a title, lips moving along with the words, shoulders bouncing.
The game fired her up, and Cole found himself caught in it, leaning forward, pressing harder, until she finally slammed him with a sing-o win.
She practically danced her way back to the table after going up to match her card to the DJ’s list to make sure she was right.
“What do I get for winning?” she asked gleefully, sliding into the booth. Her eyes glittered with triumph.
He leaned back, arms crossed. He tried to look stern, but his grin wouldn’t quit. “Ain’t winnin’ enough?”
She placed her hands flat on the table, scoffing. “Come on. There’s gotta be some reward. A free milkshake or something?”
He raised a brow. “That what you want?”
She shrugged, looking around the room, but that smug smile still curled the edge of her mouth. It gave him real pleasure to see it, and to find that she hadn’t looked at the file she’d brought in with her since the game started.
Her attention touched on the families around the restaurant, maybe noting what he always did: there was not a phone or tablet to be seen. Folks usually distracted kids with screens to keep them quiet in restaurants, even this one.
But tonight, parents were interacting with their kids, only laughter and happy conversation filling the room, filling him with the rare buzz of contentment. He wondered if she felt it, too.
Her smile told him she did. “This is so great, Cole.”
He shrugged. “It’s not bad.”
Her hand slid onto his arm. “Really, though. I love this.”
He locked in on where her hand rested, something entirely different stirring inside him. Not just the electric reaction he’d had the second he’d seen her. Something entirely other that was just out of reach.
“I’ll get your prize, then,” he said, though he didn’t—couldn’t—move until she took her hand away.
But then she did, and he frowned, sliding out of his seat.
Air felt easier to get in and out of his lungs the farther he was from her, but he still felt the touch like she’d never removed her hand, even as he put in the order for the milkshake.
He made a point of checking in with the families closest to the bar until Jocelyn’s prize was ready and while Garrett got set up for the next round of sing-o. Bea made sure new cards were handed out, but Cole didn’t take new ones.
When he came back with the shake, Jocelyn was staring out the window, folder still tucked to the side, but it was only a matter of time.
“Thank you,” she murmured, smiling only briefly.
The easy banter from the game had burned out quick, smothered under whatever was clawing at Jocelyn now. Cole glanced at the folder she’d shoved to the side, neat and tidy, like hiding it made it less dangerous.
“What’s that?” he asked, deciding to quit circling. So much for him not being interested.
Her mouth twisted like she wasn’t going to let the explanation loose. But she’d already laid her suspicions bare once.
“It’s a report about the day my mama died.”
As he’d figured. “So what’s got you twisted up about it?”
She didn’t answer right then, just stirred her milkshake, spoon clinking against the glass.
“I got all night, Darlin’,” Cole drawled, keeping his tone lazy even while the words knotted his gut because that was an image. “You wanna talk it out, I’ll listen.”
Her lips pressed together, then she flipped the folder open, ruffled a few pages, shut it again. “I was comparing it to the other one I’d gotten. This copy came from the fire station. I thought maybe it’d have something new.”
The disappointment weighed heavy in her words, thick and hard to shake.
“But it didn’t,” he guessed.
She shook her head. “Chief Ward mentioned something this morning. Said Mama was found on the floor between her bed and dresser.”
Cole grimaced. He didn’t have to guess what kind of picture that put in her head. “But?”
Her eyes found his, dark and sharp. “That detail wasn’t in the report I had.”
He jerked his chin toward the folder. “In this one?”
Her lips flattened. “No. It’s the same. Word for word. I don’t even know why I bothered.”
Anger edged her voice, but she didn’t slam the table like he might’ve. She held it in, all that heat just simmering under the surface. She jabbed the spoon into her milkshake.
“I’m sorry,” he said, quieter. “Hell of a setback.”
“It is what it is.” She shrugged, gaze slipping away as she let it sit.
But he could tell she wasn’t done, and he waited her out.
“It just bugs me,” she finally said. “Her wine glass was there, by the window. That was always weird enough. But after what Ward said…” Her jaw clenched. “Why was it there if she was drunk and passed out over by the bed?”
“Don’t add up,” he agreed.
His sincerity pulled her focus back to him, and then she dropped her eyes to her hands. “Thanks for listening, Cole.”
Well, damn. His stomach dropped, then something else flared hot through his chest, moving all the way to his fingertips. He curled his hands into fists slow, steady.
“My pleasure, Darlin’.”
Her head lifted, a faint smile tugging at her mouth. “Why do you call me that?”
“What? ‘Darlin’?” He shrugged. “Just instinct, I guess.” He couldn’t explain it, not even to himself. Some part of her pulled it out of him.
“My mama called me ‘honeybee’ when I was little.”
The sound of it made him picture her that way—small, tender, untouched by all the hard years between then and now. It was rage that had burned that image into his memory back then, but it wasn’t anger pulling it up now.
“My mama called me ‘Tug,’” he said, mouth twisting.
Jocelyn tilted her head. “Why?”
He gave a short laugh. “Like tug-o-war. I was always pulling against her. Never made it easy.”
“She did say you were hard to reel in.” Jocelyn folded her arms, studying him. “But she’s proud of what you built.” Her hand swept toward the restaurant. “Maybe pulling against the current isn’t always wrong.”
The words sank deeper than they should’ve. Pride, clear in her voice. Like she had some kind of claim in the life he’d built. Truth was, she probably did. She’d known his mama most of her life now—long enough to understand more than most.
He had to look away, heat crawling through his blood. “Speaking of Ma,” he muttered, shifting gears. “She wants you to come for supper tomorrow night.”
Color bloomed in her cheeks. “Is that wise? Isn’t your dad mad at me?”
Cole snorted. “Pop doesn’t get mad at anybody but me.”
She gave him a look—half doubt, half pity.
“If Ma invited you, there’s no bad blood.”
“Alright,” Jocelyn said, voice quiet. “I’ll come.”
Relief cut through him, easing tension he hadn’t realized was wound so tight. If she’d said no, it would’ve felt too much like she was turning him down, not his mama.
“I’ll pick you up at the hotel on my way. Six-thirty?”
“Sounds fine.”
Mercy, the look she gave him curled in his belly.
But the moment broke sharp when Jocelyn went stiff, attention going to the door. He turned to see that Natasha Abbott had walked in. Her steps faltered when she spotted Jocelyn in the booth with him.
When he turned back, Jocelyn’s eyes were wide, searching the room like she was trapped. He knew that look too well—the need to escape before the past cornered you.
“There’s a door to the alley back there,” he said low, nodding toward the bar.