“I’m not scared,” Lincoln replied, his brow furrowing in that familiar way it did whenever human irrationality confounded him. “I simply don’t understand the appeal of throwing oneself into near-freezing water under the guise of fun.”
Bear’s mouth quirked. “That’s because it isn’t fun.”
“No, it’s stupid,” Hudson muttered, rubbing his arms as if the memory of the water still clung to his skin. “And I only jumped from the high ledge because Colton called me a chicken. Never again.”
“Which, I’d like to point out, proves my point precisely,” Lincoln said, straightening slightly. “If it’snotfun andisstupid, as you just attested, then why do it?”
Hudson and Sam attacked the problem with gleeful determination, tossing theories about endorphin rushes and social currency back and forth while Lincoln dissected each argument with scientific precision. The familiar rhythm of their debate—this constant push and pull that defined their friendship—washed over Bear like a balm.
He let their voices anchor him as his thoughts threatened to drift back to that empty spot beneath the tree, to the hollow feeling that had settled in his chest when he’d realized Joy was gone. Again. The camaraderie around the fire couldn’t entirely fill the space she’d left behind, but it gave him something solid to hold on to while the disappointment gnawed at his edges.
Sam eventually gave up the argument and eyed Bear’s damp clothes. “You planning to stay soaking wet all night, or are you just embracing hypothermia for sheer enjoyment?”
Bear shrugged, forcing a casual tone. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself. “Figured I’d tough it out. Real men suffer as long as possible.”
Lincoln immediately perked up. “That statement is illogical. Suffering does not equate to strength. If anything, it leads to increased risk of hypothermia, weakened immune function, and?—”
“Be cool, Linc,” Hudson laughed, shaking his head. “You really know how to kill a mood.”
Sam snorted into his beer. “Pretty sure that’s his superpower.”
Lincoln blinked, clearly unbothered. “It’s not my intention to kill anything. I’m simply pointing out the flaw in Bear’s reasoning.”
Bear chuckled, grateful for the distraction, even if Lincoln’s logic cut a little too close to home. Bear had his reasons for staying in his damp clothes, but he didn’t want to share them.
“I’ve got an extra hoodie in my truck if you don’t have anything to change into,” Sam offered, reaching into his pocket for his keys.
Bear’s stomach tightened as he felt curious glances land on him. He forced another grin, tilting his beer toward Sam in a mock toast. “Appreciate it, but I think I’ll stick it out. Builds character.”
Lincoln opened his mouth—no doubt to demolish that statement too—but Hudson cut in. “Yeah, yeah. We get it. Freezing your ass off makes you a badass. Reminds you of your Marine days.”
“Not as badass as you jumping off the high ledge,” Bear countered, deliberately steering the conversation away from himself.
The distraction worked, and suddenly, everyone was recounting Hudson’s near-pants-wetting experience on the high ledge.
Bear was relieved for the subject change, but his shoulders remained tense. The truth was, he hadn’t forgotten to bring dry clothes. He just didn’t want to change in front of everyone. Didn’t want the questions or the attention the scars on his back would bring.
The conversation eventually drifted into comfortable silence. Sam poked at the fire with a stick, sending embers spiraling upward into the night sky. “You know, this time last year, Joy was talking about having her food truck up and running for this event.” He shook his head, expression sobering. “Damn shame that didn’t happen.”
Hudson sighed, the sound heavy with concern. “Yeah. She was so damn excited about it back then. Talked my ear off about her menu every shift. Now? I can barely get her to mention it.”
The easy atmosphere around the fire dimmed, the weight of Joy’s absence settling over them like a physical thing. Nobody mentioned the attack directly, but it hovered in the silence between words. Bear kept his expression neutral even as his grip tightened around his beer bottle.
“She still wants the food truck,” he said after a moment, surprising even himself by speaking up. “I think she does, anyway.”
Hudson shot him a skeptical look. “You sure about that? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like she’s doing everything she can to pretend it never existed.”
The truth was, Bear wasn’t sure. Not entirely.
“She hopes next year,” he said, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears.
Lincoln tilted his head, studying Bear with that unsettling perceptiveness that sometimes caught people off guard. “She has altered the theme, hasn’t she?”
Bear glanced at him in surprise. “She told you about that?” There was no lost love between Joy and Lincoln—the two of them were such polar opposites.
“Two months ago, I noticed something unusual,” Lincoln said, his voice taking on that definitive quality it always did when recalling details others would miss. “Joy was clearing tables at the Eagle’s Nest, and her forearm had streaks of lavender and rose-pink paint. Not spatters—deliberate brushstrokes, partially wiped away.”
That was the fascinating paradox of Lincoln. Sarcasm and jokes often flew right over his head, and he had no filter when it came to saying exactly what he thought, social graces be damned.
