Chapter 17
seventeen
“Only in the fire do we forge the unbreakable.” - Unkown
Cole’s head jerked toward her, the anger he’d carried a moment ago gone as quick as it came. Jocelyn had heard it in his voice, felt it crackle in the air, but now something else danced in his pale blue gaze—something sharper, questioning.
“When I talked to Chief Ward, he mentioned how your dad just happened to be nearby that night. And then I got this note telling me to back off my digging. Same kind of paper I found on the floor of your parents’ living room just now.
Makes me wonder if all that kindness of theirs is just a mask.
Like maybe your dad’s got something to hide.
” Her words poured out too fast, tumbling over each other until her lungs ached for air.
“But God, I’m terrified of that being true, Cole.
I love your parents. I don’t want to lose them. ”
It took him a beat to process, then his brows sank low and his voice came out rough. “You got a note threatenin’ you?”
Jocelyn twisted her fingers together. “Not exactly threatening.”
“What the hell did it say?” The growl in his throat made her heart knock against her ribs. It was protective, primal, the kind of sound a man made when danger circled close to something or someone important.
That realization held her captive for a moment. She kept her silence one second more—not because she couldn’t remember. No, those words were burned into her mind, just one more piece of paper she’d committed to memory.
But because she wanted to cherish the thought that someone cared that much, even if it wasn’t truly a threat.
Finally, she forced the words out, flat and cold: “‘Some questions are better left unanswered.’”
Cole sucked in a breath, his jaw ticking as he stared out the windshield. The truck rumbled on down the road, but his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
He turned into the alley, parked, then smacked his palms against the steering wheel with a muttered curse. “Forgot to take you back to the hotel.”
“It’s fine. I think I need a minute, anyway,” she admitted, though she wasn’t sure what good a minute would do.
His head tipped toward the back door of the building. “You wanna come up? My place is on the second floor.” He killed the engine, already shoving his door open before she could answer.
Jocelyn slid out, too, more to clear her head than follow him. Her feet kept her near the truck while he strode toward the entrance, only stopping when he noticed she wasn’t behind him. He turned and something in her stuttered.
She remembered John all those years ago—a bit thicker than Cole, not quite as tall—turning to look at her when she’d called for him. He’d handed her off to paramedics, and she’d fallen into full hysterics. He'd turned back, gone to comfort her so they could do a thorough check.
She pushed the memory back and stared hard at Cole. “What do you know about why your dad was there that night?”
Cole’s nostrils flared as he shoved a hand through his hair. “You asking me if my old man started that fire, Jocelyn?”
Anger again.
It didn’t stir any in her. In fact, pressure built against her eyeballs, the threatening fear and sadness at the possibility flipping her calm upside-down.
“No.” She had to pause, swallow back her tears. “I’m asking what you know. What he told you.”
Cole came toward her, hard-edged. “Why the hell didn’t you ask him at dinner?”
Finally, her own fury surfaced, and she thought, Thank God. She wasn’t sure she could handle it if she broke down right then and there, let her grief and heartbreak spill out in the face of his anger.
“Because I wasn’t questioning a damn thing until I found that paper.
And then I couldn’t stop wondering if the man who saved my life also betrayed me.
Or if your mama’s kindness was just an act to cover a scheme to run me out of town.
” Her chest heaved, the pressure of the anger and grief a band around her ribs, getting tighter and tighter.
“I don’t want to believe it. I don’t want to hurt them by asking the question. But—”
Cole’s voice sliced through hers, sharp as barbed wire: “You sure don’t mind cutting me open with the question, do you?”
Her silence only seemed to wound him further.
“Got it,” he said bitterly. “They matter more to you than I do. I’m nothing, so why not shove the hard questions on me instead of them?”
“No,” she said softly. “You’re not…”
His chin shifted forward when she didn't continue. “Not what?”
“Not nothing.” It was all she could offer just then. Because he wasn’t nothing, but he wasn’t something yet, either. She wasn’t sure if she could handle it if he ever became something. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He interrupted her with a humorless laugh, low and ragged. Turning away, he dragged a hand through his hair again, ruffling curls loose.
“I don’t, Cole,” she insisted. “But I need answers.”
Answers had become as precious to her in that moment as the air she dragged in and out.
And because he’d turned away from her, he couldn’t see that, even if she hated asking the question, it might alleviate the pain that had slowly been building the moment her fingers touched that piece of card stock, torn on the edge just like the note she’d found.
She was burning up with it, this heartbreak that was waiting to happen.
He spun back, face carved in fury. “Well, here’s one for you. Pop didn’t set that fire. He was walking off a high.”
She blinked. “What?”
Cole’s jaw worked, and those eyes, those serene pools, shifted from her face. It was shame that made him turn away, she realized.
“He was addicted to pain killers—Oxy. Been clean since that night.” The words came raw like they’d been dragged against jagged rocks.
She heard more in his voice than the shame. There was betrayal there, and the complicated history of a man who’d had a difficult relationship with his father.
Now that was something she could empathize with.
Cole put his hands on the hood of his truck like he needed the anchor.
Despite his stillness, the buzz of energy pulsed in the air.
“Always had this image of him in my head, you know? The guy who put his life on the line for everyone but us. And then he was the hero. Even if he wasn’t there for his family, at least he was the picture of what a man’s supposed to be.
” His laugh was short and bitter. “Turns out that picture was crooked as hell.”
Sadness nudged at her heart, softened her voice. “Doesn’t knowing he’s human make him… more real? More like the rest of us?”
Cole muttered a curse. “Ain’t that the funny part? It just pisses me off more.”
Silence grew heavy between them until she spoke again, quiet and careful. “Nobody else knows, do they?”
His lips pressed thin.
“And if they did… it’d ruin him.”
“It’s not exactly rare. Lot of guys on the crew wrestle with one demon or another. You live in fire every damn day, you start lookin’ for a way to take the edge off. High-risk job, high-risk stress relief.”
Her heart squeezed. High-risk stress relief…
like arson? She almost flinched at the thought.
She wanted to believe the best about John, if not for his own sake, for Ellen’s and Cole’s.
But she couldn’t deny that walking off a high wasn’t exactly an alibi.
If anything, it pointed to the greater possibility of him having started the fire, even if accidentally.
Who better to set a fire and make it look like an accident than a firefighter?
Her chest ached at the truth of it, how much it threw into question for her, how it had thrown them both off. She tried to steady herself, but her thumb rubbed unconsciously at the ache beneath her sternum. He caught the gesture, made her aware of it.
“Been quite the day. For both of us,” he said, voice softening for the first time. “You okay?”
Her response came automatic: “I’m fine.”
He studied her, unconvinced. “Fine? Now, really, Darlin’?” A smirk tugged at his mouth, humorless and knowing. “Don’t sound like fine to me.”
Her gaze lifted skyward. She hated the naked feeling and the contradiction of terror that he could see past the mask, see the sadness at the possibility of him walking away if she was honest. It was dizzying.
“I expected the emotions,” she admitted. “The grief. Even some push back from people in town. But…”
“But what?” There was a tightness to his voice that drew her eyes to his face.
Did he know what was coming? Could he sense the doubt that threatened to drown her?
A vine of fear snaked through her stomach, winding its way up her throat to choke out the real answer. What came out was: “I just didn’t realize it would be this hard.”
His shoulders hunched for a moment. Could he hear the lie in her voice or did he believe her words? The last thing she wanted was to hurt him, to damage whatever this was between them, even if it was ridiculous to consider that it could be anything.
She was well-versed in the hazards of a woman who followed her feelings for a man into disaster. She was a Murphy, after all.
Neither of them spoke for a moment, the silence heavy as autumn fog.
Then a siren split the air like an ax through a log. They both flinched, but she started moving first because something about it rattled in her bones with a foreboding she couldn’t shake.
Working their way through the alley, they made it to the sidewalk in time to catch the engine that barreled out of the station and cut right in front of them on its way down First Street.
It was an odd sixth sense, maybe because of heightened emotions, maybe because she had an intimate knowledge of fire. But the foreboding turned into leaden dread when she spotted the smoke snaking into the dusky blue sky—thick, black, toxic.
Cole looked at her, a silent question in his eyes.
And then they ran.