Page 105 of Hero's Heart

Sloane had been there that night too. She’d been taken. Joy’s body had borne the brunt of the beating, but Sloane had endured just as much.

“I’m good,” she forced out, her voice overly bright. She reached over and squeezed Sloane’s hand before darting back into the fray. She didn’t miss the way Sloane’s eyes followed her, filled with quiet worry.

Just smile, damn it. Lips up. Don’t give people anything to see or worry about.

But no matter how she tried she knew it looked more like a grimace.

She had barely turned toward her next table when she spotted Mrs. Fuller, the town’s unofficial grandmother, waving her down. The elderly woman was seated near the door, wearing her usual hand-knit cardigan and a smile that belied her sharp tongue.

“Joy, dear,” Mrs. Fuller called, “have you had a chance to look for my casserole dish yet? The one I sent over after your…incident.”

Incident.

Joy’s stomach tightened. She forced a polite smile and crossed to Mrs. Fuller’s table. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Fuller. Things have been a little hectic, but I’ll get it back to you soon. Promise.”

Mrs. Fuller patted Joy’s hand. “No rush, dear. Just wanted to make sure it didn’t get lost in the shuffle.”

Joy nodded, her hands trembling as she moved to the next table. She told herself it was the coffee pot—not the wave of panic rising in her chest. The casseroles had been a kind gesture from the community, a tangible sign of support in the wake of the attack. But every time Joy thought about them, she was transported back to that night.

The shouting. The terror. The pain.

Plus, Mrs. Fuller didn’t truly understand what she was asking Joy to do. How could she? Finding a casserole dish and returning it shouldn’t be difficult, but it was. Was maybe even impossible. But Joy had no way of explaining that.

Turning away, she grabbed a couple empty glasses at the next table and stacked them on her tray, desperate for something to occupy her shaking hands. As she pivoted, a customer bumped into her, sending the cups crashing to the floor.

The noise was deafening. Too loud. Too sharp. In an instant, she was back in her living room, fists pounding against her, pain exploding along her ribs, her face.

Over and over.

She was helpless.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

“Joy.”

The deep voice cut through the fog, pulling her back. Bear Bollinger crouched at her side, his brown eyes steady and grounding. He reached for the broken pieces, his movements unhurried.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, his voice like a lifeline. “Just a couple of glasses. Nothing that can’t be cleaned up.”

Joy blinked, her breath hitching as reality settled around her again. The bustling restaurant came into focus. The hum of voices. The smell of fried food. The weight of Bear’s gaze.

She nodded stiffly, crouching to help him gather the pieces. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. She couldn’t even handle a broken dish without falling apart.

“You okay?” Bear asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Joy nodded again, not trusting her voice. She hated how much comfort his presence brought her. Hated that he was here, witnessing her weakness along with everyone else.

Hated how she was terrified that if he walked away right now, the darkness would swallow her whole. She couldn’t even figure out how to make her body work. All she could do was stare at the ground.

He seemed to know what was happening. “How about we just put the pieces on your tray. One shard at a time. Okay? Can you pick up one piece?”

One piece. She could pick up one piece.

She did and then her body remembered how to work again. Between the two of them, they had the biggest fragments picked up in no time. She’d get the rest of it with a broom.

She stood, becoming aware of how quiet the room was. Once again, everyone was looking at her.

Would this be the time Joy completely lost it in public?

---