Page 69 of Hero Mine

Joy didn’t know how it happened. One second, she was sitting frozen in the living room, barely keeping it together, and the next, her friends had taken over like a well-organized strike team.

Sloane was the leader, moving through the house like she had never left, sorting through the piles of unopened mail on the coffee table with quiet efficiency. Callum ended up scrubbing the baseboards.

The Oak Creek sheriff was scrubbing her damn baseboards.

Scarlett was in the kitchen, throwing out anything from the fridge that had expired—judging by the dramatic gags and muttered curses, that was a lot.

Lincoln and Theo tackled the biggest mess, hauling trash bags and rubbish out onto the porch without asking where it should go.

“We should repair that,” Lincoln said, pausing to examine the dented plaster by the staircase, his fingers ghosting over the damaged wall with clinical precision. “Although the structural integrity of the wall doesn’t seem to be compromised.”

Theo appeared with spackle and tools. “Got it covered. We’ll patch it up good as new.”

Joy stood in the middle of it all, watching in stunned silence.

“This is ridiculous,” she finally muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “I didn’t ask for a full-scale home renovation.”

“You did text me,” Sloane reminded her without looking up from a stack of old bills. “And you sounded like you needed someone.”

“Someone. Not a damn cavalry.”

Sloane finally looked up, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Yeah, well. Word got out.”

Joy narrowed her eyes. “You mean you told everyone.”

Sloane shrugged, unrepentant. “Maybe.”

Scarlett popped her head out of the kitchen, a wooden spoon in one hand, an empty cereal box in the other. “I knew you needed help when you still had expired Fruity Pebbles in your pantry. Those things have a shelf life of forever, and they still went bad.”

Joy crossed her arms. “I was going to get to it.”

Scarlett snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Callum glanced up from where he was wrestling with a scrub brush. “You’d do it for any of us. We’re willing to do it for you.”

“I am grateful,” Joy admitted. Then, softer, “I just…didn’t expect this.”

“That’s your problem, Davis. You still don’t get it.” Theo smiled at her.

She frowned. “Get what?”

He tossed her a rag. “That you don’t have to do everything alone.”

Joy caught it automatically, fingers tightening around the fabric.

She wanted to argue. To tell them that facing the ghosts in this house was her battle, her responsibility.

But then she looked around.

At Sloane, making order out of chaos. At Callum, who had real police work to do but was here scrubbing. At Scarlett, who was probably reorganizing the kitchen as she purged it. At Lincoln, logical and methodical, carefully mixing spackle to patch her wall. At Theo, grinning at her like this was just another ridiculous adventure.

Shedidn’thave to do it alone. And Callum was right; she would’ve done it without hesitation for any of them.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of movement. Dust flew, floors were scrubbed, rooms were cleared. The dent in the wall was meticulously patched, Lincoln working with mathematical precision to smooth the fresh plaster until it was impossible to tell where the damage had been. Theo followed behind with a roller, covering the newly repaired surface with soft cream paint that brightened the entire stairwell.

The broken chair was replaced, and the house—herhouse—began to feel like something she could breathe in again.

By the time the sun set, the place was clean. Fresh.

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