Chapter 18
eighteen
“I survived because the fire inside burned brighter than the fire around me.” - Joshua Graham
They slowed at the corner where First met Walnut, but Cole felt the way Jocelyn internalized the sight before them.
The Hollow Inn—the only hotel in town—wasn’t completely swallowed by fire.
Yet. But the right wing was coughing out heavy smoke, the kind that meant the blaze was still chewing its way through the old bones of the place.
Being a firefighter’s son, he knew the crew had gotten there quick enough to save most of the structure. Odds were good the left side would stand, patched up and still workable for Heath and Sally Anne to limp their business along. But that depended on how fast they could get the flames wrangled.
He cut a glance at Jocelyn. Her face had gone pale as ash, and she hugged her arms tight around her middle, bracing like she could hold herself together by sheer force of will.
“My room’s on that side,” she whispered.
Cole’s chest pulled tight. “Hopefully the fire hasn’t touched it.”
She only nodded, jaw flexing as she watched the parking lot crowd. Barely contained panic rolled through the folks who’d been caught in the chaos.
Their talk before about the arsonist from twenty years back rose up in his mind like smoke curling out of an old chimney.
Logic said it could be coincidence. The Hollow Inn was a turn-of-the-century relic, full of bad wiring and outdated guts.
But the idea of coincidence didn’t sit with any measure of rightness, especially knowing how thorough Heath was about that kind of thing.
That, with Jocelyn’s note, her digging, her history with this town and fire itself—it all added up to more than happenstance.
“My clothes will be ruined,” she murmured.
Her words yanked his attention back to her. Her color still wasn’t promising, but there was a hardness to her expression and a set to her chin like she was ready to go to war with whoever had done this.
“Even if they aren’t burned, the smoke’ll stain everything—” She cut herself off, the anger in her throat choking out the rest.
Before Cole could say a thing, she spun on her heel and stalked down the sidewalk. Took him a few beats to shake off the whiplash and catch up.
“Where you goin’?”
“Getting my car.” She didn’t even look at him, but her face carried a hard edge that put a chill down his spine.
“Then what?” he asked, picking up his pace.
She wheeled around so fast he almost plowed into her. “Why? Why do you need to know, Cole?”
Her gaze cut him open. His mouth went dry. “Because I wanna make sure you’re alright.”
“I’m fine.”
The way she said it lit him up inside, sharp and hot, like a slap. He could see the wall going up between them, stone by stone. Maybe it’d been there all along, and he’d just been fool enough to think he could slip past it.
His fingers curled in tight. “Alright, then.”
He brushed by her, stalking back toward the Nail, every step clipped and hard.
Stupid, probably, but that old itch was riding him—the one that said he had to be like his daddy, had to measure up to the hero everybody else remembered.
Maybe even prove to Jocelyn that he was cut from the same cloth, no matter how tarnished his father’s image was now.
Couldn’t prove a damn thing if she didn’t give him the chance to, if she didn’t let someone help her with that burden.
Inside the Nail, Terra gave him a sharp stare as he blew past her. He ignored it, heading for the back stairs. Up, down, up again—three times he pounded them out, burning off the mad coursing through his veins.
When he finally shoved into his apartment, he paced the floor like a caged animal.
The window showed thinning smoke rising over the Inn now, which meant the fire was nearly out, thank God.
Heath and Sally Anne would be buried under mess enough without losing the whole place.
He’d check on them soon, once the crowd cleared.
But even as he tried to settle, Jocelyn’s face kept flashing in his mind—her suspicion, her fear, her anger so sharp it had teeth. She’d stormed off mad, but he knew better. There was more under it: frustration, maybe loss, maybe that same shadow of fear that chased his own thoughts.
That stirred something in his gut—the idea that she would be scared, this woman he really barely knew but had heard about his whole life.
His mama had talked about her plenty. And so he did know.
He knew her history without ever asking.
Varsity soccer, full ride scholarship, the serious boyfriend, the first job.
He knew her like family, but the pull under his skin told him she was anything but.
He rubbed his hands together, heat sparking in his palms, needing something to do. The need to move, to work, was bred in him same as breathing. His granddad used to say he had ants in his pants. His mama knew better—it was a body that couldn’t sit still, a man that had to put his hands to use.
And now he had something worth that restless energy. Jocelyn needed help—even if she didn’t know it, even if she didn’t want it. He could give her that. He wanted to give her that. And not because of who his daddy was.
It was that fire. The note. No, not coincidence at all. Deliberate.
Purpose lit him up, quick and sure.
Cole jogged for the stairs again, already knowing he wouldn’t keep his distance anymore. She could shut him out if she wanted, but he wasn’t backing down. Not this time.
Cole breezed down to the restaurant, and the wall of sound struck him like a freight train.
“What the hell?” he muttered as he rounded in behind the bar.
“Fire is good for business,” Terra said with a raised brow. She was almost yelling over the din.
“Good for business, bad for my ears. What’re they sayin’?”
“All kinds. Saw Jocelyn runnin’ away like maybe she’d lit it.” Cole cut her a razor look, but she kept on. “There was an explosion before it went up. It was just a small blaze—started by some kids. It came from the kitchen. A smoker leaving cigarettes unattended in a room. Take your pick.”
The growl rumbled in his chest, and he scowled out at the chaos of the dining room. No one was eating a quiet dinner tonight. Not that the Nail was the place for quiet, but it usually was calm enough for a conversation at least.
No one wanted conversation now. This was a trading room for theories and speculation.
“Cole, Edith saw you there at the hotel.” Henry Wetzel shoved his way to the bar.
“Yeah, I was there. Gonna check in on Heath and Sally when all’s said and done. Offer my help.”
Henry’s lips flattened at the veiled admonishment. Cole made sure the edge was in his voice so there’d be no doubt about it.
“Any ideas what caused it?” Henry ventured.
“No.” Cole moved along the bar, grabbing a glass to fill with Henry’s beer of choice.
“Edith said Jocelyn was with you.”
Cole’s gaze sliced up to meet Henry’s. “Yep.”
The other man opened his mouth, shut it. Tried again. “Do you think the fire’ll affect the Fest?”
“Doubt it. Look around you. Intrigue is good for business.” Cole set the glass before Henry and gave him a hard stare.
The man took the hint, gave a curt nod, and squeezed back out through the crowd, pulling Cole’s gaze with him.
It’s how he managed to spot Lydia Abbott in a booth across the room. Natasha was with her, face creased into worry. Bodies slid back together, blocking his view. But not his determination.
He slapped his hand on the bar and pushed away, ignoring Terra’s questioning look.
It was hell trying to make it through the throng, but he pushed his way through soon enough. Natasha was missing by the time he made it over.
“Sorry about this noise, Miz Abbott. Anything I can get you?”
Her perfectly painted mouth was tipped down. “It’s not your fault, Cole, but thank you for asking. Natasha went to take care of the drinks since we’ve been waiting to even order food.”
“Sorry about that.” The freshness of the fire, the frustration from his interactions with Jocelyn, and the suspicion she’d planted in his mind brought the topic to his tongue. “Sad business, this fire.”
Lydia’s expression didn’t budge. “Yes. I’ve heard they’ve got it out by now, though.”
“Some speculation’s goin’ around that it wasn’t an accident.”
Her eyes tightened. “It’s worth investigating every possibility, just to be sure.”
He squared his stance, folding his arms. “Sure. Probably just talk anyhow.”
The smile she gave him was almost painful. “It’s a favorite pastime around here. There’s always someone stirring things up, someone knocking on doors that ought to stay shut.”
That felt a bit like a dig. “I’ll hear facts myself when I check in with Heath,” he said, measuring her. “Figure I can help him and Sally Anne when things clear out.”
“Mercy, Cole, I don’t know how you keep up,” Lydia said, the first sign of a bite in her voice. “Stepping in to help, just like your daddy. But then y’all have always been known for taking on… strays.”
He stiffened. Definitely a dig. When she scooted out of her seat, it forced him to step back.
“Taken care of, Mama,” Natasha said breezily as she joined them. “Hey, Cole. Sorry, but we paid for our drinks and will try another day for a meal. This is… madness.”
He nodded in her direction, but his eyes didn’t leave Lydia. “Next one’s on me, ladies.”
“Mighty kind of you, Cole,” Natasha said, her tone uncertain as she looked between them. Wasn’t the first time her mama had ruffled feathers, though she tended to be more subtle about it.
“You take care, now,” he said, tearing his gaze from the mother to give her daughter a quick smile.
The women made it to the door, and he tracked their progress until they were gone, something sitting in his belly he couldn’t quite name. No surprise Lydia’d be bothered by Jocelyn’s presence. Probably even felt betrayed by anyone who offered her kindness.
Everything about this new fire sat wrong, stirred the suspicion that wasn’t too far from the surface. And with his mind already made up to help Jocelyn, it sure put every interaction he had in a new, harsh light.
And that just pissed him off.