Page 34 of Hero Mine

Joy blinked at the ceiling in Bear’s apartment, watching dust specks dance through the thin beams of afternoon light filtering through the curtains. She hadn’t meant to sleep this long—hell, she hadn’t meant to go back to sleep at all. But her body had simply shut down the moment Bear left, and even when she’d woken once, just long enough to make and eat a sandwich, exhaustion had dragged her back under like a riptide.

She rolled onto her side, the oversized sweatshirt he’d loaned her swallowing her frame. It smelled like him—clean soap, a hint of motor oil, and something else, something uniquely, indefinably Bear. The scent wrapped around her like a second blanket. She should’ve changed into her own clothes by now. Should’ve done a dozen other things too. But for hours, all she’d managed was to sleep, wrapped in the closest thing to comfort she’d had in weeks.

Now, fully awake, she couldn’t escape the question circling in her mind: where was Bear?

Her fingers traced the loose threads at the hem of the sweatshirt as her first instinct surged—to find him, to make sure he wasn’t at her house doing exactly what she’d told him not to do. Her breath caught. No. Bear wouldn’t break his word. She trusted him.

She just hated that she’d hurt him earlier. The disappointment in his eyes at her words had twisted something inside her, a knife of regret turning slowly in her chest.

“Damn it,” she whispered to the empty room.

Could she live here with Bear?

Physically? Of course.

But as roommates, as housemates? No.

And yet, what other choice did she have?

Joy pushed herself up, running fingers through her tangled hair. Winter was coming—she could feel it in her bones, see it in the pale, thin sunlight struggling through the window. She couldn’t keep sleeping in that damn playhouse. Eventually, she’d have to make a decision.

But moving in with Bear like this felt like slamming the door on any potential future between them. It would transform what they might have into something practical. Friendly. It would make her a burden he felt responsible for rather than someone he might actuallywant.

A roommate instead of a lover. A problem instead of a partner.

And even if she somehow managed to work through all of that…her own mind might be the thing that destroyed them anyway. The nightmares. The panic attacks. The moments when she couldn’t breathe because memories crashed into her without warning. How could she inflict all that on him, day after day?

So what did it even matter?

The room felt suddenly too small, the walls too close. Joy pushed herself off the bed and crossed to the window, rubbing her arms against a chill that came from inside rather than out. Maybe she should leave Oak Creek altogether. Start over somewhere else. Somewhere without memories. Somewhere she hadn’t been broken.

The thought hit hard, heavier than she expected. The idea of packing up and moving away from the only home she’d ever known should’ve felt freeing, but instead, it settled in her chest like a weight she couldn’t shake. A stone too heavy to carry, but too precious to discard.

She’d never wanted to leave Oak Creek. Not for college, not for adventure, not for anything. This town had raised her, had shaped every wild, reckless part of her. She’d never even dreamed of leaving.

Joy pressed her palm flat against the cool glass, looking out at the familiar streets below. Now it felt like those same streets were closing in on her, the town whispering behind her back, watching her every move with cautious, pitying eyes.

But if she left, where would she even go? What would she do?

The answer had always been the food truck. The thing she’d poured all her time, energy, and money into. The thing she’d been so damn excited about—until she wasn’t.

Now, it was nothing. Just a rusting shell parked in a storage garage she rented just outside of town. A reminder of a girl who used to have dreams. A monument to failure.

Bear had been right. It was just sitting there, gathering dust. But the truth was, everything about her was gathering dust.

She was supposed to be the one with too much energy, always moving, always talking, always doing. Now, she could barely get out of bed without feeling like the ground was shifting beneath her.

The door creaked open behind her, and Joy turned from the window as Bear stepped inside. Her heart jumped painfully in her chest—half relief, half anxiety. She should’ve changed out of his clothes before he got back. Brushed her hair. Brushed her teeth. Done anything to look less like she’d been wallowing.

“You’re awake.” His voice came low, easy, no judgment.

She nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. “Where were you?”

He hesitated, just for a second—a pause that stretched between them, loaded with meaning. “Your place.”

Her stomach dropped. A sick, sinking feeling curled through her stomach, cold and sharp as winter frost.

Damn it. He’d done it. He’d cleaned her house, despite giving his word.

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