“Jesus, Bear,” Sloane said, sliding up to the bar and dropping an empty tray down with a dull thud. “I don’t know what you did, but I want to kiss you.” Her eyes, warm and relieved, followed Joy’s movements across the restaurant.
He arched an eyebrow, reaching for a clean glass. “I’m pretty sure Callum would have some thoughts on that.” He nodded toward the sheriff, who sat at the end of the bar methodically working through a burger.
“Damn right, I would,” Callum replied without looking up, his badge catching the overhead light as he reached for his glass of iced tea. A hint of amusement played at the corner of his mouth.
Sloane just grinned, nudging Bear with her elbow. “Not a real kiss. Just appreciation.” Her voice softened as she glanced back toward Joy. “She’s better, Bear. Actually better. She’s eating. She’s sleeping. She’s living again.” She shook her head, wonder and relief mingling in her expression. “Whatever you said last week, whatever you did—it worked.”
Bear shrugged, focusing intently on the glass he was polishing even though it was already spotless. “She figured it out herself.”
Sloane rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. We both know that’s bullshit.”
But she didn’t push, and neither did Callum.
None of them knew about the playhouse, and he intended to keep it that way.
Joy ducked behind the bar, grabbing a fresh pot of coffee. She glanced up, catching Bear’s eye. For the first time in too long, she smiled directly at him. Not the small, tired ones she’d been forcing for weeks. Not the brittle ones that never reached her eyes. This was real, touched with a hint of the mischief that used to dance in her gaze constantly.
Something warm and dangerous curled in Bear’s gut, spreading through his chest like wildfire. He could hardly take his eyes off her for the rest of the shift, tracking her movements across the restaurant with a focus that was probably too intense to be casual.
Everything was going better now that she had a safe place where she could actually rest at night—a crucial foundation for recovery. But maybe it was time to push her a little further.
When Joy slipped behind the bar again to grab another coffeepot, Bear caught her elbow gently. “You free this afternoon?”
She glanced up, brows lifting slightly. “Why? You need a tow or something?” That hint of teasing in her voice was another welcome return.
He snorted. “No, but you might.”
She tilted her head, cautious now. “Meaning?”
Bear kept his tone deliberately light, as if what he was suggesting wasn’t a potential minefield. “I want to show you a few self-defense moves. Get you some skills in case you ever need them again.”
She stiffened, and he saw the hesitation flicker through her expression. Just for a second, the shadow of that night passed behind her eyes.
Then it was gone, replaced by that same stubborn tilt of her chin that had defined Joy Davis since childhood. “You think I need lessons?”
“I think,” Bear said evenly, making sure to meet her gaze directly, “that everyone should know how to fight back. But especially you.”
She swallowed, eyes dropping to the counter. Her fingers tightened around the coffeepot, knuckles whitening slightly. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head—the fear battling against determination.
Then she nodded, looking back up at him. “Okay. But if I kick your ass, I’m telling everyone.”
Bear couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his lips, relief loosening something in his chest. “We’ll see about that, Bug.”
And just like that, the next step in getting Joy back was in motion.
* * *
The training facility at Linear Tactical was quiet this time of day. No classes running, no background chatter—just the distant hum of the heating system and the steady sound of Joy’s breathing as she stood staring at the sparring mat.
Bear watched her, noting the way she kept shifting her weight from foot to foot, rolling her shoulders like she was trying to work off nervous energy. The fluorescent lights cast stark shadows across the training area, highlighting the tension in her frame.
“You sure this is necessary?” she muttered, eyes fixed on the mat instead of him. “I mean, let’s be real—I’m not exactly a fighter.”
Bear folded his arms across his chest, studying her. “No, you’re not. But that doesn’t mean you can’t learn.”
She huffed, still not meeting his eyes. “I already tried fighting back once.” Her voice was flat, but he didn’t miss the edge of bitterness underneath. “Didn’t go so great.”
Bear’s jaw tightened. He didn’t know all the details, but he knew enough. She’d grabbed a baseball bat, thinking she could do some damage. But the bastard had ripped it from her hands like she was a damn child. She hadn’t even gotten a second swing.
