Page 29 of Hero Mine

“Joy,” he said, his voice steady, “you can’t keep living out here.”

She flinched, just barely, before lifting her chin. “I can handle it.”

He exhaled sharply. Stubborn. Always so damn stubborn. Even now, when she was clearly falling apart, she couldn’t admit she needed help.

“I’m not saying you have to go back inside,” he said, gentler this time, “but you can’t stay here tonight.”

She swallowed, her fingers curling tighter into her sleeves. “I don’t?—”

“Come to my place.”

Her head snapped up, startled.

Bear stepped in front of her, softening his voice. “It’s too cold here. You don’t want to sleep in your house, fine. My place is warm. You’ll sleep. That’s all.”

She hesitated, her throat working. He could see the battle in her—pride, fear, exhaustion. But she was already shivering, her lips taking on a bluish tinge that alarmed him.

“Joy,” he murmured, “let me help.”

She nodded slowly, a tiny, jerking movement. He crouched in front of her, reaching for her shoes lined neatly by the door. His hands found her socked feet. He could feel the cold even through the material.

She tensed but didn’t argue as he slid her feet into the worn sneakers, tying the laces securely. She was already wrapped in a coat and blankets, but she wasn’t okay.

And he should’ve seen it sooner.

He stood, holding out a hand. She hesitated, then took it. The grip was light, barely there, but it was something.

He led her out into the cold, his grip tightening just enough to steady her. They walked in silence, their breath misting in the freezing air, the hum of Oak Creek settling into its late-night quiet.

As they reached the steps to his apartment, her voice broke through the stillness.

“I’m sorry.”

Bear’s jaw clenched. He was pissed as hell but not at her. Never at her.

He was pissed at himself. Pissed that he hadn’t seen how bad this had gotten.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice rough. “Just—don’t.”

She didn’t say anything else. She followed him up the steps silently until they reached his door, then followed him inside.

He didn’t say much as he shut the door firmly behind them. The warmth of his apartment wrapped around them, a sharp contrast to the bitter cold outside, but she was still shaking, tiny tremors running through her body.

He didn’t hesitate. “Shower,” he said, his voice low but steady.

Joy blinked at him, like she was trying to process the word.

“It’ll help warm you up.”

She hesitated, her arms wrapping tighter around herself, but then she gave a small nod and disappeared into the bathroom.

Bear exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. Jesus. How had it come to this? How had she been out there alone for weeks, freezing, barely sleeping, and he hadn’t seen it?

He grabbed the first clean things he could find—a soft, worn T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that would absolutely drown her. He knocked on the bathroom door, leaving them outside. “Clothes are here.”

A muffled thanks came through the wood.

He busied himself while he waited, filling a glass of water, setting out a pack of crackers in case she’d actually eat something. Small comforts. Things she needed.