Page 30 of Hero Mine

The door creaked open, and she stepped out, his clothes way too big as he’d expected, her damp brown hair curling at the ends. The shirt hung to her knees, the sleeves rolled up multiple times.

She looked at him, silent. Too silent. Not a trace of the usual sparkle in her eyes, the impish smile that usually danced on her lips.

He didn’t ask. He just nodded toward his bed.

She didn’t argue. Didn’t crack a joke or roll her eyes. She just went.

That was what really fucking got to him.

He pulled back the blankets, waiting until she climbed beneath them before tucking them around her small frame. Too small. Too fragile.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her voice catching on the words.

Something snapped in his chest. He crouched beside the bed, brushing a damp strand of hair from her forehead. He traced his fingers over the freckles she used to hate, the ones she’d complained about when she was younger.

“We’ll figure it out later,” he murmured. “Right now, just sleep.”

She barely nodded before her eyes slipped shut, exhaustion pulling her under almost immediately.

Bear stood there for a long moment, watching her breathe, the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath his blankets. In sleep, some of the tension left her face, making her look more like the Joy he knew—the one with the ready smile and the endless energy.

Then he walked over to his couch and sank onto it, scrubbing a hand over his face. His mind was still racing, replaying the night’s discoveries, planning what needed to happen next.

There was no way in hell he was sleeping tonight. But at least now, Joy was safe. She wasn’t alone.

And that was all that mattered.

Chapter9

Joy blinked against the morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains, her brain sluggish as it tried to place where she was. The sheets were warm against her skin, the mattress firm—too firm to be her lumpy cot in the playhouse.

Then it all came rushing back. She was in Bear’s bed.

She pressed her face into the pillow. Last night, he’d found her curled up in the playhouse like some broken thing. His quiet insistence that she come back to his apartment still echoed in her ears.

The worst part wasn’t that he’d seen her hiding. It was that she’d just followed him without protest, walking beside him like a lost child while he murmured reassurances that felt like the only thing keeping her from shattering.

Heat burned up her neck as she realized what he knew now. Not just that she hadn’t been staying in her house or that it was such a disaster, but that she’d been sleeping outside like some damn stray cat, too afraid to face her own four walls.

“Great job proving you’re not a total wreck, Davis,” she muttered into the pillow.

The smell of coffee and bacon curled through the air, making her stomach growl loud enough to drown out her self-loathing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten a real breakfast.

Or lunch. Or dinner.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, tightening the waist string of the sweatpants and tugging at the hem of the oversized T-shirt Bear had loaned her. She hesitated at the doorway of his kitchen, her bare toes curling against the cool hardwood.

Bear stood at the stove, his broad back to her, moving with an easy confidence that made something deep in her chest tighten. Morning sunlight streamed through the window above the sink, catching in his dark hair, illuminating the strong line of his shoulders beneath his worn Henley. The familiar aromas of breakfast wrapped around her like an invitation.

His head turned slightly, though he didn’t fully face her. “Morning.”

She cleared her throat, trying to ignore the way warmth coiled low in her belly at the roughness of his voice. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

Bear flipped the bacon onto a plate with practiced ease, then turned, watching her with those steady brown eyes that always seemed to see right through her. “Took the day off.”

Her stomach clenched. She knew what that meant without him saying another word. He wanted to talk. And that didn’t make her feel cared for—it made her feel cornered.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said quickly, crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

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