Page 7 of Slow Burn
Jocelyn’s heart started its rattling again as she and Cole stared at each other. Her mind screamed that he knew what she was up to, that he thought she was a horrible person for wanting to stir things up, that he might hinder her, or that he’d hate her.
It wasn’t until Ellen came into the room with a bowl in each hand that Cole’s intense gaze left her.
“Steaks’ll be a minute yet,” Ellen said, smiling at Jocelyn. “So here’s a little somethin’ to tide us over.”
At first, it seemed like she was oblivious to the string of tension in the room until Jocelyn caught the searing look she sent Cole’s way. It only served to pluck that taut string, making it sing discordantly, and Jocelyn shifted from the discomfort.
It’s not about them, she reminded herself, even as a part of her shied away from saying something that might ruin what she and Ellen had forged over the years. Jocelyn had been without a mother this long. What difference did it make if she ruined a surrogate bond that had only existed on paper anyway?
Despite Ellen’s look and the arrival of snacks, no one said a thing. Ellen cleared her throat a couple of times, and Jocelyn’s skin started to hurt from the pressure of the unspoken.
“Gotta let those steaks rest a minute,” John said as he lumbered in, heavy as a bear in boots.
It’d been years, but Jocelyn remembered the way he moved, how it felt to be carried by someone that big and capable.
His head tilted as he took in the coiled silence that enveloped the room. “Cole, you been runnin’ your mouth?”
It sounded exactly like an accusation. Enough to make Jocelyn look between them, but Cole didn’t even flinch. He was still staring at her.
“Jocelyn?” John turned to her since Cole didn’t seem to plan on responding.
A debate raged inside her. She’d already lied once, even if they had known from the get-go that she wasn’t there to visit Uncle Joe.
Ellen and John watched her now, too, but with benign interest. It was Cole’s intensity she couldn’t shake, though. His eyes blazed along her face like he could read every thought that went through her mind there, and he was just waiting for that shoe to drop.
“You deserve to know, I suppose,” she said, resigned.
Ellen sucked in a breath, folding her hands in her lap like they were about to pray for the meal. John’s brows lifted, but there was no worry in his expression.
The bound energy that buzzed like some kind of frequency off of Cole wound tighter, urgently buffeting Jocelyn. She fought an urge to put her hands up as a deflection, reminding herself the onslaught wasn’t physical and that she wasn’t responsible for how they might take the news.
“The real reason I’m in Cedar Hollow is because I’m looking into my mama’s death.” The words, spoken so matter-of-factly, bolstered her. “It’s always felt like something wasn’t right, and I want to know why.”
Ellen and John exchanged a tight look she didn’t miss but Cole did because he was too intent on her.
But that look, the silent communication in it, twisted something in her chest. “And I want you to know because I’m going to be digging deep, might stir people up. I can’t abide the secrets.”
John’s big hand rubbed the back of his neck as his gaze shifted away, and oh, that twisting got more painful.
“So if there’s something you’re hiding,” she said, forcing the words over the pain, wishing they weren’t necessary, “I’m going to find out about it.”
Cole sprang up from the couch. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“Cole,” Ellen said, her hand shooting toward him.
Jocelyn didn’t look away from Cole. “It means nothing if no one is hiding anything.”
He cocked his head, jaw tight. “Are you accusing my parents of somethin’?” There was anger in that question, but also something else. Disbelief. Betrayal. Maybe even a little fear.
Jocelyn lifted her chin but was unable to keep from folding her arms across her chest as if it might ward him off.
“Cole, please,” Ellen said again.
John was quiet and still.
“Ma, you’re hearing this, right?” Cole’s frustration filled the space, burned Jocelyn’s skin. He turned to Ellen, and then his whole body clenched as he shifted his attention to his father. “Pop?”
John didn’t respond, didn’t look at him. His breath came heavier than it should’ve, his silence answer enough.
