He was back to thinking about Joy. Hell, who was he kidding? He was almost always thinking about Joy.
He could still hear his dad’s voice from earlier tonight, calm but firm.Maybe you don’t need her permission to help.
Damn it. Maybe he was right.
Because, this? Lying here, pretending he didn’t know Joy was drowning—alone—wasn’t who Bear was. He didn’t leave people behind. Not in the Marines. Not in Oak Creek. And sure as hell not when it came to Joy Davis.
He exhaled sharply and shoved the blankets off.
Enough.
He yanked on his jeans, tugged a thermal over his head, and grabbed his jacket from the hook by the door. The November air bit through his clothes the moment he stepped outside, but he barely felt it, his boots crunching against the frozen ground as determination propelled him forward.
Joy lived only a few blocks away, but the walk felt longer with the weight pressing on his chest. His breath puffed out in small clouds that dissipated into the night. The streetlights cast long shadows across the empty sidewalk as he pulled out his phone and shot off a text.
I’m coming over.
He didn’t expect a reply. And he didn’t get one.
Not a surprise—she hadn’t been answering him since the Polar Plunge last week. Probably hadn’t been answering anyone. But he was done waiting for her to reach out.
The houses in this part of town were dark, their occupants long since gone to bed. Only the occasional porch light illuminated his path. By the time he reached Joy’s front steps, his heart was pounding—not from the cold, but from the storm brewing in his gut.
He knocked hard, the sound echoing in the still night.
Nothing.
He knocked again, louder, his knuckles stinging against the solid wood.
Still nothing.
His pulse spiked. She was in there. She had to be.
He wasn’t leaving until he saw her with his own eyes.
Jaw tight, he called through the door. “Joy, open up. Or I’m knocking this damn thing down.”
Still, silence.
His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. That was it. He hadn’t been bluffing. Kicking in a door probably wasn’t what his dad had meant with his little pep talk, but Bear was a bit beyond reason.
Just as he braced to kick the door in, another memory surfaced—Joy’s voice, light and teasing, years ago.Side door key. Under the rock. Just in case I ever lock myself out.
A key would certainly be better than property damage. He walked around the side of the house, the frozen grass crunching beneath his boots. The darkness was deeper here, away from the street, and he had to rely on memory to guide him to the right spot. He crouched down, his fingers digging under the familiar rock by the side door. Cold dirt scraped against his skin before his fingers closed around metal. Still there.
Relief washed through him as he slid the key into the lock. The door creaked open, reluctant on its hinges, as if warning him away. The air inside was cool from the November night, carrying a stale, forgotten scent. His gut tightened as he stepped over the threshold.
“Joy?” His voice was steady, but tension pulled tight through his chest. He didn’t want to scare her, but also, she needed to know he wasn’t leaving just because she was hiding.
No answer.
He stepped inside, shutting the door softly behind him. The house was too quiet. Too still. A place Joy had once filled with sound—her laughter, the clatter of dishes in the kitchen, the off-key singing she never cared to fix—was now silent as a tomb.
His boots echoed against the hardwood as he moved deeper inside, each step deliberate, careful. “It’s me, Joy. I’m coming in.” Once again, he pitched his voice loud enough that he wouldn’t startle her.
Nothing.
He took another step forward, listening, waiting. Where the hell was she?
