Chapter 13
The steps leading up to Bear’s apartment loomed before Joy, worn wood bathed in the golden glow of the porch light. She stood at the bottom, fingers curled into fists, her breath misting in the cold night air.
She wanted to be here. She did. She wanted to be here more than she wanted her next breath. She knew he was waiting for her, just a few steps away.
Bear’s words from earlier echoed in her mind: Anything I get to watch you put into that sexy mouth of yours.
Heat flooded her cheeks, and not from the biting November wind. At the time, it had been all she could do not to throw Bear up against her food truck and ravish him. Health code be damned.
“Come on, feet,” she whispered. “Just move.”
But they wouldn’t. Despite being half in love with the man since she was eight years old, she couldn’t force herself to climb those stairs.
She and Bear had agreed to meet a couple hours after leaving the storage garage. Both had wanted their first time together to be perfect—not when she was covered in dust and grease from working on her truck. She’d wanted to be freshly showered, hair styled, wearing her prettiest matching bra and panty set.
Joy tugged nervously at the sleeve of her jacket. The downfall had started while she was getting ready. She’d showered inside her actual house—the only option since there wasn’t ever going to be running water in the playhouse. Then her stress had spiraled as she’d tried on three different outfits and spent far too long styling her hair, determined to look perfect.
But she’d stayed too long in the house, surrounded by reminders of what a wreck the place still was. What a loser she was for not cleaning it properly. For still living in her backyard playhouse like some maladjusted child.
“You’re ruining a perfectly good night,” she muttered to herself.
Despite making progress with both the food truck and self-defense training over the past week, she was still a long way from being back to normal. And those insidious thoughts kept whispering that she wasn’t good for Bear. That all she would do was bring him down.
By the time she’d left her house, she’d already been shaky.
Then, twenty feet from her door, she’d gotten that feeling again—like someone was watching. Like eyes were tracking her from the shadows.
Even now, she felt it.
She whirled around, scanning the darkness. “Hello?” Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.
Nothing. Just darkness and the occasional rustle of wind through bare tree branches.
It was probably nothing. Had to be nothing.
Except it didn’t feel like nothing.
The fear slithered up her spine, cold and familiar, drowning out the confidence she’d had just hours ago kissing Bear in the garage. Her pulse raced, a rapid staccato against her ribs.
“Stop it,” she hissed. “There’s no one there.”
But she couldn’t shake it, couldn’t push through. Someone was watching her. Waiting for her.
She pressed her palms against her eyes, then dropped them quickly, looking around once more, turning in a complete circle.
Still nothing. No boogeyman. No Eastern European kidnappers. No menacing shadows moving in the night.
Nothing.
“Get a grip, Davis.”
But there was no way she could go to Bear like this—jumping at shadows, heart racing, palms sweating despite the cold. She didn’t want to be around herself when she was like this. There was no way she could expect him to want to be around her either.
She turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. Her boots hit the pavement harder than necessary as she crossed the street, her movements fueled by frustration—at herself and at the fear that still clung to her like a second skin.
“Bear will understand,” she whispered.
He would. That was the worst part. He’d look at her with those kind eyes full of concern and patience, and it would make her feel even worse.
She’d text him. Tell him she needed a rain check, that she wasn’t feeling well. Then she’d figure out how to call things off with him before they had a chance to move forward. Because there was no way she was saddling Bear Bollinger—steady, solid, perfect Bear—with her neuroses.
Her breath came faster as she bypassed her house entirely and took the familiar side path leading to the playhouse. The cold night air burned her lungs. A flush of shame washed over her as she approached the small structure. She knew hiding here rather than going to Bear’s was backsliding—losing all the progress she’d made. But what choice did she have?
Her house wasn’t an option. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. Neither was his.
She pushed open the playhouse door and stepped inside, shutting it quickly behind her. She sagged against the door, chest heaving, pulse still too fast. The darkness inside was complete until her eyes adjusted, revealing the familiar shadows of her temporary sanctuary.
“Temporary,” she said aloud, the word hollow in the small space.
She’d told herself that every night since the attack. That this place was just a crutch, a brief escape until she could face her house again. That she wouldn’t still be living out here weeks later, despite all the improvements Bear had made.
Joy kicked off her boots, movements stiff with resignation, and crawled onto the small cot in the corner. The blankets were already rumpled from the night before. The book she’d been pretending to read sat on the floor beside it.
This wasn’t just a crutch anymore. It was a cage.
She curled her arms around herself, teeth sinking into her lower lip. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, the night stretching long and empty in front of her.
This should’ve been the greatest night of her life. Her first night with Bear.
Instead, she reached for her phone and typed a quick message.
Hey, something came up. Rain check?
Without waiting for him to answer, she turned off her phone in case he decided to call. She couldn’t talk to him tonight. Couldn’t bear to hear the concern in his voice, knowing she’d disappointed him yet again.
She had been so damn sure she was getting better. But tonight, she was right back at the beginning.
Joy squeezed her eyes shut, willing sleep to come. Willing herself to wake up as the woman she used to be.
* * *
The knock on the playhouse door was firm but not demanding.
Joy’s eyes flew open, and she stiffened, pressing her lips together, keeping quiet. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she’d closed her eyes—had she fallen asleep?
Then Bear’s voice came through the thin wood, low and steady. “Bug, I know you’re in there.”
Her stomach twisted. She didn’t answer. Didn’t move.
A few seconds later, the door creaked open, bringing with it a rush of cold air and the familiar sound of wood shifting under weight as he came inside. The moonlight caught his broad shoulders as he ducked to enter.
He didn’t say anything right away. He just stood there, a silhouette in the darkness, looking at her.
“Why didn’t you come up to my place?” His voice broke the silence, even but firm.
Joy swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I was going to.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know.”
Liar .
Bear sighed, shifting his weight. The floorboards creaked beneath him. “Someone mentioned they saw you outside.” A pause. “You stood at the bottom of my steps, then turned around and walked away.”
Her throat tightened. She didn’t want to talk about this. Didn’t want him to see her like this—weak, frightened, pathetic.
She pushed up onto her elbows, attempting casual indifference. “I sent you a text. I was just tired. Figured I’d come home and go to sleep.”
The words felt hollow, even to her own ears.
Bear didn’t call her out on the lie, but she knew he saw straight through her. He always did.
She expected a lecture. Deserved one. Or, at the very least, she expected him to tell her that she needed to stop constantly letting herself sink back into the hole. That she needed to fight harder. Try harder. Do something but be pathetic.
But he didn’t. Bear sat down beside her on the cot, shifting carefully to keep from tilting it over. His weight made the whole thing dip, nearly rolling her against him.
“It’s not much of a home,” she muttered, hating how small her voice sounded.
Bear just shrugged. “Better than nothing.”
She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders. “I was going to come up.” She tried again to explain, but the confession tasted bitter, like failure. “I stood there wanting to.”
Bear’s gaze stayed on her, unwavering in the darkness. “And?”
She swallowed. “And I couldn’t.”
The words barely scraped out, raw and edged with frustration. She shook her head, rubbing her hands over her face. “I thought I was getting better, Bear. I felt like I was. And then our kiss today…”
“Was amazing.” His voice rumbled in the small space.
“Yes.” She couldn’t deny it. Although, all their kisses had been amazing. “But then after, when I was here getting ready and then walking to your place—” She hesitated, forcing herself to look at him through the darkness. “I was back to jumping at shadows. Feeling like someone was watching me. Like I was right back at the beginning.”
Bear was silent for a long moment. “Healing isn’t a straight line, Bug. It’s not linear.”
The quiet certainty in his voice made something tremble deep in her chest.
“You’re allowed to have bad days,” he continued. “Doesn’t mean you’re back at the beginning.”
She scoffed, looking away. “Sure as hell feels like it.”
Bear shifted, turning toward her fully. The cot groaned beneath them. “So, what, then? You give up? Stay out here in this playhouse forever?”
His tone wasn’t mocking, wasn’t judging. It was genuine.
Joy let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “I don’t know.”
“You do.”
She swallowed. “I don’t know how to go back.”
Bear nodded slowly, as if that made sense to him. Maybe it did.
She expected him to tell her what she should do. That she needed to push through, keep fighting, force herself to face her house. Face her fears. But he didn’t.
Instead, he leaned back against the wall, stretched out his legs as best he could in the cramped space. “Guess I’m staying, then.”
Her head snapped toward him. “What?”
Bear let out a slow breath, eyes closing briefly as if he was already settling in. “You can’t sleep. I’m not leaving you alone out here.” He cracked one eye open. “Unless you want me to go.”
She should say yes. She should tell him to go back to his apartment, to stop hovering over her like she was something fragile. But the words wouldn’t come. Because the truth was…she didn’t want to be alone.
And she was fragile.
She pressed her lips together, hating the vulnerability clawing up her throat. “You don’t have to?—”
“I know,” he interrupted gently. “It’s not about having to. It’s about wanting to.”
The words came low, steady, washing over her like a balm.
And just like that, her fight drained away.
Silence stretched between them, thick but not uncomfortable. Bear had always been like that—never in a rush to fill the quiet. It was one of the things she loved about him.
Loved.
God. She was so screwed.
She shifted, lowering her legs, pressing her bare feet against the cool wood floor. “You’re going to break this cot,” she muttered.
Bear snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first thing I’ve broken.”
Something about the casual way he said it made her smile—small, but real. The first genuine smile she’d felt since leaving the storage garage hours ago.
His eyes flicked to her mouth in the darkness, and her stomach flipped. The tension between them shifted, became something warm and slow and dangerous.
And then, before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in. She barely had to move before Bear met her halfway, his hand sliding up to cup her cheek.
Unlike their kiss at the garage that afternoon, this one was soft. No urgency, no desperation—just the slow, careful press of lips, the kind of kiss that told a thousand unspoken things.
When she pulled back, he traced the edge of her jaw with his thumb.
“I want more,” she whispered, the admission tumbling out before she could stop it. “I wanted to come up to your place because…I want more .”
“Yes.” Bear exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against hers. “But not here.”
Joy’s pulse tripped. “Why not?”
His voice was rough, edged with something strained. “Because when I finally have you, when I finally get to show you how much I want you, it’s not going to be in a cramped playhouse where half the damn town can hear us. The same way it wasn’t going to be on the floor of a garage this afternoon.”
A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
She should argue. Tell him she didn’t care. But deep down, she knew he was right.
And that terrified her. Because she knew Bear. When he made a promise, he kept it. And the kiss they’d just shared had been a promise.
One she desperately wanted him to keep.
She let out a slow breath, nodding against him.
He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple before pulling her into his arms, tucking her against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world—the two of them on this tiny little cot that might collapse at any moment.
Joy closed her eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear. His warmth surrounded her, chasing away the cold that had seeped into her bones—not just from the November night, but from the fear that had been her constant companion for too long.
For the first time in days, she felt safe.
And she slept.