Despite making progress with both the food truck and self-defense training over the past week, she was still a long way from being back to normal. And those insidious thoughts kept whispering that she wasn’t good for Bear. That all she would do was bring him down.
By the time she’d left her house, she’d already been shaky.
Then, twenty feet from her door, she’d gotten that feeling again—like someone was watching. Like eyes were tracking her from the shadows.
Even now, she felt it.
She whirled around, scanning the darkness. “Hello?” Her voice sounded small, even to her own ears.
Nothing. Just darkness and the occasional rustle of wind through bare tree branches.
It was probably nothing. Had to be nothing.
Except it didn’t feel like nothing.
The fear slithered up her spine, cold and familiar, drowning out the confidence she’d had just hours ago kissing Bear in the garage. Her pulse raced, a rapid staccato against her ribs.
“Stop it,” she hissed. “There’s no one there.”
But she couldn’t shake it, couldn’t push through. Someone was watching her. Waiting for her.
She pressed her palms against her eyes, then dropped them quickly, looking around once more, turning in a complete circle.
Still nothing. No boogeyman. No Eastern European kidnappers. No menacing shadows moving in the night.
Nothing.
“Get a grip, Davis.”
But there was no way she could go to Bear like this—jumping at shadows, heart racing, palms sweating despite the cold. She didn’t want to be around herself when she was like this. There was no way she could expect him to want to be around her either.
She turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last. Her boots hit the pavement harder than necessary as she crossed the street, her movements fueled by frustration—at herself and at the fear that still clung to her like a second skin.
“Bear will understand,” she whispered.
He would. That was the worst part. He’d look at her with those kind eyes full of concern and patience, and it would make her feel even worse.
She’d text him. Tell him she needed a rain check, that she wasn’t feeling well. Then she’d figure out how to call things off with him before they had a chance to move forward. Because there was no way she was saddling Bear Bollinger—steady, solid, perfect Bear—with her neuroses.
Her breath came faster as she bypassed her house entirely and took the familiar side path leading to the playhouse. The cold night air burned her lungs. A flush of shame washed over her as she approached the small structure. She knew hiding here rather than going to Bear’s was backsliding—losing all the progress she’d made. But what choice did she have?
Her house wasn’t an option. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. Neither was his.
She pushed open the playhouse door and stepped inside, shutting it quickly behind her. She sagged against the door, chest heaving, pulse still too fast. The darkness inside was complete until her eyes adjusted, revealing the familiar shadows of her temporary sanctuary.
“Temporary,” she said aloud, the word hollow in the small space.
She’d told herself that every night since the attack. That this place was just a crutch, a brief escape until she could face her house again. That she wouldn’t still be living out here weeks later, despite all the improvements Bear had made.
Joy kicked off her boots, movements stiff with resignation, and crawled onto the small cot in the corner. The blankets were already rumpled from the night before. The book she’d been pretending to read sat on the floor beside it.
This wasn’t just a crutch anymore. It was a cage.
She curled her arms around herself, teeth sinking into her lower lip. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, the night stretching long and empty in front of her.
This should’ve been the greatest night of her life. Her first night with Bear.
Instead, she reached for her phone and typed a quick message.
