Page 85 of Slow Burn
Frank looked away from her again, but he was between her and the front door. “I went to the house that night. She was crying.” This through his teeth: “Daniel broke her heart again.”
Could she make it to the back door? The stairs? Why hadn’t Cole heard her call?
“She slept with him.” Frank turned to face her again. “She told me she was sorry, that I deserved better.”
Jocelyn hadn’t wanted it to be true, but here was her confirmation of what her mama had done. It sparked just a snapshot of pity for the man before her.
Frank shook his head. “I was angry.” His expression turned imploring. “I didn’t mean…”
Those words pelted her, and her heart twisted. “You didn’t mean what, Frank? What did you do?”
His nostrils flared.
“Did you start the fire?” Her fingers became claws. She wanted to grab the front of his shirt and shake him.
“No!” He hurled the word then shrank. “No, I didn’t start the fire. But…” He licked his lips, his eyes flashing away, hands curling and uncurling.
“But what? Dammit, Frank. I need to know.” Her voice wobbled. She couldn’t tell if she was about to cry or scream at him. So much emotion burned through her body she might’ve even slapped him.
“We fought.” He swallowed. “I hit her. I’m not proud of it. But I was so angry, so hurt.”
Her mouth dropped open. It was impossible to reconcile what he was saying with the gentle, soft-spoken man she’d known as a child.
He kept moving forward with the story, though, his words hollow. “She fell. Oh, God. And she hit the dresser.”
Jocelyn’s heart hammered against her ribs, but she didn’t dare speak, didn’t want to disrupt the truth as it poured out—even if it twisted up inside her.
“I didn’t know what to do when she didn’t get up. But she was alive. I swear, she was breathing.”
Jocelyn covered her mouth with a hand, vision blurring with the tears she hadn’t noticed building.
“I knew it looked bad, so I ran.”
She backed up a step.
“I’m so sorry, Jossie.” His hands started to reach for her.
“Don’t!” Her finger sliced at the air in front of his face. “Don’t you call me that!”
“I’m so, so sorry.” He dropped to his knees, the sound against the wood floor painful to her ears. “I hurt her, I know. But I didn’t start that fire.”
Rage, unholy and nearly blinding, scorched through her. “But she’s dead because of you! And you never said a damn thing! Twenty years, Frank!”
He fell to his hands, literally groveling at her feet. “Please forgive me. I never could. I never could forgive myself.”
Her hands balled into fists, her arms trembling with the violence of her fury. But he was pitiful before her, sobbing into the floor. She wasn’t sure she could ever forgive him, but she decided he didn’t deserve to hear it even if she could. Forgiveness would be for her, herself and her mama only.
“Please,” he sobbed when she didn’t answer. “What can I do?”
She wanted to tell him to rot in the hell he’d created for himself. She wanted to break something. She wanted… too much. There was too much pain.
But this whole thing was supposed to be about answers… and justice.
She forced the words out. “You need to confess. You have to own up to what you did.”
“Isn’t that what he’s been doing?”
The voice behind her sent a trickle of fear down her neck and silenced Frank’s sobs. She stood frozen for a moment, watching Frank lift his gaze to the man standing at her back.
