Chapter 3: The Man I Loved

Jocelyn I made it eleven minutes into the funeral reception before I finally let myself look at Brian Moss. He stood near the entrance, speaking with two older men I recognized from the Vipers. One had a hand on his shoulder, and Brian was listening with the same quiet attention I remembered from years ago. He hadn’t noticed me yet. Eight years had been unfairly good to him. His dirty-blond hair was shorter on the sides, his beard neatly trimmed, and the tattoos I’d once watched him accumulate now disappeared beneath the sleeves of his black T-shirt. At six-foot-two, he still stood taller than most of the men around him, although he’d never needed his height to command attention. The familiar scar through his eyebrow was still there. I remembered running my thumb over it one summer evening, asking him how he’d gotten it for probably the hundredth time. He’d caught my hand and laughed, telling me I needed to find something more interesting to do with my fingers. I’d spent the rest of that evening wondering whether he knew how badly I’d wanted him to kiss me. God, I’d been ridiculous about that man. “Jocelyn? Honey, are you hungry?” Dad’s voice pulled me away from the memory. He was seated beside two attorneys from his firm. “A little,” I admitted. “Have you eaten anything?” He glanced at the untouched plate in front of him. “Working on it.” “That sandwich isn’t going to eat itself.” He gave me a tired smile and picked it up. I went to the buffet and fixed myself a plate I had no intention of finishing. When I turned around, Brian was talking to Dad. I stopped beside an empty table, watching as Brian bent slightly to hear whatever my father was saying. Dad touched his arm, and Brian nodded before pulling out a chair for him. It would’ve been an ordinary gesture between two men at a funeral, except Brian was suspected of killing Dad’s son. Brian had been twenty-four when I left. Back then, Steve Arden was the Vipers’ vice president, and Luke was president. I’d followed the club’s leadership changes without much interest. Until Luke died. Steve had eventually lost his VP position to Brian. Less than six months later, Luke was dead, and Brian was wearing the PRESIDENT patch. It was a remarkable climb through the ranks for someone who’d once told me he didn’t care what position he held, provided the club was worth belonging to. Dad said the police had cleared him. They’d investigated, but filed no charges. As an attorney, I understood that being cleared by the police didn’t necessarily establish that someone had done nothing wrong. I hadn’t seen the investigative file. I didn’t know what evidence the authorities had collected or which witnesses they’d interviewed. It would’ve been irresponsible to declare their conclusion wrong without examining the facts. But the circumstances raised questions I couldn’t dismiss. Sable, Luke’s former girlfriend, had been in danger. Nobody disputed that. According to what I’d been told, Brian had intervened to save her, and Luke had ended up dead. If Brian had acted to protect Sable from an imminent threat, that mattered. I wasn’t interested in punishing someone for saving a woman’s life. I wanted to understand whether Luke’s death had been necessary or whether something else had happened. And I couldn’t ignore how conveniently Brian had ended up in charge afterward. I looked toward Dad again. Luke had been a vile man. I’d witnessed enough cruelty to know that the stories people told at his funeral represented only a fraction of who he’d been. He’d hurt people, bullied those who challenged him, and treated his position in the club as permission to do whatever he pleased. But he’d also been Dad’s little boy. The child whose scraped knees he’d bandaged, whose baseball games he’d attended, and whose photographs still covered the walls of his office. Dad deserved to know what had happened to his son. And if Brian had committed a crime, Luke deserved justice, regardless of how many people believed he’d deserved his fate. “Still staring at him?” I nearly dropped my plate. Tag appeared beside me, his crooked smile firmly in place. “I’m looking around the room.” “Sure you are.” “Don’t you have something to do?” “Probably. But this is more entertaining.” I gave him a pointed look, and he laughed before reaching for a cookie from the nearby dessert table. “He’s changed,” Tag said, glancing toward Brian. “Haven’t we all?” “Some more than others.” I wasn’t sure what he meant, and he didn’t elaborate. He squeezed my shoulder and wandered away before I could ask. I found myself looking at Brian again. The last time we’d been alone together, I’d been preparing to leave for Chicago. My scholarship had been everything I’d worked toward, a chance to attend law school without burying myself in debt. I’d wanted him to be proud of me. He had been. But some foolish part of me had also wanted him to ask me to stay. He’d told me I deserved the opportunity and that I shouldn’t let anyone convince me otherwise. I’d smiled, thanked him, and spent the flight to Chicago wondering why he’d made saying goodbye sound so easy. I knew better now. At least, I thought I did. Supporting someone’s ambitions didn’t mean you didn’t want them. Sometimes loving someone meant letting them make their own decisions. And Brian Moss had been the first man I’d ever loved. I wondered whether he knew. Then I looked at the PRESIDENT patch on his chest, and the warmth of that memory faded. I’d planned to fly home Sunday and return to work Monday. My life was in Chicago, and I had no intention of abandoning everything I’d built because of an old heartbreak. But finding out what happened to Luke might require more than a weekend. I could request additional leave. There were public records to examine, people to speak with, and questions about the club’s leadership changes that deserved answers. I wasn’t prepared to accuse Brian without evidence. I was prepared to find it. Across the room, Brian finished speaking with Dad and turned in my direction. His green-hazel eyes met mine, and the familiar warmth that spread through my stomach made me want to curse. He smiled. Then he started walking toward me. Eight years ago, I would’ve given anything for that man to come looking for me. Now I needed to know whether he’d killed my brother to save a woman’s life or to take his place as president. And this time, I wasn’t going to let my feelings for Brian Moss stop me from asking the questions.