Chapter 5
Bear took one last look at the stalled car, nodding with satisfaction as the engine rumbled back to life. The grateful father clapped his shoulder, thanking him profusely, but Bear’s mind had already drifted elsewhere—back to the tree where he’d left Joy.
As soon as it wouldn’t seem completely rude, he broke away, making a beeline across the grounds. His pulse quickened with each step, anticipation building as he approached the spot where he’d left her sitting on the cool earth, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at the fire like she was searching for answers in the flames.
He wanted to continue their conversation more than he wanted his next breath.
But he slowed as he got closer to their tree and all he found was empty space. No sign of Joy.
Disappointment flooded his system but not surprise.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand over his still-damp hair, frustration tightening his chest. He should’ve known she wouldn’t stay. Hell, he had known. But that didn’t make the sharp sting of disappointment any easier to swallow.
“Yeah, Joy’s gone.” Hudson Zimmerman’s voice carried over the crackling fire as he strolled up, beer in hand. “Not that you needed me to tell you.”
Hudson was one of Bear’s good friends and owned the Eagle’s Nest, so he was well aware of Joy’s struggles. Bear grunted, accepting the beer the other man offered without really looking at it.
“At least she showed,” Hudson added, lifting his own bottle in a small toast. “That’s more than I expected.”
Bear didn’t answer. Showing up wasn’t enough. Not anymore. He didn’t know exactly what was happening inside Joy’s head, but he knew damn well this was more than just needing time.
The attack had its claws in her, dragging her under whenever she started to surface. And he wasn’t sure how to help her when she kept swimming away from his outstretched hand.
He took a long pull from his beer, the cold bite sharp against his throat.
“Come on,” Hudson said, nodding toward the bonfire where their friends had gathered. “No use brooding over it.”
Bear rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to shake it off. As they reached the fire, his cousin Lincoln was in the middle of a heated debate, his logical voice standing out against the snapping flames.
“Jumping into that water is not entertainment,” he insisted, his expression serious. “It’s willful, self-inflicted suffering that serves no purpose.”
“Jesus, Linc, just admit you’re scared of the cold like a normal person,” Sam Dempsey laughed, grabbing another beer from the cooler.
Sam headed the helitack rescue team in the Grand Tetons. He didn’t live in Oak Creek, but he showed up whenever possible since his sister Eva had married Theo Lindstrom.
“I’m not scared,” Lincoln replied, his brow furrowing in that familiar way it did whenever human irrationality confounded him. “I simply don’t understand the appeal of throwing oneself into near-freezing water under the guise of fun.”
Bear’s mouth quirked. “That’s because it isn’t fun.”
“No, it’s stupid,” Hudson muttered, rubbing his arms as if the memory of the water still clung to his skin. “And I only jumped from the high ledge because Colton called me a chicken. Never again.”
“Which, I’d like to point out, proves my point precisely,” Lincoln said, straightening slightly. “If it’s not fun and is stupid, as you just attested, then why do it?”
Hudson and Sam attacked the problem with gleeful determination, tossing theories about endorphin rushes and social currency back and forth while Lincoln dissected each argument with scientific precision. The familiar rhythm of their debate—this constant push and pull that defined their friendship—washed over Bear like a balm.
He let their voices anchor him as his thoughts threatened to drift back to that empty spot beneath the tree, to the hollow feeling that had settled in his chest when he’d realized Joy was gone. Again. The camaraderie around the fire couldn’t entirely fill the space she’d left behind, but it gave him something solid to hold on to while the disappointment gnawed at his edges.
Sam eventually gave up the argument and eyed Bear’s damp clothes. “You planning to stay soaking wet all night, or are you just embracing hypothermia for sheer enjoyment?”
Bear shrugged, forcing a casual tone. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself. “Figured I’d tough it out. Real men suffer as long as possible.”
Lincoln immediately perked up. “That statement is illogical. Suffering does not equate to strength. If anything, it leads to increased risk of hypothermia, weakened immune function, and?—”
“Be cool, Linc,” Hudson laughed, shaking his head. “You really know how to kill a mood.”
Sam snorted into his beer. “Pretty sure that’s his superpower.”
Lincoln blinked, clearly unbothered. “It’s not my intention to kill anything. I’m simply pointing out the flaw in Bear’s reasoning.”
Bear chuckled, grateful for the distraction, even if Lincoln’s logic cut a little too close to home. Bear had his reasons for staying in his damp clothes, but he didn’t want to share them.
“I’ve got an extra hoodie in my truck if you don’t have anything to change into,” Sam offered, reaching into his pocket for his keys.
Bear’s stomach tightened as he felt curious glances land on him. He forced another grin, tilting his beer toward Sam in a mock toast. “Appreciate it, but I think I’ll stick it out. Builds character.”
Lincoln opened his mouth—no doubt to demolish that statement too—but Hudson cut in. “Yeah, yeah. We get it. Freezing your ass off makes you a badass. Reminds you of your Marine days.”
“Not as badass as you jumping off the high ledge,” Bear countered, deliberately steering the conversation away from himself.
The distraction worked, and suddenly, everyone was recounting Hudson’s near-pants-wetting experience on the high ledge.
Bear was relieved for the subject change, but his shoulders remained tense. The truth was, he hadn’t forgotten to bring dry clothes. He just didn’t want to change in front of everyone. Didn’t want the questions or the attention the scars on his back would bring.
The conversation eventually drifted into comfortable silence. Sam poked at the fire with a stick, sending embers spiraling upward into the night sky. “You know, this time last year, Joy was talking about having her food truck up and running for this event.” He shook his head, expression sobering. “Damn shame that didn’t happen.”
Hudson sighed, the sound heavy with concern. “Yeah. She was so damn excited about it back then. Talked my ear off about her menu every shift. Now? I can barely get her to mention it.”
The easy atmosphere around the fire dimmed, the weight of Joy’s absence settling over them like a physical thing. Nobody mentioned the attack directly, but it hovered in the silence between words. Bear kept his expression neutral even as his grip tightened around his beer bottle.
“She still wants the food truck,” he said after a moment, surprising even himself by speaking up. “I think she does, anyway.”
Hudson shot him a skeptical look. “You sure about that? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like she’s doing everything she can to pretend it never existed.”
The truth was, Bear wasn’t sure. Not entirely.
“She hopes next year,” he said, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears.
Lincoln tilted his head, studying Bear with that unsettling perceptiveness that sometimes caught people off guard. “She has altered the theme, hasn’t she?”
Bear glanced at him in surprise. “She told you about that?” There was no lost love between Joy and Lincoln—the two of them were such polar opposites.
“Two months ago, I noticed something unusual,” Lincoln said, his voice taking on that definitive quality it always did when recalling details others would miss. “Joy was clearing tables at the Eagle’s Nest, and her forearm had streaks of lavender and rose-pink paint. Not spatters—deliberate brushstrokes, partially wiped away.”
That was the fascinating paradox of Lincoln. Sarcasm and jokes often flew right over his head, and he had no filter when it came to saying exactly what he thought, social graces be damned.
But then he’d do something like this—pick up on some subtle nuance that everyone else had overlooked and recall it with perfect clarity.
“When I inquired about them, she hesitated for exactly three-point-four seconds before claiming she was ‘playing with some ideas for the truck,’” Lincoln continued, his gaze turned distant, replaying the memory with his characteristic precision. “The color palette was entirely inconsistent with traditional Tex-Mex aesthetics. And when I mentioned this discrepancy, she exhibited all the physical markers of someone expecting criticism—shoulders tensing, eyes lowering, weight shifting backward. She was bracing for rejection before I even formed an opinion.”
Bear frowned, staring into the fire, his cousin’s words rolling through his mind. Joy had been changing the truck’s concept before the attack. That meant it wasn’t just some knee-jerk reaction to what had happened—it was something deeper, something she hadn’t felt comfortable sharing, even with him.
His gut twisted at the thought.
Hudson exhaled roughly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just want to see her get excited about something again, you know?” His voice was gruff, but the concern was genuine. “I don’t care if she paints the goddamn thing neon green. I just hate seeing her like this.”
Bear nodded, absently rolling the beer bottle between his palms. “I’ll check in with her. Keep encouraging her not to give up on it.”
Hudson gave him a long look but didn’t push.
Bear didn’t bother saying what he was really thinking. This wasn’t just about the truck. This was about Joy. And if she wasn’t going to fight for herself—well, fine. He’d fight for her instead.
But he wasn’t letting her give up on her dream.
The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows over the faces of his friends, but Bear barely registered them. His decision had settled, solid and unmovable in his chest.
They’d all been waiting. Giving Joy space. Letting her come to them when she was ready.
But what if she never felt ready? What if she stayed trapped in this limbo, caught between the person she used to be and the fear holding her back?
No. He wasn’t letting that happen.
She could run, could push him away, could pretend she was fine. He’d let her do it for the last month. But Joy wasn’t fine, and Bear was done standing back, watching her slip further away.
She needed something to pull her forward. And whether she realized it or not, her food truck was that thing. The project she’d poured her heart into before everything went to hell. The dream that had made her eyes light up with passion and purpose.
He was going to make damn sure she saw it again.
Bear tossed the last of his beer into the fire, watching the flames hiss and flare as he rose to his feet. His mind was made up.
Tomorrow, he’d find Joy. He’d start pushing past those walls she’d built. He’d remind her who she was beneath all that fear and doubt.
And this time, he wouldn’t let her run.
“Leaving already?” Hudson asked, glancing up from his conversation with Sam.
Bear nodded, the chill from his damp clothes finally registering now that his determination had crystallized. “Got some planning to do.”
“For the garage?”
“For Joy.”
Understanding dawned in Hudson’s eyes. “Good luck with that. She’s not exactly in a cooperative mood these days.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Bear’s voice held the same steely resolve that had carried him through firefights and blown-up buildings in Iraq. “She doesn’t have to cooperate. She just has to listen.”
Sam whistled low. “Brave man. Joy Davis doesn’t listen to anyone when she’s dug her heels in.”
“She’ll listen to me.” Bear was certain of it. Because he wasn’t going to appeal to her rational side—he was going to remind her of what she loved. What made her feel alive.
She’d inched out of her shell with him tonight for a few minutes before that unfortunate mechanical issue had stolen him away. Joy hadn’t given much, but it had been something . And Bear was going to capitalize on it.
As he made his way toward his truck, the night air bit through his damp clothes, but he barely noticed. His mind raced with possibilities, with plans.
The Joy he knew was still in there somewhere, buried beneath trauma and fear. And Bear was a mechanic—he knew how to fix broken things, how to coax engines back to life when others would give up. Sometimes it took patience. Sometimes it took the right tools.
And sometimes, it took a little tough love.
Bear smiled grimly to himself as he started his truck. Joy Davis had no idea what was coming tomorrow, but one thing was certain—she wasn’t hiding anymore.