Bear Bollinger
(Engaged to Joy Davis; Son of Finn & Charlie Bollinger)
Marshall was taller than Bear remembered.
Three years ago, he’d been a quiet fourteen-year-old who wanted to learn how to make macarons because his terminally ill little sister would like the colors. Now he stood in the main room at Linear Tactical, nearly six feet, with Ashley’s arm looped through his and snow melting in both their hair.
“We’re so sorry,” Marshall said for the third time. “We didn’t mean to freak everyone out. The car just died, our phones were already dead, and we knew Linear Tactical was nearby so we decided to?—”
“Marshall.” Bear gripped his shoulder, felt the kid flinch slightly at the contact before relaxing. Old habits. These were kids who’d learned to take up as little space as possible, to never need anything from anyone. “You did exactly the right thing.”
“We didn’t know where else to go.”
And there it was. The thing that mattered more than Marshall probably realized.
Three years ago, Bear had started that camp because he’d seen something in kids like Marshall and Ashley—kids who spent their whole lives in the shadow of a sick sibling, who never demanded attention because their parents were already overwhelmed. Kids who learned to be invisible.
Marshall had remembered Linear Tactical. When he’d needed help, he’d thought of this place. He’d felt like hecouldshow up.
That was worth more than a hundred thank-you letters.
“You came to the right place.” Bear clapped him on the back. “That’s all that matters. Let me grab my coat—I’ll go take a look at it.”
“Already ahead of you.” Baby was pulling on his own jacket, keys in hand. “Where’d you leave it?”
“About a mile up the road, just past the curve.” Marshall’s face tightened. “We don’t have a lot of money for repairs. I can pay you back over time, or work it off, or?—”
“Stop.” Baby held up a hand. “We’ll figure out what’s wrong first. Probably just needs a jump and some coaxing. And even if it needs parts, you’re getting the family discount.”
Marshall blinked. “Family discount?”
“Anyone who comes in from the snow is family.” Baby said it like it was obvious. Like it was just the way things worked.
“Baby, I can handle it,” Bear said. “You don’t have to go out in the cold.”
His uncle waved him off. “You’ve already been out once tonight. And I still remember a thing or two about the mechanic business. Taught you most of what you know, if I recall.”
Bear snorted. “You recall selectively.”
“That’s my privilege as an old man.” Baby zipped his coat. “Back in a jif.”
He was gone before Marshall could protest further.
The rest happened fast—the way things always did when this family decided to absorb someone. Girl Riley materialized with blankets. Annie checked them over with brisk efficiency, pronouncing them cold but fine. Finn pressed hot chocolate into their hands. Zac found them chairs near the fireplace.
Marshall looked slightly overwhelmed. Ashley had a tear tracking down her cheek, though she was smiling.
Bear stepped back and let it happen. This was what his family did. What they’d always done.
He found Joy across the room without meaning to look for her.
She was watching Marshall and Ashley with a soft expression, one hand resting against her stomach. When she caught Bear looking, something shifted in her face. A question.
He crossed to her. Didn’t rush, didn’t make it obvious, just moved through the crowd until he was close enough to speak without being overheard.
He didn't say anything. Didn't need to. Joy's hand found his, her fingers warm and slightly trembling.
“Now?” he asked quietly.
