Page 21 of Hero Mine

The glow-in-the-dark stars were still there. Faint, but present. Little smudges of light in an otherwise dark world.

She remembered painting them, her father lifting her onto his shoulders so she could reach. Back then, the world had felt limitless. She had been fearless. Unstoppable.

“Make a wish on each one,” her dad had told her. “And when they glow at night, that means your wishes are being kept safe.”

She’d been young enough to believe in wishes and magic and a world where nothing could hurt her.

Now, she just wanted to make it through the night.

She closed her eyes and whispered to the stars, to the memory of who she used to be.

“Please, let me find her again.”

The words hung in the frigid air, a prayer to a universe that had already taken so much from her. She didn’t know if anyone was listening. Didn’t know if it even mattered anymore.

But as she drifted into an uneasy sleep, her breath clouding above her in the freezing playhouse, one thing was clear: she couldn’t keep living like this.

Something had to change.

Chapter7

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 beengoodwith 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.

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