Chapter 28
twenty-eight
Bear had Lila’s textbook open on the kitchen table, the one about equine parasitology, and he’d been staring at the same diagram of a strongyle lifecycle for ten minutes without absorbing any of it.
His brain kept tracking other things — the creak of the floorboards upstairs where Greta had gone to take a shower, the dual-dog breathing from the living room where King and Atlas had claimed opposite ends of the couch, the smell of the coffee Greta had made that morning still hanging in the air even though it was past three.
She’d been here more than at her own place for the last week.
Not that they’d discussed it. She’d just started showing up with Atlas around dinner, staying through the evening, falling asleep on his couch or in his bed depending on how vertical she was when exhaustion finally pulled her under.
Then she’d started leaving things. Her toothbrush appeared in the bathroom holder beside his.
A pair of her boots settled by the door next to his work ones.
Her SAR pack leaned against the wall in the mudroom, ready to go if dispatch called.
Her favorite coffee mug with the cartoon mountain goat sat in the dish drainer more often than it sat in her own cabinet across the street.
He hadn’t asked her to stay. Hadn’t suggested it.
But he’d made space. Cleared a drawer in his dresser without telling her.
Hung an extra hook by the door. Started buying the dark roast she preferred instead of the medium he could tolerate.
Logan had noticed but hadn’t said anything, just started setting three plates at dinner instead of two.
The shower shut off upstairs. Bear listened to the pipes settle. She’d be down in five minutes. He looked back at the textbook. The diagram still made no sense.
Atlas lifted his head from the couch and looked toward the front door a beat before Bear heard the truck pull up. King’s ears went forward but he didn’t move, already learning that Logan’s arrival didn’t require the full-body chaos he brought to everyone else’s.
The front door opened. Logan came through with his backpack over one shoulder and his hair sticking up where his ball cap had been.
He kicked his shoes off by the door — that was new, something he’d started doing without being asked after watching Greta do it enough times — and dropped his backpack on the bench.
“You’re early.” Bear glanced at the clock above the stove. Not quite three-thirty. Logan’s shift at the hardware store ran until five on Thursdays.
“Cody closed up.” Logan crossed to the fridge and pulled it open, scanning the contents with the focus of a fifteen-year-old who’d been vertical for six hours and needed fuel. “Said he had to go check on his cabin. The county finally got the road repaired so he can get up there again.”
Bear filed that away. He knew Cody had a place in the mountains — most people in Solace did, the ones who’d been here long enough to buy land before it got expensive — but he’d never been up there. “Everything okay?”
“I guess. He seemed worried about it. Said the flood might’ve done damage and he needed to see for himself.” Logan pulled out the milk and drank straight from the carton.
Bear let it go. He’d learned to pick his battles, and there were worse things his son could be doing.
“He gave me tomorrow off, too,” Logan said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Said he might not be back until Saturday.”
“Lucky you.” Bear closed the textbook. He wasn’t absorbing anything anyway. “What are you going to do with your afternoon?”
Logan set the milk back and shut the fridge. He leaned against the counter, trying for casual the way teenagers did when they wanted something but didn’t want to ask directly. “X is riding in the rodeo tonight at the fair, and some kids from school are going.”
Bear looked at him.
Logan looked back. Carefully neutral.
“Kids from school? You mean girls.”
His face flushed. “No. Not only. Just… some kids.”
“And you want to go.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
Logan’s shoulders dropped. “Really?”
“X is good. Worth watching. And you’ve been working hard. You’re allowed to do things with your friends.” The fact that Logan even had friends now thrilled him, but he kept it off his face and out of his voice.
Logan nodded. He pushed off the counter, picked up his backpack, and headed for the stairs. Halfway up he stopped and turned. “You should come. You and Greta. It’d be good.”
Bear considered it. A fair meant crowds. Music. Motion. It meant people who would want to talk to Greta, who would offer condolences she didn’t want.
But it had been a week since the funeral. Maybe it was time to break her out of her grief for a bit.
“I’ll ask her.”
Logan nodded again and continued up the stairs. A second later his bedroom door closed.
The shower sounds had stopped. Bear stood and moved to the base of the stairs, listening.
No movement. He climbed to the second floor and found Greta in his room, sitting on the edge of the bed in clean jeans and one of his flannels.
Her hair was damp and loose on her shoulders.
She was staring at her phone, expression unreadable.
“Logan’s home early,” he said from the doorway.
She looked up. “I heard.”
“Cody closed the store. Needed to check on his cabin.”
“Okay.”
“There’s a fair tonight. X is riding. Logan wants to go.” He paused. “Wants us to come with him.”
Her face did something complicated. She looked back at her phone, at the dark screen, then set it on the nightstand. “You should go.”
“I asked if you wanted to.”
“I know what you asked.” Her voice was flat. Not angry, not defensive. Empty the way it had been since the funeral. “I don’t.”
Bear stayed in the doorway. He could push.
Could tell her it would be good to get out, to be around people, to do something normal.
Could make the argument that staying in the house wasn’t helping, that grief didn’t get lighter by sitting with it in the dark.
But he’d watched Lila try that approach three days ago and watched Greta go hard and closed, and he wasn’t going to make that mistake.
“Okay,” he said.
She looked at him. Her eyes were the pale, washed-out green they’d been since the cemetery, and there were shadows under them that makeup wasn’t covering anymore. “You’re not going to argue.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you said no.”
She held his gaze a long moment. Then she looked away, out the window at the street below. “I’m not ready for people yet.”
“I know.”
“I’m not ready to smile and pretend I’m fine and listen to everyone tell me they’re sorry for my loss like that means something.”
“I know.”
“And I’m sure as hell not ready to stand in a crowd at a fair and watch everyone else be happy while I—” She stopped. Worked her jaw. “While I’m not.”
Bear crossed the room. He sat on the bed beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched, and he waited. She leaned into him, her weight settling against his side.
“Go with Logan,” she said quietly. “He wants you there. And X probably won’t admit it, but he’ll be glad to see you in the stands.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll be here. Or across the street. I’ll be fine.”
He studied her profile. She wasn’t fine. She wouldn’t be fine for a long time. But she was here, and she was breathing, and she was letting him sit beside her, and that was something.
“Okay,” he said again.
Bear was pulling his jacket on when he heard the trucks.
Multiple engines, multiple vehicles. He glanced at Logan.
Logan looked back, eyebrows up. Through the front window, Bear watched River’s old pickup pull up to the curb, followed by X’s newer truck, then Boone’s, and more.
Doors started opening before the engines cut.
“Oh no,” Greta said from the couch. She’d come downstairs ten minutes ago and claimed the corner spot with Atlas at her feet, settling in for an evening of not going anywhere. Now she was staring out the window like she knew exactly what was happening and wanted no part of it.
River came up the walk first, a man on a mission. X was right behind him, grinning. Naomi and Ghost came next, followed by Jax with Nessie and Oliver. Boone brought up the rear with Jonah and Hatch flanking him, and behind them — Bear had to look twice to confirm — Anson and Maggie.
“They brought Anson,” Logan said, voice somewhere between awe and disbelief. “How did they get Anson to come?”
Bear followed his gaze. Maggie had her arms around Anson, and the confirmed introvert had the look of a man who’d been argued into this on the drive over and was already regretting it.
The front door opened without a knock. River came through like he owned the place, which was typical River behavior, and stopped in the middle of the living room with his hands on his hips.
“Nope,” he announced to the room at large. “Not happening. Get your boots on, Greta. We’re going to the fair.”
Greta stared at him. “I’m not going to the fair.”
“Yes, you are.”
“River—”
“Listen.” River moved closer, dropped into a crouch in front of the couch so they were eye level.
His voice went soft. Lost the performative edge.
“I know you’re not ready. I know you want to stay here and sit in the dark and be sad.
And that’s fine. You’re allowed. But you’re not doing it tonight.
Tonight you’re coming with us and you’re going to watch X get thrown off a bull and eat terrible fair food and let Oliver win you a stuffed animal at the ring toss.
And you’re going to do it because we care about you and we’re not letting you disappear. ”
X appeared at River’s shoulder. “What he said. Except I’m not getting thrown off anything. I’m going to look amazing and you’re going to wish you’d brought a camera.”
“I don’t want to go.” Greta’s voice was flat but there was something underneath it now. Less certain than it had been thirty seconds ago.
Her gaze cut to Bear. Get them out of here.
Bear didn’t move.
She stared at him a beat longer, then turned back to the room.
“We know.” Naomi stepped forward, Ghost a half-step behind her. “We’re taking you anyway.”
“This is kidnapping.”
“Nope.” River straightened. “This is an intervention. With funnel cakes.”
Jax moved past River and sat on the arm of the couch. Nessie stood beside him with her hand on Oliver’s shoulder. Oliver looked at Greta with the earnestness of a seven-year-old who hadn’t learned to hide what he was feeling yet.
“Please come, Greta,” Oliver said. “Tate’s going to be there and Logan’s going and I want you to see X ride. He’s going to be really good.”
Greta looked at Oliver. Then at River, at X, at Naomi, at the rest of them filing into her living room and taking up space like they had every right to be there. Bear watched her face. The walls she’d been building were fracturing under the weight of people refusing to let her hide.
“I’m not ready for this,” she said quietly.
“You don’t have to be ready,” Naomi said. “You just have to come.”
Bear crossed to the couch. He stopped beside Jax and looked down at Greta, at Atlas with his head on her knee and her hand buried in his fur. “You don’t have to stay long. We can leave whenever you want. But I think you should come.”
Greta’s gaze cut to him. Slow. Cold.
Traitor.
She held it long enough that Bear felt every degree of it. Then she turned back to River.
“Fine,” she said. “But I’m not smiling for anyone and I’m not making small talk and if one person tells me they’re sorry for my loss I’m leaving.”
“Deal,” River said immediately.
“And someone better buy me a funnel cake.”
“Done.” X was already moving toward the door. “I’ll buy you two funnel cakes. Let’s go before she changes her mind.”
Greta pushed herself off the couch. She reached for her boots, pulled them on, grabbed her jacket from the hook. Atlas was already at the door, tail wagging, ready to go. King joined him, and the two dogs did the complicated dance of figuring out which human they were following.
She was halfway out the door when she stopped and turned back. Bear hadn’t moved.
She gave him a sweet, slow smile that should have warned him.
“You coming, Honey Bear?”
The living room went silent.
River’s head snapped around so fast Bear heard his neck crack. X froze with one hand on the doorframe. Jax made a sound that might have been a strangled laugh. Even Boone’s expression shifted into something that might have been amusement if you squinted.
“I’m sorry,” River said slowly, savoring every syllable. “What did you just call him?”
Greta’s face was innocent. “Bear. I called him Bear.”
Bear met her eyes. She held his gaze and did not blink.
Revenge.
“No.” River was grinning now. The kind of grin that meant someone was about to have a very bad time, and it wasn’t him. “You absolutely did not. You called him Honey Bear.”
“I don’t recall that.”
“I have witnesses.”
“Do you?” Greta looked around the room. “Anyone hear anything?”
Naomi was biting her lip. Maggie had both hands over her mouth. Nessie was shaking with silent laughter. Even Anson looked like he was fighting a smile, which was approximately three more facial expressions than Bear usually saw from him.
“Honey Bear,” X said, testing the words. “Oh man. That’s perfect. That’s staying.”
“It’s not staying,” Bear said.
“It’s absolutely staying,” River said. “Honey Bear. I can’t believe we didn’t think of it sooner.”
“Don’t make me put you through a wall.”
“You won’t, Honey Bear, because you’re too sweet.” River leaped out of his reach before Bear could move, which was probably the smartest tactical decision River had made all year.
“Yeah, Honey Bear,” Greta said, still wearing a smile that said she knew exactly what she’d done and was entirely at peace with it.
He scowled at her. He wanted to be annoyed.
He was trying to be annoyed. But the smile— Christ, that smile.
He hadn’t seen it in a week. He’d been watching her face for seven days, cataloging every degree of expression she allowed herself, and this was the first time since the night after the flood that something real and alive had crossed her face.
Something that reached all the way to her eyes.
And he couldn’t be annoyed about that.
“Let’s go,” he grumbled.
The noise that came out of River from the porch was something between a victory crow and a cackle.
“Honey Bear,” X called from the driveway. “You want to ride with us or take your own truck?”
“I will end you, Xavier.”
“That’s a yes to riding with us. Got it.”