His eyes flicked up, dark and burning. For a heartbeat, the mask slipped. Grief lived there, raw and unhidden, a wound that had never closed. His voice came rough, gravel catching in his throat. “I did. I was going into the Navy. It seemed fitting to honor my brother by cutting it before I served.”
She swallowed, the weight of that simple truth sinking into her. Among the Lakota, hair was sacred, a living record of spirit and memory. It was never wasted. Strands were gathered and kept, returned to the earth with care, not tossed aside. No one touched it without permission, because it carried power. That was why she had asked him in the hospital, voice careful, when she’d braided his hair. She could still remember the texture sliding through her fingers, strong and silken, her hand flexing now at the memory, fingertips tingling.
Her chest tightened. His connection to the Great Spirit, to the land, to the weight of their heritage, was woven through every part of him. Bear carried it in his silence, in his presence, in his hair. It was a connection she had never felt for herself, and the recognition hollowed and ached in equal measure.
She couldn’t help herself. Her hand lifted, settling against the hard muscle of his forearm. Heat jolted up her arm, muddling her heart and her head. “It was honorable,” she whispered. Her eyes searched his, needing more. “And who else did you lose?”
The muscle in his jaw ticked. His breath left rough. “My sister, Ayla. She was taken. We never found her.”
Anger exploded through Bailee, white-hot. Her nails pressed into his skin. “How old was she?”
His throat worked. “Twelve.”
“Oh, damn, Dakota.”
His lashes dropped for a moment, then he blinked hard, his voice dropping to a growl. “It was devastating.”
His words were a blade to her chest, and before she could stop it, anger flared hot and wild. Her fists curled tight on the bar rail, nails biting into her palms.
“It’s criminal,” she bit out, her voice sharp enough to cut. “An epidemic. I lost my cousin, Taryn. She was only fifteen.” The words shook loose, rough and jagged, scraping her throat. “And it wasn’t just the monsters who took her. It was the lack of resources, the lack of training, the lack of care that let it happen. That’s the truth, Bear. Our women go missing, and the world looks the other way.”
Her chest heaved, fury pulsing through her until it felt like her skin might split. The tequila burned in her stomach, but the fire in her blood was hotter, older.
Bear didn’t interrupt. He didn’t try to soothe. His silence wrapped around her, steady as bedrock, a place for her fire to burn without being smothered. His hand shifted on the bar, rough knuckles brushing hers, not claiming, not crowding, just there. His eyes stayed on hers, dark and unwavering, grief and recognition mirrored back at her.
No words. None needed. His presence said everything: I see you. I believe you. You’re not alone in this.
He nodded slowly, eyes darkening, pain carved deep in the lines of his face. “It broke my grandfather, and my mom has never been the same. Ayla was like oxygen. I—I—fuck.” His voice cracked, guttural. “I miss her.”
Her hand stayed on his arm. He hadn’t pulled away. Instead his palm came down, covering hers, warm and grounding. She squeezed, their silence thick and heavy, anger and grief braided together.
For a long moment, she let the outrage burn through her veins before banking it down. “Our women go missing, and the world looks away.”
“Not all the world.” He covered her hand. “Not me.”
She nodded. Someday, she promised herself, I’ll make a difference. But God, there’s so much red tape, so much silence to fight through.
Her voice came quiet, almost unsteady. “So, what’s the reward? You get to call it.”
His eyes caught hers, steady, lethal, devastating. “How about I leave that up to you, Bailee.” His voice rasped her name like it was more than a word. “You know what I want.”
Her heart stumbled. Her body ached. The heat of his hand, the gravity of his presence called to her shame, daring her to break free of the fear still chaining her. How much longer could she bear it before she broke? Bear could break her in ways that would feel so devastatingly good she might never recover.
But fear wound cold through her, insidious, sharp. Could she trust him, this man who embodied everything she should have been, but more? Bear was just more. If she unlocked him, would she unlock herself? Could she bear to lay her deepest shame in his hands, the truth she had never been called?
Her breath shuddered out. She lifted her chin, eyes steady on his. “We’re going to need music.”
Bailee walked away before she lost her nerve, weaving through the crowd toward the glowing jukebox in the corner. The bar’s noise wrapped around her, bursts of laughter, the clink of bottles, the hum of voices colliding with the steady bass from the speakers. She fed in a few bills, fingers flying over the buttons. A slow song, something with weight and ache.
The first notes spilled into the air, silencing nothing but sliding under everything, a current she could ride if she let herself.
Before she could turn, she felt him. Heat at her back. The brush of his chest an inch from her shoulder blades. Then his hand, large and unhurried, slid around her waist. He pulled her gently, decisively, until her spine pressed against him and her breath caught.
“Dance with me,” Bear murmured, voice a low rumble against her ear.
She didn’t answer, couldn’t. She simply let him turn her. His arms folded around her like they’d always belonged there.
Her hands found his neck without thought, fingers brushing the fall of his hair where it spilled across his shoulders. Silken strands slid over her skin, warm and alive, and her breath shuddered out. God, the feel of it against her forearms, intimate in a way no one else could ever understand.
