Chapter 1
One month later
Joy plastered a bright smile on her face as she wove through the crowded Eagle’s Nest. The Friday night rush was once again in full swing, the room alive with the clatter of plates, the hum of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter.
This place was her second home. And tonight, everything looked normal— felt normal.
But it wasn’t. Not for her.
Joy forced herself to keep her shoulders back, her head high, and the corners of her mouth turned up just enough to look approachable, not strained. If she could fool everyone else, maybe she could fool herself too.
Smile. You know how to smile. Even a tiny-ass baby knows how to smile.
The weight of familiar Oak Creek gazes clung to her wherever she went, making it nearly impossible to force the upward movement of her lips. They weren’t watching her because she was an exceptional waitress—she never had been, not even on her best days.
She wished they were staring for the normal Joy reasons she’d been getting looks for all her life—her knack for pulling pranks or her tendency to burst into off-key songs at the most unexpected moments.
Her penchant for climbing trees or cannonballing into lakes with a wild yell. She was used to those kinds of stares, earned from a lifetime of antics and shenanigans growing up in Oak Creek.
But this was different, heavier , and she couldn’t escape it.
Everyone was watching because of what had happened a month ago. She pretended not to notice their stares or the hushed whispers as she passed by. But hell if she couldn’t basically hear their thoughts.
Poor thing. You know she was attacked in her own house. Can you imagine?
Bless her heart, beaten like that. Hospitalized and everything.
Our hapless little wild child, reduced to this.
Joy clenched her teeth and moved faster. Oak Creek was a good town, filled with kind people whom she loved and trusted. But even kind people had a knack for turning someone else’s trauma into a form of entertainment. It wasn’t cruelty; it was curiosity mixed with pity.
And God, did Joy hate pity.
Sloane—sweet, quiet, supportive, former-roommate Sloane—caught Joy’s eye from across the room and gave her a quick smile. It was a good smile…gentle, understanding—just like the woman herself. But behind it lay the same concern Joy saw from everyone these days.
Pity mixed with unease, like Joy was a grenade with the pin half pulled.
“How’s it going?” Sloane asked as they crossed paths at the beverage station.
Joy grabbed a pot of coffee and poured two cups with a steady hand she didn’t feel. “Busy, which is good. Keeps my mind occupied.” She flashed a grin that didn’t reach her eyes.
Sloane nodded, her brow creased. “Yeah, it’s good. But you can’t keep running on fumes forever. You doing okay?”
The question felt like a punch. Joy wanted to snap back that she was fine, but the words caught in her throat. She had no right to complain to Sloane, of all people.
Sloane had been there that night too. She’d been taken. Joy’s body had borne the brunt of the beating, but Sloane had endured just as much.
“I’m good,” Joy forced out, her voice overly bright. She reached over and squeezed her friend’s hand before darting back into the fray. She didn’t miss the way Sloane’s eyes followed her, filled with quiet worry.
Just smile, damn it. Lips up. Don’t give people anything to see or worry about.
But no matter how she tried, she knew it looked more like a grimace.
She had barely turned toward her next table when she spotted Mrs. Fuller, the town’s unofficial grandmother, waving her down. The elderly woman was seated near the door, wearing her usual hand-knit cardigan and a smile that belied her sharp tongue.
“Joy, dear,” Mrs. Fuller called, “have you had a chance to look for my casserole dish yet? The one I sent over after your…incident.”
Incident .
Joy’s stomach tightened. She forced a polite smile and crossed to Mrs. Fuller’s table. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Fuller. Things have been a little hectic, but I’ll get it back to you soon. Promise.”
Mrs. Fuller patted Joy’s hand. “No rush, dear. Just wanted to make sure it didn’t get lost in the shuffle.”
Joy nodded, her hands trembling as she moved to the next table. She told herself it was the coffeepot—not the wave of panic rising in her chest. The casseroles had been a kind gesture from the community, a tangible sign of support in the wake of the attack. But every time Joy thought about them, she was transported back to that night.
The shouting. The terror. The pain.
Plus, Mrs. Fuller didn’t truly understand what she was asking Joy to do. How could she? Finding a casserole dish and returning it shouldn’t be difficult, but it was. Was maybe even impossible. But Joy had no way of explaining that.
Not without everyone realizing how bad things had really become for her.
Turning away, she grabbed a couple empty glasses at the next table and stacked them on her tray, desperate for something to occupy her shaking hands. As she pivoted, a customer bumped into her, sending the glasses crashing to the floor.
The noise was deafening. Too loud. Too sharp. In an instant, Joy was back in her living room, fists pounding against her, pain exploding along her ribs, her face.
Over and over.
She was helpless.
She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.
Let’s see what that smile would look like without your teeth.
No. She couldn’t. She couldn’t go through this again. Wouldn’t survive. Wouldn’t?—
“ Joy .”
The deep voice cut through the fog, pulling her back. Bear crouched at her side, his brown eyes steady and grounding. He reached for the broken shards, his movements unhurried.
“It’s okay,” he said quietly, his voice like a lifeline. “Just a couple of glasses. Nothing that can’t be cleaned up.”
Joy blinked, her breath hitching as reality settled around her again. No Kozak brothers. No one punching her. The bustling restaurant came into focus. The hum of voices. The smell of fried food. The weight of Bear’s gaze.
She nodded stiffly, crouching to help him gather the pieces. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. She couldn’t even handle a broken glass without falling apart.
“You okay?” Bear asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.
Joy nodded again, not trusting her voice. She hated that he was here, witnessing her weakness along with everyone else.
Hated how she was terrified that if he walked away right now, the darkness would swallow her whole. She couldn’t even figure out how to make her body work. All she could do was stare at the floor.
He seemed to know what was happening. “How about we just put the pieces on your tray. One shard at a time. Okay? Can you pick up one piece?”
One piece. She could pick up one piece.
She did, and then her body remembered how to work again. Between the two of them, they had the biggest fragments picked up in no time. She’d get the rest of it with a broom.
She stood, becoming aware of how quiet the room was. Once again, everyone was looking at her.
Would this be the time Joy completely lost it in public?
“Thanks,” she murmured as he stood too, thankful that as everyone saw Bear behaving normally, regular conversation picked back up.
He offered her a small smile. “Anytime.”
He returned to his seat at the counter, but Joy could feel his eyes on her as she walked to the back room. She pushed through the swinging door and leaned against the cool wall, her breaths coming fast and shallow.
“Get it together,” she muttered under her breath. But the words felt hollow. The truth was, she didn’t recognize herself anymore. The bubbly, fearless woman she’d always been was gone, replaced by someone who jumped at shadows and couldn’t sleep in her own house.
Even here, in the safety of the restaurant she spent so many hours in each week, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. It was ridiculous. Paranoia, pure and simple. But sometimes it felt so real, like a shadow in the corner of her eye or a figure just out of reach.
And it was getting worse, rather than better.
She shook her head, desperate to shake off the thought. She couldn’t afford to spiral more—not here, not with everyone watching. She refused to give them the spectacle they were probably waiting for, even if she’d already given them a small preview just minutes ago.
When she stepped back onto the floor, her eyes immediately went to Bear. He was still at the counter, his dark-brown hair slightly mussed, his shoulders broad and solid. He looked up from his phone, and their eyes met. The tiniest of shivers went down her spine.
Bear wasn’t just the town’s mechanic. Yeah, he was the guy you called when your car broke down in the middle of nowhere or when your tractor wouldn’t start when you were trying to haul hay. If it was mechanical, Bear could fix it.
But he was also the guy who drove someone home if they’d had too much to drink on a Friday night here at the Eagle’s Nest. The guy who cut Mrs. Fuller’s grass with an electric mower at five a.m. on Saturday mornings so no one would know it was him. The guy who had created a kids’ camp for the siblings of terminally ill children.
Bear was reliable, steady, capable. And way too good-looking for Joy’s peace of mind. Always had been.
His jawline was strong, covered with the lightest hint of stubble. And his lips… God, she shouldn’t be staring at his lips. Shouldn’t be remembering how they felt on hers.
Especially not when the way he was looking at her now, like he could see through every carefully constructed wall she’d built, made her want to run and hide.
Bear gave her a half smile. “You good?” he mouthed.
She nodded quickly and turned away, her cheeks flaming. She didn’t want to think about how his attention made her feel—a strange mixture of safety and vulnerability. She didn’t want to think about him at all.
The dinner rush finally began to wind down. She should be relieved; it had been a crazy busy day. Sloane had the closing shift, which meant Joy could go home.
But home was the last place she wanted to go. Even as tired as her feet were, she wished she could stay here.
As she pulled off her apron, she hesitated. “Hey, girl,” she said, trying to keep her voice casual. “You want me to take the closing shift? I don’t mind.”
Sloane gave her a long look. “I appreciate it, but I’ve got it. You need the rest.”
“Hey, I’m not the one who’s pregnant. Why don’t you go home to your sexy sheriff, and I’ll close up?”
“Nah, I’m saving up to buy some stuff I need. After everything I’ve gone through, it’s important for me to feel independent.”
Damn it. Joy couldn’t force it anymore. If she pressed, Sloane would have more questions.
So Joy nodded. “10-4, good buddy. I totally get that.”
“Are you doing okay at home by yourself?”
Shit . There was no way Joy could answer that honestly. Sloane already felt guilty enough about moving out, even if it was for the best reason: Sloane figuring out she was in love with Callum Webb, the man of her dreams, and Oak Creek’s sheriff deciding he definitely felt the same way.
“I won’t lie, I miss my roomie.” She made a goofy face in an attempt to throw Sloane off the scent. “What a bitch to get engaged to the father of her unborn child and leave me high and dry.”
Sloane didn’t fall for her shenanigans. “Joy, I still have nightmares about that night. I know you must have them also. But I have Callum to get me through.”
And Joy had no one.
Sloane didn’t have to say it. They were both thinking it.
Joy forced a smile. “Hey, you don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.” Liar . “Yeah, I think about what happened from time to time, but very rarely.” Big fat liar. “I’m good.”
Most ginormous liar ever.
“I don’t know whether to believe you or not.”
Joy pulled her friend in for a hug, just as much to keep Sloane from seeing her face as it was a gesture of affection.
“You can believe me. I’m going to be fine.”
Liar.