Page 14 of Hero Mine

Her jaw relaxed as she watched the flames dance against the darkening sky. By then, she’d have to be more healed, wouldn’t she? The thought unfurled inside her like the first unfreezing of a stream after winter. Sitting here, pine needles beneath her palms and Bear’s steady presence beside her, she could almost believe it might be true.

They settled into companionable silence, shoulders barely touching. Laughter carried across the clearing, while sparks spiraled upward from the bonfire, golden against the indigo sky. For the first time in weeks, Joy felt something loosen in her chest—a tightness she’d grown so accustomed to she’d forgotten what it felt like without it. Her breath came easier now, no longer something she had to remember to do. The night air filled her lungs without effort, cool and pine-scented, laced with woodsmoke and possibility.

Branches swayed overhead, casting shifting shadows across Bear’s face as he broke the peaceful quiet between them.

“You know, this place brings back some memories.” His voice rumbled low, barely carrying over the distant laughter from the bonfire.

Joy angled toward him, one eyebrow arched. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

Bear’s mouth curved into that half smile that always made her stomach flip. His gaze drifted toward the water, lingering on the highest jump platform. “Like that time you kissed me right over there by the high ledge.”

“Oh my God.” Joy groaned and buried her face in her hands, heat flooding her cheeks. “Can we please not excavate that particular humiliation?”

“Oh, we’re definitely excavating it.” He bumped her shoulder with his, eyes dancing with mischief. “Complete with historical markers and commemorative plaques.”

Joy peeked through her fingers, mortification warring with reluctant amusement. “I had this elaborate seduction plan, you know. Practiced my moves in the mirror and everything. Thought I was the epitome of sophistication.” She dropped her hands with a sigh. “And then you just…shut me down. Full stop.”

Bear’s laugh vibrated through the small space between them, but something else flickered in his eyes—something serious beneath the teasing.

“You weren’t even eighteen, Joy. Still had algebra homework in your backpack.”

“Six weeks!” She jabbed a finger toward his chest, indignation surging. “It was six weeks before my birthday. Practically a technicality.”

“And I was twenty-six.” Bear caught her accusing finger gently, his expression softening into something that made her breath catch. “Old enough to know better. Old enough that the line mattered.”

Their hands remained connected between them, neither pulling away.

“So you’re saying…” Joy swallowed, her voice suddenly quieter. “It wasn’t that you didn’t want to?”

The teasing disappeared completely from Bear’s face. He leaned closer, close enough that she could smell the pine and smoke on his skin.

“Joy Davis,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across her knuckles, “you’ve never been easy to ignore. Not then, not now. But at twenty-six, even thinking about you that way would’ve landed me in handcuffs—and not the fun kind.”

She sat perfectly still, the revelation washing over her like the lake water had a half hour earlier—a shock to the system that left every nerve ending tingling. All those years she’d spent convincing herself he couldn’t possibly want her. That when he looked at her, he saw what everyone else in Oak Creek saw: the scrappy tomboy with skinned knees and too much energy, the girl whose wild streak made people shake their heads with equal parts amusement and exasperation. The one who was fun to have around but never quite taken seriously.

Her throat tightened around words that wouldn’t form. How many nights had she lain awake wondering what was fundamentally wrong with her that made Bear Bollinger—steady, solid, breathtakingly capable Bear—keep her at arm’s length? How many times had she told herself to move on, that some doors weren’t meant to be opened?

And all this time, it had been about protection. About boundaries. About timing.

Not about her being unwanted.

“How about our kiss a few weeks ago?” His voice dropped to a murmur, his breath warm against her ear. “Did that not help dispel any lingering doubts?”

Her pulse skipped at the memory. That moment outside her front door, streetlight spilling across their faces after he’d walked her home. His palm against her cheek, her name on his lips like a prayer.

She’d forced herself not to dwell on that kiss since it happened. Not when it was tangled up with what came after—the terror, the shouting, the pain. Letting herself remember the sweetness felt dangerous when it was followed by so much darkness.

But here, with Bear’s solid warmth beside her, the memory untangled itself from the rest. Her body remembered before her mind did—the way he’d tasted, how his callused fingers had cradled her face like she was something precious, the spark that had ignited low in her belly.

Heat bloomed across her skin, and she couldn’t fight the shy smile that curved her lips. She shifted closer, erasing the last inches between them. His arm settled around her, pulling her against the hard wall of his chest.

“Yeah,” she whispered, grateful for the darkness that hid her flushed cheeks. “That kiss was…” Words failed her. Amazing seemed too small, too ordinary, for what she’d felt.

She didn’t need to explain. Some part of her had been waiting for that kiss since she was eight years old, watching him fix her bike chain with those careful, competent hands. The love she carried for him had roots so deep she couldn’t remember what it felt like not to have them. It had grown quietly alongside her, weathering every storm, surviving even her best attempts to ignore it.

She snuggled into him a little more, letting herself get lost in the memory of that kiss. It was the closest she’d felt to fearless in a long time.

“Hey, Bear!” someone called from near the parking area. “Got a car over here that won’t start. Can you give us a hand?”

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