Page 17 of Hero Mine

But then he’d do something like this—pick up on some subtle nuance that everyone else had overlooked and recall it with perfect clarity.

“When I inquired about them, she hesitated for exactly three-point-four seconds before claiming she was ‘playing with some ideas for the truck,’” Lincoln continued, his gaze turned distant, replaying the memory with his characteristic precision. “The color palette was entirely inconsistent with traditional Tex-Mex aesthetics. And when I mentioned this discrepancy, she exhibited all the physical markers of someone expecting criticism—shoulders tensing, eyes lowering, weight shifting backward. She was bracing for rejection before I even formed an opinion.”

Bear frowned, staring into the fire, his cousin’s words rolling through his mind. Joy had been changing the truck’s concept before the attack. That meant it wasn’t just some knee-jerk reaction to what had happened—it was something deeper, something she hadn’t felt comfortable sharing, even with him.

His gut twisted at the thought.

Hudson exhaled roughly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I just want to see her get excited about something again, you know?” His voice was gruff, but the concern was genuine. “I don’t care if she paints the goddamn thing neon green. I just hate seeing her like this.”

Bear nodded, absently rolling the beer bottle between his palms. “I’ll check in with her. Keep encouraging her not to give up on it.”

Hudson gave him a long look but didn’t push.

Bear didn’t bother saying what he was really thinking. This wasn’t just about the truck. This was about Joy. And if she wasn’t going to fight for herself—well, fine. He’d fight for her instead.

But he wasn’t letting her give up on her dream.

The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows over the faces of his friends, but Bear barely registered them. His decision had settled, solid and unmovable in his chest.

They’d all been waiting. Giving Joy space. Letting her come to them when she was ready.

But what if she never felt ready? What if she stayed trapped in this limbo, caught between the person she used to be and the fear holding her back?

No. He wasn’t letting that happen.

She could run, could push him away, could pretend she was fine. He’d let her do it for the last month. But Joy wasn’t fine, and Bear was done standing back, watching her slip further away.

She needed something to pull her forward. And whether she realized it or not, her food truck was that thing. The project she’d poured her heart into before everything went to hell. The dream that had made her eyes light up with passion and purpose.

He was going to make damn sure she saw it again.

Bear tossed the last of his beer into the fire, watching the flames hiss and flare as he rose to his feet. His mind was made up.

Tomorrow, he’d find Joy. He’d start pushing past those walls she’d built. He’d remind her who she was beneath all that fear and doubt.

And this time, he wouldn’t let her run.

“Leaving already?” Hudson asked, glancing up from his conversation with Sam.

Bear nodded, the chill from his damp clothes finally registering now that his determination had crystallized. “Got some planning to do.”

“For the garage?”

“For Joy.”

Understanding dawned in Hudson’s eyes. “Good luck with that. She’s not exactly in a cooperative mood these days.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Bear’s voice held the same steely resolve that had carried him through firefights and blown-up buildings in Iraq. “She doesn’t have to cooperate. She just has to listen.”

Sam whistled low. “Brave man. Joy Davis doesn’t listen to anyone when she’s dug her heels in.”

“She’ll listen to me.” Bear was certain of it. Because he wasn’t going to appeal to her rational side—he was going to remind her of what she loved. What made her feel alive.

She’d inched out of her shell with him tonight for a few minutes before that unfortunate mechanical issue had stolen him away. Joy hadn’t given much, but it had beensomething. And Bear was going to capitalize on it.

As he made his way toward his truck, the night air bit through his damp clothes, but he barely noticed. His mind raced with possibilities, with plans.

The Joy he knew was still in there somewhere, buried beneath trauma and fear. And Bear was a mechanic—he knew how to fix broken things, how to coax engines back to life when others would give up. Sometimes it took patience. Sometimes it took the right tools.

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