The rug—God, the rug—the one she had lain on while Jakob Kozak stood over her, laughing as she struggled to breathe.
Her chest tightened.
She backed up, bumping into the counter. Her breath hitched, coming too fast, too shallow.
She couldn’t do this. It was too much.
She started backing away, back toward the playhouse, when she stopped herself. She couldn’t let herself break. Fingers digging into the counter, she forced herself to count, to try to breathe past this.
One, two, three.
But the house pressed in. The air thickened. The weight of the past curled around her throat.
She couldn’t do this alone. Her hands trembled as she reached for her phone.
She could call Bear. He’d drop everything. He’d come. He always came. But that wasn’t the plan. She needed to prove to him and herself that she could do this.
Clenching her jaw, she tossed the phone onto the counter and grabbed another trash bag. She would do this alone.
* * *
Joy wasn’t sure when she’d stopped moving.
Somewhere between dragging the laundry basket to the washing machine and stacking unopened mail into neat piles, the weight of everything caught up to her once again. Snuck up on her this time.
And this time, she hadn’t been able to battle it back down.
Now, she sat on the floor in the middle of her living room, surrounded by half-filled trash bags and a pile of donation boxes. Her arms rested on her knees, head bowed, lungs pulling in sharp, shallow breaths.
It was too much.
She had thought she could do this alone. That forcing herself through it would make the fear shrink and the memories fade. But the house still felt wrong.
Once again, she thought about calling Bear. But once again, she discarded the idea. If she called him, it meant admitting she had failed. Not to him—he wouldn’t care. But to herself.
But she had to face the fact that she wasn’t going to be able to do this alone.
So instead, she had texted Sloane.
I thought I could do this, but I can’t. I need help.
She’d already mentioned to her friend that she’d be cleaning her house today. Sloane most understood what Joy had gone through that night—she’d been there. And while the other woman didn’t know the extent of the state of the house, Joy knew she would help.
Joy hadn’t meant for anyone else to know. She hadn’t meant for it to be a distress signal.
But fifteen minutes later, the knock came. She barely had time to stand before the front door pushed open, and her people filled the space.
Sloane, Callum, Theo, Scarlett, Eva, Lincoln.
Joy blinked at her friends. Some, like Scarlett and Theo, she’d known most of her life. The rest she’d become friends with more recently. But Joy’s throat closed as they spread out like a battle-ready unit.
“I brought reinforcements,” Sloane said, giving her a quick once-over like she was checking for visible damage. “You’re right when you said you didn’t need to do this alone. We’re all here to help.”
Joy opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Callum stepped forward, already rolling up his sleeves. “Just tell us where to start.”
Scarlett nudged past him, looking around. “Oh, we’re starting everywhere.”
