They wanted to defend themselves from the people attacking but didn’t want to do true damage.
Joy nodded, shifting her stance. Her first swing was like her punch had been: weak, hesitant.
“Again,” Bear said quietly.
She tried again. A little harder, but still too careful, still pulling back at the last moment.
Bear moved closer, his voice steady. “You’re still pulling back. What are you afraid of?”
She exhaled sharply, her grip tightening on the bat’s handle. “That it won’t be enough.”
Bear held her gaze, letting the weight of his next words sink in. “Then make it enough. When it comes to protecting your life, you need to abandon any idea of a fair fight. If you’re trying not to fight dirty, you’re going to lose. So you swing as hard as you can the very first time.”
Something flickered in her eyes—understanding, determination, maybe even a touch of the old Joy fire.
Then she swung.
The bat cracked against the bag, sending it swinging on its chain with a satisfying thud of impact.
Bear nodded. “Good. Again.”
She swung harder, her breath coming faster now, color rising in her cheeks.
“Again.”
The next hit hadrealforce behind it.
“Again.”
Each swing grew more confident, more focused, until she was putting her whole body into it—no hesitation, no holding back. She kept going until her muscles were shaking, sweat dampened her temples, and she was panting with exertion.
Until the only thing in her eyes was focus.
Bear watched her, arms crossed, satisfaction curling in his chest. She was exhausted, her body aching—but she stood straighter now, shoulders back, chin up, bat gripped firmly in hands that no longer trembled.
And when she turned to face him, there was something different in her expression.
Not fear. Not hesitation.
Confidence.
“Not bad,” Bear said with a wink. “Might even be able to take me in a fight now.”
Joy rolled her eyes, breathless but grinning—a real, full grin that transformed her face. “Careful there, Bollinger. I’m the one with a bat and a teacher telling me to swing as hard as I can.”
Bear chuckled. Yeah. This was the Joy he remembered.
And he’d be damned if he ever let her lose that again.
Chapter12
Two days later, Bear killed the engine of his truck and sat motionless in front of the storage garage just outside of town. His breath fogged the windshield as he stared at the closed bay door. The garage wasn’t much—just a concrete box with corrugated metal walls—but it was dry and secure, exactly what Joy had needed when he’d helped her secure the space last year.
He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, trying to tamp down the flutter of anticipation in his chest. After weeks of watching Joy struggle, of seeing her fight to reclaim pieces of herself, this felt significant. She’d asked him to come help with the food truck. She was ready to work on her dream again.
Bear opened his door and stepped out, the cold air biting at his exposed skin. The gravel crunched beneath his boots as he approached the bay door, already ajar with a sliver of light spilling through. Music drifted out—not the usual country tunes Joy blasted, but something softer, jazzier.
“Hello?” he called, sliding the door farther open.
