Chapter 4
The need for oxygen eventually sent her back up. She broke through the surface, gasping for air, a rush of euphoria coursing through her.
For the first time in weeks, she felt something close to alive. The crazy free fall had left her breathless in the best way, sparking a flicker of the girl she used to be—the one who laughed at danger and lived for moments like this.
Grinning despite the cold, she swam toward the shore, shivering as the frigid air hit her skin. Everyone around her was doing the same, scrambling out of the water and rushing toward the warmth of the bonfires. Joy grabbed her towel and wrapped it tightly around herself, her teeth chattering as she took in the scene.
Parents bundled their kids into dry clothes, and families began heading home as the sun dipped below the horizon. For everyone else, the party was just getting started. Bonfires crackled, casting warm light over clusters of people who were laughing, eating, and passing around thermoses that no doubt held something stronger than coffee.
Normally, Joy would be right in the middle of it all, joking and soaking up the energy. But now, she wasn’t sure what she should do. Her earlier rush of giddiness was fading fast, leaving her raw and uncertain.
The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself, to make everything go quiet and awkward the way her presence tended to do now, as people wondered if she was okay.
So she edged backward, moving toward the shadows, away from the fires and the laughter. She’d just get back to her car and make her exit without anyone being any the wiser.
But as she took another step back, she collided with something solid— someone solid.
A warm, steady hand settled lightly on her hip. She turned, already knowing who it was, and found herself face-to-face with Bear.
His hand stayed on her hip, grounding her, his warmth cutting through the cold. “Leaving already?” he teased, his voice low and playful. “The fun’s just getting started, Bug.”
She gave him a half smile, tugging her towel tighter around her shoulders. “I’m not sure I’m much of a fun kind of person right now.” Maybe not ever again. “I don’t want to make things weird. You know how people look at me now.”
Bear’s grip tightened just a fraction, his thumb brushing against her hip bone. “They’re not thinking about that. You know what they’re thinking when they look at you? That you’re strong. That you’re still Joy. And they’re glad you’re here.”
She scoffed, the sound weak, but the sincerity in his tone hit her somewhere deep.
“Fine, I’ll stay for a bit. But I’m hanging out over there, though,” she said finally, nodding toward a tree near the edge of the clearing.
Bear grinned, his brown eyes warm. “All right, shadows it is.” He gently steered her to the tree, laying his towel down in front of it so they could sit on it and lean against the bark. The crackling bonfires and lively chatter carried over the night air. Nobody would see them unless they were really looking. It was perfect.
“So,” Bear said, bumping her shoulder lightly, “on a scale of one to ten, how much did that jump remind you of being a daredevil teenager again?”
“Probably a seven,” she said with a smirk. “The cold water knocked off a few points.”
“Amari looked like she was having the time of her life. I’m shocked she didn’t try to drag her parents off the high ledge.”
Joy laughed softly. “Dorian and Ray are adventurous, but not that adventurous. And honestly, I think they’re here more to support Amari than anything else.”
He nodded, his gaze drifting toward the bonfires. “Speaking of support, you know what would’ve been great here tonight?”
“What?”
“A food truck,” Bear said with a grin. “I know you said you’re not going the Tex-Mex route, but I think anything you decide on, you’d have a line a mile long.”
She wanted to tell Bear more than anyone about the changes she’d not only decided on but had already fully implemented in the truck. Bear had been part of this dream from the beginning.
Hell, he’d been the one to go with her when she’d been ready to buy it last year. He’d checked over the engine and bodywork to make sure it was a good investment. Then he’d been helping her with any elements she couldn’t do herself.
It wasn’t the attack that was keeping her from sharing details. The changes she’d made in the truck were going to be… unexpected at best. Especially from Joy. Oak Creek was going to think it was completely out of character from her.
She’d changed from Tex-Mex to a fancy brunch food truck. Tacos were a more traditional way to go, but once Joy had really dug into what she wanted…that hadn’t been it.
She wanted stylish. She wanted refined. So, she’d changed the entire concept, and Velvet Mornings had been born. A rolling oasis of elegance—soft pastels, fresh flowers, and the irresistible scent of butter and espresso drifting through the air. She’d envisioned a place where the women of Oak Creek could sip mocktails, savor fluffy omelets, and indulge in thin crepes and golden, flaky pastries.
Feminine? Absolutely. But the food? It would be so damn good that even the gruff, battle-hardened Linear Tactical guys wouldn’t think twice about devouring it—dainty pastel plates and all.
Velvet Mornings would be impossible to miss—a bold splash of bright pink with light purple accents, equal parts charm and sophistication.
She knew Velvet Mornings would turn heads—maybe even shock the town. Charm and sophistication weren’t exactly qualities anyone associated with Joy. No, Oak Creek still saw her as the wild-child tomboy she’d always been, the girl more comfortable with skinned knees than delicate pastries. And no matter how much she changed, she wasn’t sure they’d ever see her any differently.
Case in point, the event here tonight. This was how people thought of her: doing wild and crazy things.
But still, Joy had been ready to show the town the hidden other side of herself, to prove she was more than the rough-and-tumble girl they knew. Velvet Mornings would be her way to do that.
She would force Oak Creek to see she was multifaceted.
But that had been before the attack. Before fear had sunk its claws into her, shredding whatever confidence she’d built. Now, the idea of debuting Velvet Mornings felt as impossible as reclaiming the fearless girl she used to be.
What good was having all these different sides to herself when she couldn’t even hold the pieces together?
So, no, she wasn’t going to go into the food truck concept change with Bear. Not now. Hell, maybe not ever.
“Yeah.” She forced a smile. “Maybe next year. Maybe my food truck will be ready by then.”
Actually, she could already see it… The items she offered for the Polar Plunge would be a little less fancy than her normal fare, but they would still be delicious. She’d have hot chocolate and coffee and crepes to warm people up…
Bear shook his head. “No maybe. Let’s make it happen.”
She wasn’t anywhere as sure as him, but she didn’t want to lose this moment. “Okay. Deal.”
Her jaw relaxed as she watched the flames dance against the darkening sky. By then, she’d have to be more healed, wouldn’t she? The thought unfurled inside her like the first unfreezing of a stream after winter. Sitting here, pine needles beneath her palms and Bear’s steady presence beside her, she could almost believe it might be true.
They settled into companionable silence, shoulders barely touching. Laughter carried across the clearing, while sparks spiraled upward from the bonfire, golden against the indigo sky. For the first time in weeks, Joy felt something loosen in her chest—a tightness she’d grown so accustomed to she’d forgotten what it felt like without it. Her breath came easier now, no longer something she had to remember to do. The night air filled her lungs without effort, cool and pine-scented, laced with woodsmoke and possibility.
Branches swayed overhead, casting shifting shadows across Bear’s face as he broke the peaceful quiet between them.
“You know, this place brings back some memories.” His voice rumbled low, barely carrying over the distant laughter from the bonfire.
Joy angled toward him, one eyebrow arched. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
Bear’s mouth curved into that half smile that always made her stomach flip. His gaze drifted toward the water, lingering on the highest jump platform. “Like that time you kissed me right over there by the high ledge.”
“Oh my God.” Joy groaned and buried her face in her hands, heat flooding her cheeks. “Can we please not excavate that particular humiliation?”
“Oh, we’re definitely excavating it.” He bumped her shoulder with his, eyes dancing with mischief. “Complete with historical markers and commemorative plaques.”
Joy peeked through her fingers, mortification warring with reluctant amusement. “I had this elaborate seduction plan, you know. Practiced my moves in the mirror and everything. Thought I was the epitome of sophistication.” She dropped her hands with a sigh. “And then you just…shut me down. Full stop.”
Bear’s laugh vibrated through the small space between them, but something else flickered in his eyes—something serious beneath the teasing.
“You weren’t even eighteen, Joy. Still had algebra homework in your backpack.”
“Six weeks!” She jabbed a finger toward his chest, indignation surging. “It was six weeks before my birthday. Practically a technicality.”
“And I was twenty-six.” Bear caught her accusing finger gently, his expression softening into something that made her breath catch. “Old enough to know better. Old enough that the line mattered.”
Their hands remained connected between them, neither pulling away.
“So you’re saying…” Joy swallowed, her voice suddenly quieter. “It wasn’t that you didn’t want to?”
The teasing disappeared completely from Bear’s face. He leaned closer, close enough that she could smell the pine and smoke on his skin.
“Joy Davis,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across her knuckles, “you’ve never been easy to ignore. Not then, not now. But at twenty-six, even thinking about you that way would’ve landed me in handcuffs—and not the fun kind.”
She sat perfectly still, the revelation washing over her like the lake water had a half hour earlier—a shock to the system that left every nerve ending tingling. All those years she’d spent convincing herself he couldn’t possibly want her. That when he looked at her, he saw what everyone else in Oak Creek saw: the scrappy tomboy with skinned knees and too much energy, the girl whose wild streak made people shake their heads with equal parts amusement and exasperation. The one who was fun to have around but never quite taken seriously.
Her throat tightened around words that wouldn’t form. How many nights had she lain awake wondering what was fundamentally wrong with her that made Bear Bollinger—steady, solid, breathtakingly capable Bear—keep her at arm’s length? How many times had she told herself to move on, that some doors weren’t meant to be opened?
And all this time, it had been about protection. About boundaries. About timing.
Not about her being unwanted.
“How about our kiss a few weeks ago?” His voice dropped to a murmur, his breath warm against her ear. “Did that not help dispel any lingering doubts?”
Her pulse skipped at the memory. That moment outside her front door, streetlight spilling across their faces after he’d walked her home. His palm against her cheek, her name on his lips like a prayer.
She’d forced herself not to dwell on that kiss since it happened. Not when it was tangled up with what came after—the terror, the shouting, the pain. Letting herself remember the sweetness felt dangerous when it was followed by so much darkness.
But here, with Bear’s solid warmth beside her, the memory untangled itself from the rest. Her body remembered before her mind did—the way he’d tasted, how his callused fingers had cradled her face like she was something precious, the spark that had ignited low in her belly.
Heat bloomed across her skin, and she couldn’t fight the shy smile that curved her lips. She shifted closer, erasing the last inches between them. His arm settled around her, pulling her against the hard wall of his chest.
“Yeah,” she whispered, grateful for the darkness that hid her flushed cheeks. “That kiss was…” Words failed her. Amazing seemed too small, too ordinary, for what she’d felt.
She didn’t need to explain. Some part of her had been waiting for that kiss since she was eight years old, watching him fix her bike chain with those careful, competent hands. The love she carried for him had roots so deep she couldn’t remember what it felt like not to have them. It had grown quietly alongside her, weathering every storm, surviving even her best attempts to ignore it.
She snuggled into him a little more, letting herself get lost in the memory of that kiss. It was the closest she’d felt to fearless in a long time.
“Hey, Bear!” someone called from near the parking area. “Got a car over here that won’t start. Can you give us a hand?”
Bear stiffened beside her, clearly reluctant to move. His gaze flicked to Joy, and she could see the hesitation in his eyes. “I’ll be back in a second,” he said softly, his hands brushing her arms in a quick, reassuring squeeze. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
She nodded, managing a small smile. “Okay.”
But the moment he walked away, the warmth of his presence left with him. The cold seeped back in, not just into her skin, but into her chest, settling like a weight. She leaned back against the tree, pulling her towel tighter, her thoughts spinning.
That kiss with Bear last month had been everything . Full of promise and passion. For one brief, shining moment, she’d thought it might be the start of something real—something she’d been waiting for her whole life.
But just a few hours later, her world had shattered into so many pieces she couldn’t even find them all, much less put them back together.
Yeah, he’d been interested in her, had kissed her with a passion that had literally curled her toes.
But the person he’d kissed didn’t exist anymore. How could she ever be enough for someone like Bear now?
She glanced toward the bonfires, where laughter and conversation carried over the chill night air. Someone waved her over, their voice friendly. “Hey, Joy! Come warm up!”
But she couldn’t make herself move. Not just because of her thoughts. The feeling was back—that prickling unease on the back of her neck, like someone was watching her. She knew it was paranoia. Knew it. But it didn’t stop her heart from racing, her chest tightening.
She couldn’t stay. Not here. Not like this. It was better to leave now and not drag everyone down.
Not drag Bear down.
Joy slipped into the shadows, heading toward the path back to her car. She didn’t look back, even though part of her desperately wanted to wait for Bear. Because no matter how much she wanted to stay, the fear was stronger. And she hated that it was.