Chapter 7
Bear had never been much for sitting around, but tonight, he didn’t have a choice.
His grip tightened around the sweating beer bottle in his hand as he watched Joy weave through the crowd at the Eagle’s Nest. She moved fast, too fast, like she was trying to outrun something no one else could see. Her uniform shirt hung looser on her frame than it had even last week before the Polar Plunge, and those damn shadows under her eyes had deepened.
She wasn’t sleeping.
She wasn’t eating.
And she sure as hell wasn’t okay.
“Want another?” Hudson asked, tipping his chin toward Bear’s nearly empty beer.
Bear shook his head, eyes never leaving Joy’s slight frame as she balanced three plates along her arm. “I’m good.”
“You’ve been good with that same beer for the past hour.”
“Didn’t realize you were monitoring my drinking habits.” Bear finally looked away from Joy to meet Hudson’s knowing gaze.
Hudson snorted, wiping down the bar top with practiced efficiency. “Just trying to figure out if you’re here to drink or to stare at my waitress.”
Bear didn’t answer. They both knew the truth. Bear had picked up shifts at the bar all week just to be near Joy, but she’d managed to avoid him every damn time.
He’d tried to talk to her after the Polar Plunge, thinking—hoping—he’d finally broken through the wall she’d built between them, but she’d gone right back to shutting him out. Ignoring his texts. Disappearing after every shift, the ones she even showed up for, before he could so much as say goodnight.
“She doing any better?” Bear finally asked, his voice low enough that only Hudson could hear.
Hudson’s usual gruff demeanor softened slightly. “Two steps forward, seven steps back. You know how recovery goes.”
Bear did know. He’d seen it with his brother Derek after his tour overseas, with other Marines who’d experienced trauma. The nonlinear path of healing—unpredictable, messy, frustrating as hell for everyone involved, especially the person going through it.
“Although, yeah, this week has definitely been more backward steps than forward.” Hudson placed a glass in the rack with more force than necessary. “She comes in—when she shows up at all—does her shift, and disappears.”
Bear’s jaw tightened, glancing over at her again.
She was across the room, balancing a tray in one hand, expertly dodging a stumbling customer, when a man—one of the out-of-towners Bear had been side-eyeing all night—reached out, trying to grab her arm.
He probably meant nothing by it. Probably just wanted her attention.
But Joy didn’t see it that way.
The second the man’s fingers brushed against her sleeve, she jerked back as if she’d been burned. The tray in her hand clattered to the floor, silverware and glasses crashing against the wood with a deafening smash. The entire restaurant seemed to freeze.
Fuck .
Joy staggered back, her chest heaving, her wild, terrified eyes locked on the man in front of her. Her breath came in sharp, shallow bursts, her fingers curled like she was ready to strike, to claw, to fight. Joy’s mind was definitely not in the Eagle’s Nest anymore.
Bear was already moving from his stool before his brain fully registered it.
The man took a step forward, hands up, eyes wide. “Whoa there, sweetheart, I didn’t mean?—”
Joy snapped.
“Don’t touch me!” Her voice was sharp, ragged, wrong. Panic twisted through it like barbed wire. She shoved the man hard, catching him off guard. He stumbled back into his buddy, who barely caught him before he hit the table.
“Hey! What the hell—” the man started, his surprise shifting quickly to anger.
Hudson beat Bear over there, stepping between them, his hands up in a calm-the-hell-down gesture. “All right, that’s enough,” Hudson said, voice steady but firm. “Everyone just take a breath.”
But Bear could tell Joy wasn’t hearing Hudson.
She wasn’t here.
She was trapped—back in that night, in that house.
Bear ignored the man and reached for Joy. He didn’t touch her—not yet—but he stepped into her space, blocking out the rest of the room. “Bug.” His voice was low, steady. “Look at me.”
She didn’t. He didn’t think she could.
Her breaths were too fast, her body shaking violently. Her arms were wrapped tight around herself, like she was trying to hold herself together. A thin sheen of sweat had broken out across her forehead, and her pupils were so dilated her green eyes looked almost black.
“Joy,” he said softer this time, but with an edge to see if he could cut through her haze. “You’re safe.”
Her eyes finally snapped to his, wide and lost.
“There you are,” he murmured, keeping his stance loose, open. “You’re okay. You’re not there. You’re here. With me.”
She blinked rapidly, as if trying to pull herself out of the nightmare clawing at her mind.
Behind them, Hudson was ushering the out-of-towners toward the door, muttering apologies. Someone had started sweeping up the broken glass. The murmur of conversation gradually resumed, though Bear felt the weight of curious glances.
But he didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not while Joy looked seconds away from shattering completely.
Her breath hitched, her fingers digging into her arms so hard he knew she’d leave bruises.
“You’re okay,” he said again, gentler now. “Just breathe, Bug.”
Her chest rose and fell erratically, and then— finally —she sucked in a shaky breath. Then another. The distant look in her eyes began to fade, awareness returning like she was surfacing from underwater.
But the second her shoulders started to lower, shame flooded her face.
“I—I need to—” Her voice cracked, her entire body trembling. She turned abruptly and shoved through the swinging door, disappearing into the kitchen area.
Bear exhaled slowly, shoving a hand through his hair. He was definitely going to follow her, but he needed a minute first.
Because watching her shatter like that? Watching her break? It was killing him.
“She needs help,” Mrs. Fuller murmured as she passed, touching Bear’s arm lightly.
He nodded stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. Seeing Joy like this was a shock to the entire community.
He didn’t wait long until he followed her, pushing through the kitchen door and moving farther into the break room, his chest tight with frustration and fear.
Joy sat on the worn-out couch against the back wall, her elbows on her knees, her fingers tangled in her hair. Her breaths were still uneven, her whole body trembling like she was barely holding herself together.
Hudson followed Bear in, his jaw tight. He leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re done for the night.”
Joy’s head snapped up. “No, I’m?—”
“Yeah, you are.” Hudson’s voice was firm, no room for argument. “You’re going home. And you’re taking tomorrow off too.”
Her lips parted, eyes flashing with something between anger and desperation. “Hudson, I?—”
“I get it,” Hudson interrupted, softer this time. “That guy was out of line. He shouldn’t have touched you at all. But I can’t have you freaking out in the middle of the bar, Joy.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Go home. Get some rest.”
Joy looked down at her hands, her jaw locked so tight Bear thought she might crack a tooth. She was still shaking, though whether from adrenaline or exhaustion or both, he couldn’t tell.
Finally, she exhaled sharply and nodded once. “Fine.”
Hudson studied her for a second longer, then gave Bear a look before pushing off the wall and walking out of the room without another word.
Bear didn’t move. Neither did Joy. The silence stretched, weighty between them. She didn’t look at him. Didn’t have to. A fan hummed quietly above, the sound magnified in the empty break room. From outside, muffled conversation and the clink of glasses formed a jarring contrast to the heaviness in here.
He grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door, having placed it there out of habit when he’d arrived, even though he wasn’t working. He shrugged it on as he turned to face her. “I’ll walk you home.”
Joy’s head snapped up, eyes flashing with something sharp and volatile. “No.”
He ignored that. “It’s late.”
“I said no, Bear.” She shot to her feet, fists clenched at her sides. “Just…leave me alone.”
Bear held his ground, keeping his voice steady. “Not happening.”
Her breath hitched, and he saw the crack in her armor. The fear. The exhaustion. But then she slammed the walls back up, her entire body rigid with anger.
“This isn’t about you!” she snapped. “You don’t get to hover over me like I’m some charity case you need to fix.”
His stomach clenched, but he didn’t let it show. “That’s not what this is.”
She let out a bitter laugh. “Then what is it, Bear? Because I sure as hell didn’t ask for your help.”
The words hit harder than he expected, but he kept his expression neutral. What could he say? That seeing her this way was tearing him apart? That every time she flinched at a loud noise or jumped when someone approached her too quickly, he felt it like a physical blow?
She grabbed her own coat and shoved past him before he could answer, storming out the back door.
Bear clenched his jaw, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep from punching the wall.
Then he followed her at a distance. She was pissed and he’d allow her her breakdown, but he wasn’t letting her walk home alone.
The November air bit through his jacket as he stepped outside, frost already forming on the edges of the sidewalk. Oak Creek got damn cold this time of year, and tonight was no exception. Above, stars scattered across the inky blackness, cold and distant.
He watched Joy disappear down the darkened street, her pace clipped, her arms wrapped tightly around herself like she was trying to hold something in.
She didn’t look back. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t care that she’d just torn into him like he was the enemy. She was like that all the way to her house.
His jaw clenched as he shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, exhaling slowly. He didn’t regret making sure she got home safe—even if she didn’t want him to.
As she went into her house, he turned toward his own place, thankful he only lived a few blocks away, over his garage. The streets of Oak Creek were mostly empty, only a few lights glowing from the homes and businesses along Main Street. His apartment above the garage was dark when he approached, but he didn’t bother turning on the porch light as he climbed the stairs.
Baby—Bear’s uncle, Lincoln’s father—had lived here before Bear, back when he’d owned the garage. Bear and Baby had a strange sort of connection, both saddled with names they hadn’t chosen.
Uncle Baby’s real name was Blake, but he’d been called Baby his whole life. Bear’s legal name was Thomas, but he had been Bear since he was a kid, tracking animal prints with his brother Derek, both of them convinced every damn one was a bear.
He was halfway up the stairs to his apartment when the prickling sensation hit the back of his neck.
Someone was watching him.
His muscles tensed, instincts kicking in before logic. His fingers curled into fists, his body shifting slightly, ready to drop into the shadows and eliminate the threat.
Then a familiar voice cut through the night.
“Stand down, son.”
Bear exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he turned. His dad stood a few feet away at the bottom of the stairs, hands in his jacket pockets, posture easy, but his sharp eyes taking in everything.
“Hell, Dad,” Bear muttered, shaking his head. “You trying to get knocked on your ass?”
Finn chuckled, taking a few steps up. “If you had better instincts, you would’ve known it was me before I said anything.”
Bear snorted but didn’t argue. Instead, he did what he always did when his father showed up unannounced, or announced—he hugged him.
Finn clapped a firm hand on his back before pulling away. “I stopped by the Eagle’s Nest, figured I’d find you there, but you’d already left.” A pause. “Paid your tab, by the way.”
Bear huffed a laugh. “You didn’t have to do that. Hudson knows I’m good for it.”
“Maybe.” Finn tipped his head toward the stairs. “You going to invite me in or what?”
Bear sighed, but there was no real irritation behind it.
“C’mon,” he muttered, leading the rest of the way up. “I’ll get you a beer.”
Inside, Bear popped the top off a beer and slid it across the small kitchen counter to his dad. Finn caught it easily, spinning the bottle in his hands before leaning back against the counter, studying Bear with those sharp, assessing eyes that saw too damn much.
“Always hard for me not to think of this place as Baby’s.” Finn looked around. “He was such a confirmed bachelor for so long.”
“Considering he and Aunt Quinn have been married for like three decades, I think he’s given up bachelor status for good.”
“Definitely true.” Finn smiled. “I’m glad you have this place now.”
Bear opened a beer for himself, waiting for his dad to get to his point. Finn Bollinger—despite his charm and easy laugh—wasn’t one to waste words.
“How you doing with how Joy’s doing?” Finn asked.
There it was.
Bear frowned, taking a slow sip of his own beer. “You mean, how’s Joy?”
“No,” Finn said simply. “I meant what I said.”
Bear’s grip tightened around the bottle. “Doesn’t matter how I feel. She’s the one going through it.”
Finn exhaled, his mouth pressing into a grim line. “Your mother was taken by a psychopath once. Held. Tortured. You’ve heard it mentioned, I know, but it’s not something we talk about much with you kids.”
His voice was quiet but firm, threaded with something Bear had never quite understood as a kid.
“Your mom got through it. She healed. She was the strongest person I know. Still is.” Finn’s gaze pinned Bear in place. “But I lost pieces of myself, watching her suffer. Pieces I never got back.”
Bear swallowed hard, his throat tight.
Finn nodded, like he already knew. “And I see it in you, son.”
Bear set his beer down with a sharp clink, dragging a hand over his face. “I feel like I’m watching Joy drown,” he admitted roughly. “And I don’t know how to pull her back up.”
Finn let the silence settle between them for a moment before speaking. “She’s strong. You know that.”
“She was strong.” Bear’s voice was hoarse. “Now she’s just…lost.”
Finn’s expression softened, something like understanding flashing in his eyes. “Then help her find her way back.”
Bear stared down at his beer, rolling the bottle between his hands. His dad’s words sat heavy in his chest, pressing against something he wasn’t sure he could name.
“I don’t know how. Trust me, I’ve wanted to do that,” he admitted, his voice quieter than he meant it to be. “She won’t let me in.”
Finn nodded as if he’d expected that answer. “Then don’t wait for permission.”
Bear’s brows furrowed, and Finn sighed. “Like all my kids, you’ve got good instincts. Trust them.”
He took a slow sip of his beer, setting it down before continuing. “Joy is strong. Independent. Fierce. But discovering her own vulnerability? It’s tearing her apart.” His gaze locked on Bear’s. “You don’t have to heal her. You can’t heal her. But maybe you can help her find her strength again.”
Bear let that sit for a second, his jaw working as he processed it. Help her find her strength again. He wanted to—God, he wanted to. But what if he just kept pushing her further away?
“I have to figure out how to do that.”
Finn took another drag of his beer. “You will. Joy has always been special to you, even when you were both kids. I know that has morphed into something different as adults.”
Bear nodded. It was nothing less than the truth.
Finn shifted, rolling his shoulders like he was gearing up for something heavier. “Look, I don’t want to keep you all night. But before I go, I need to say something else.”
Bear arched a brow, waiting.
“Everybody, especially you and your mother, keeps worrying about Derek,” Finn said, voice even. “And you should. We all should. Your brother’s got a long road ahead.” A pause. “But don’t think for a second that means I’m not worried about you too.”
Bear exhaled sharply. “Dad?—”
Finn held up a hand. “Just because Joy’s and Derek’s struggles look bigger doesn’t mean yours don’t count. Whatever it is you’re hiding and not letting anybody in on.”
Bear thought of the scars that marred his back and shoulder. It wasn’t so much that he was hiding them or the IED explosion that could’ve taken his life two years ago. He just didn’t want to advertise them. Didn’t want his parents, or anybody, to worry.
Bear wasn’t like Derek or Joy… He didn’t wake up sweating, didn’t get lost in PTSD fog, didn’t have to fight off panic when someone touched him without warning.
Bear didn’t want to take up support others needed.
“Dad…”
Finn met Bear’s eyes, firm and unrelenting. “Even the strongest need someone to lean on.”
Bear’s throat went tight, but he forced a grin. “That your way of saying you want me to come over for Sunday dinner?”
Finn chuckled. “It wouldn’t kill you. You know you’re always welcome, regardless of whether you want to share what’s going on with you or not.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
Bear hugged Finn as he stood to leave a few minutes later, his father’s words echoing in his mind long after the door closed.