Page 36

One month after the Kozak Brothers

Joy plastered a bright smile on her face as she wove through the crowded Eagle’s Nest bar and grill. The Friday night rush was in full swing, the room alive with the clatter of plates, the hum of conversation, and the occasional burst of laughter.

She’d worked here in one capacity or another for the past seven years, since she was sixteen. Knew every spot that squeaked on the worn wooden floor. Had carved her initials in the corner of the server’s station one night when she was bored during a snowstorm.

This place was her second home. And tonight everything looked normal— felt normal.

But it wasn’t. Not for her.

Joy forced herself to keep her shoulders back, her head high, and the corners of her mouth turned up just enough to look approachable, not strained. If she could fool everyone else, maybe she could fool herself too.

Smile. You know how to smile. Even a tiny-ass baby knows how to smile.

The weight of familiar gazes clung to her wherever she went, making it nearly impossible to force the upward movement of her lips. They weren’t watching her because she was an exceptional waitress—she wasn’t, not even on her best days. And it wasn’t for the usual reasons, either: her knack for pulling pranks or her tendency to burst into off-key songs at the most unexpected moments.

She was used to those kinds of stares, earned from a lifetime of antics and shenanigans growing up in Oak Creek. But this was different, heavier , and she couldn’t escape it.

They were watching because of what had happened a month ago.

She pretended not to notice their stares or the hushed whispers as she passed by. But hell if she couldn’t basically hear their whispering.

Poor thing. You know she was attacked in her own house. Can you imagine?

Bless her heart, beaten like that. Hospitalized and everything.

Our hapless little wild-child, reduced to this.

Joy clenched her teeth and moved faster. Oak Creek was a good town, filled with kind people that she loved and trusted. But even kind people had a knack for turning someone else’s trauma into a form of entertainment. It wasn’t cruelty; it was curiosity mixed with pity.

And God, did Joy hate pity.

Sloane—sweet, quiet, supportive Sloane—caught her eye from across the room and gave her a quick smile. It was a good smile... gentle, understanding—just like the woman herself. But behind it lay the same concern Joy saw from everyone these days.

Pity mixed with unease, like Joy was a grenade with the pin half-pulled.

“How’s it going?” Sloane asked as they crossed paths at the beverage station.

Joy grabbed a pot of coffee and poured two cups with a steady hand she didn’t feel. “Busy, which is good. Keeps my mind occupied.” She flashed a grin that didn’t reach her eyes.

Sloane nodded, her brow creased. “Yeah, it’s good. But you can’t keep running on fumes forever. You doing okay?”

The question felt like a punch. Joy wanted to snap back that she was fine, but the words caught in her throat. She had no right to complain to Sloane of all people.

Sloane had been there that night too. She’d been taken. Joy’s body had borne the brunt of the beating, but Sloane had endured just as much.

“I’m good,” she forced out, her voice overly bright. She reached over and squeezed Sloane’s hand before darting back into the fray. She didn’t miss the way Sloane’s eyes followed her, filled with quiet worry.

Just smile, damn it. Lips up. Don’t give people anything to see or worry about.

But no matter how she tried she knew it looked more like a grimace.

She had barely turned toward her next table when she spotted Mrs. Fuller, the town’s unofficial grandmother, waving her down. The elderly woman was seated near the door, wearing her usual hand-knit cardigan and a smile that belied her sharp tongue.

“Joy, dear,” Mrs. Fuller called, “have you had a chance to look for my casserole dish yet? The one I sent over after your…incident.”

Incident .

Joy’s stomach tightened. She forced a polite smile and crossed to Mrs. Fuller’s table. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Fuller. Things have been a little hectic, but I’ll get it back to you soon. Promise.”

Mrs. Fuller patted Joy’s hand. “No rush, dear. Just wanted to make sure it didn’t get lost in the shuffle.”

Joy nodded, her hands trembling as she moved to the next table. She told herself it was the coffee pot—not the wave of panic rising in her chest. The casseroles had been a kind gesture from the community, a tangible sign of support in the wake of the attack. But every time Joy thought about them, she was transported back to that night.

The shouting. The terror. The pain.

Plus, Mrs. Fuller didn’t truly understand what she was asking Joy to do. How could she? Finding a casserole dish and returning it shouldn’t be difficult, but it was. Was maybe even impossible. But Joy had no way of explaining that.

Turning away, she grabbed a couple empty glasses at the next table and stacked them on her tray, desperate for something to occupy her shaking hands. As she pivoted, a customer bumped into her, sending the cups crashing to the floor.

The noise was deafening. Too loud. Too sharp. In an instant, she was back in her living room, fists pounding against her, pain exploding along her ribs, her face.

Over and over.

She was helpless.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

“Joy.”

The deep voice cut through the fog, pulling her back. Bear Bollinger crouched at her side, his brown eyes steady and grounding. He reached for the broken pieces, his movements unhurried.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly, his voice like a lifeline. “Just a couple of glasses. Nothing that can’t be cleaned up.”

Joy blinked, her breath hitching as reality settled around her again. The bustling restaurant came into focus. The hum of voices. The smell of fried food. The weight of Bear’s gaze.

She nodded stiffly, crouching to help him gather the pieces. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. She couldn’t even handle a broken dish without falling apart.

“You okay?” Bear asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Joy nodded again, not trusting her voice. She hated how much comfort his presence brought her. Hated that he was here, witnessing her weakness along with everyone else.

Hated how she was terrified that if he walked away right now, the darkness would swallow her whole. She couldn’t even figure out how to make her body work. All she could do was stare at the ground.

He seemed to know what was happening. “How about we just put the pieces on your tray. One shard at a time. Okay? Can you pick up one piece?”

One piece. She could pick up one piece.

She did and then her body remembered how to work again. Between the two of them, they had the biggest fragments picked up in no time. She’d get the rest of it with a broom.

She stood, becoming aware of how quiet the room was. Once again, everyone was looking at her.

Would this be the time Joy completely lost it in public?

“Thanks,” she murmured as he stood too, thankful that as everyone saw Bear behaving normally, regular conversation picked back up.

He offered her a small smile. “Anytime.”

Bear returned to his seat at the counter, but Joy could feel his eyes on her as she walked to the back room. She pushed through the swinging door and leaned against the cool wall, her breaths coming fast and shallow.

“Get it together,” she muttered under her breath. But the words felt hollow. The truth was, she didn’t recognize herself anymore. The bubbly, fearless woman she’d been was gone, replaced by someone who jumped at shadows and couldn’t sleep in her own house.

Even here, in the safety of the restaurant, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. It was ridiculous. Paranoia, pure and simple. But sometimes it felt so real, like a shadow in the corner of her eye or a figure just out of reach.

She had no idea what she was going to do.

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Continue Joy and Bear’s story in HERO MINE . Pre-order HERE .

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