33. Chapter 33

When I come out of the bathroom at City Hall, Bear and his family are standing by the exit. I overhear all of them—including Georgia—offering to help him raise the money he'll need for the pond.

Because, of course, they'll all support him. Bear is their family. That's what families are supposed to do. I should have expected that if it came down to having to choose between us, they would all choose him.

That's the way it should be. I wouldn't want it to be any other way.

I just didn't realize it would hurt as much as it does.

I slip back into the bathroom and stay there until I'm sure they're all gone.

Then I spend the next hour driving. I circle Smuk Lake, then find a road I've never been down and follow it.

The further I go, the further apart the houses get and the brighter the stars glow. The sky is a black ocean with pinpricks of light shining through its surface, and I may love it more than I do the actual ocean.

And I really wish I would have looked at it before tonight. I should have been enjoying this view every night I've been here.

Instead, I've been focused on winning a fight against someone I shouldn't have been fighting in the first place.

My fight is with Captain Markham. He's the one who tried to keep me from advancing in my career—not Bear. Bear's the guy trying to help girls get something boys already have.

It's not his dreams I've been impeding. It's the girls' dreams.

That doesn't feel great.

In fact, I feel like a big hypocrite for waging a similar battle as Captain Markham. He sees the world as a place of limited opportunity. If a woman gets a job or position that a man typically would have, she's taking something away rather than adding a broader perspective.

Even though I thought I was fighting Bear, I was actually fighting girls who are trying to prove they deserve to be on the ice just as much as boys do. Hockey, similar to police work, has always been dominated by men. But that doesn't mean girls—and women—are less capable of doing both. It only means they haven't had the same chances to prove themselves.

Bear is not only willing to fight for his girls to have the same access to hockey that boys do, but he also wants to do it to honor his mom. Maybe it makes more sense for Paradise to have an indoor rink, but if Bear wants to preserve the pond that was important to him and his family, I respect that, too.

He still has a lot of money to raise. There's a chance he won't be able to do it, and I can have my bookstore.

But I can't get in the way of the girls in this town who want to play hockey any more than I can let the women in the department down. Not just the women who work there now, but also those who will come behind me. They deserve an easier path than I've had.

Which means I've got to go back and fight Markham.

I feel a rush of heat from my head to my feet and take a deep breath to hold the feeling of certainty that it's the right choice. The choice I need to make if I want to move past how I've felt since Markham's games started. I don't understand why it took me this long to realize it, and I'm a little embarrassed that I barreled forward into my bookstore dream when it's obvious now that all roads were leading me back to the fight I should have been fighting all along.

But maybe I can let that regret go too, along with my dream. Maybe I can trust this awareness that has finally unfurled and be grateful for everything that's brought me to the understanding that what I need is not what I want. Maybe that awareness can be enough.

As soon as I come to this realization, I turn my car around and head back to the studio.

I've already stopped thinking about it as my apartment. I have an apartment back in LA, and it's time for me to go back, even though the thought of giving up the bookstore dream literally hurts. My chest is tight, and I might throw up. I really did love the idea.

On my way back to the studio, I make one stop.

The lights are on at Lynette's, so I pull into her driveway. I knock softly on her door, just in case she's asleep with every light in her house on. Seconds later, though, I hear her voice crackling through an intercom below her doorbell.

"Who is it?" Her voice is filled with suspicion, and I consider running away.

But her doorbell is the kind with a camera, so she's probably already watching me on a screen somewhere. Apparently, her aversion to technology doesn't extend as far as her security system.

I lean close to the camera. "It's Cassie. From the shop."

A long pause follows where I both break into a sweat and shiver in the cold before the lock clicks and the door opens a crack. "You can come in, but not your alien friends. I don't know them."

"Of course." I look over my shoulder, not seeing whatever Lynette does, but I say, "Wait here, please." Then I squeeze through the small opening she allows me just before she quickly shuts the door behind me.

I'm pressed against the door with Lynette only inches away.

"Why are you here?" she says without inviting me any further inside.

"I need your help to do the right thing for Bear." I stay pressed against the door while Lynette stares into my eyes.

Finally, when I feel as if my soul has had a full body search, Lynette blinks. "I'm listening."

"Zach says a few buyers made offers on your property. You said you wished you could give Bear the pond. I know how you can."

For the next ten minutes, I tell her my idea. She never invites me to sit, but by the time I'm finished, she actually has a smile on her face.

"It's a good plan," she says and clasps her hands together. "I like it. I'll do it."

I leave feeling equal parts happy that I've done a good thing and devastated that my dream is over. Giving up the shop means my bookstore won't happen. At least not in Paradise. And I can't imagine living out that dream anywhere but Paradise.

The idea of leaving this place forever hurts worse than the idea of leaving the police force. Paradise and the people here have worked their way into my heart. I've fallen in love with their quirkiness, hospitality, and friendliness—Mayor Voglmeyer being the exception there.

But when I think about who I will miss most, Bear comes to mind first. I don't know how or why, but somewhere between all our fighting, I've fallen hard for him. I wonder what would have happened if I'd laughed off the spilled coffee and made more effort from the start. Could the attraction we feel have grown in the right direction? Could I have come to Paradise for a different sort of dream?

Georgia brought me here, but it's Bear who represents all the things I love about this little town. He's quiet, but strong. Sweet, but protective. Beautiful in a rugged, wild way. Even with a new haircut and no beard, Bear looks groomed to the same degree that the manicured lawns and neighborhoods in Paradise are.

Which is not at all.

Coming from a city where men tend to be overly-groomed and homes in some neighborhoods look like they could be on the cover of Lawn Garden—and probably have been—it's refreshing to see people and places in a more natural state. There's a reason people who haven't visited LA think it's some kind of fantasy land: because most of it is fake. I feel the same about a lot of the people there.

I've been in some semi-serious relationships, but no one I've dated has ever taken care of me the way Bear did the night the pipes burst in the studio. Or when he cleaned the whole place and did my laundry. Fed me. Told me to take a bath in a non-creepy way.

Didn't hit on me after possibly seeing me naked.

That's a big one.

He hasn't always been polite, but he's always been respectful. I've never felt threatened by him.

In fact, the more I get to know Bear, I have one overriding emotion when I'm with him: secure. I feel safe with Bear.

And I don't know what to do with that feeling. I'm too uncomfortable sitting with it. I'm the one who's supposed to make people feel safe, not the other way around. I don't know how to be the person being protected and taken care of.

I've never been the one to receive care—my parents were more focused on fighting each other than worrying about my needs. Even after their divorce, I took care of Dad, not the other way around. Maybe that's why I've been in more than one relationship with needy men and pushed away those who I thought were "clingy" because they wanted to do things for me.

I don't want that anymore. I don't want someone who makes me feel as if I have to keep my own emotions tucked away because it's my job to make him happy. I don't want someone who will let me push him away.

I want someone who won't run when I yell or cry. Someone who will throw me over his shoulder when I'm being unreasonable, but also step back and give me space when I need it.

And I think that man may be Bear.

I think I want Bear.

I park in the alleyway behind the shop and stare at the door to the studio. I haven't even left, but I already miss living in the cramped space. If Willy wasn't waiting for me, I couldn't resist the temptation to drive to Bear's and stay there for the night. And not just because I'd love to sit in that tub again.

What I'd really like is to quiet the feeling that I'm a ship without a rudder being blown out to sea, unmoored with no compass and no direction.

Just thinking about Bear anchors me. My brain stops spinning. My lungs open. I can breathe.

A buzzing in my purse pulls me back to reality. I take it out and, as though he knows I'm thinking about him, Bear's name appears on the screen.

I open the message and smile as I read it.

Thank you. I came by to tell you in person, but you weren't there. I hope you're okay.

Probably a good thing I wasn't here. Not with all the crazy emotions I've run through in the past couple of hours.

Just because I want Bear doesn't mean he's what I need. Or that I'm what he needs. Especially because, without me in the way, he can have his pond. The Thomsens will have a piece of Heidi when she's gone. A little corner of Paradise will stay the same, even with everything changing around it.

The truth is, I'm not a good fit for any of them—Bear, the Thomsens, or Paradise. I'm an LA girl and a cop. It's time to go back to being that person. Tomorrow, I'll pack—it won't take long—and head back to LA.

Except…I still haven't picked up the last of my clothes from Bear's. I was so focused on my presentation and trying not to think about him, I forgot.

So my idea of leaving without seeing him again won't work. I should feel a lot worse about that than I do. But my heart grows lighter knowing I have to see him again.

I text back: You can thank me tomorrow. Could you bring my laundry by in the morning? I have good news for you.

Bear: Are you home yet?

I grab my purse and slide out of the car, wondering why he asked, until I walk through the door.

You already brought my laundry, I type. If there's such a thing as a disappointed laugh, that's the sound I make.

Bear: I did. Can I still come by in the morning?

My pulse skips. I should say no. I should say no. I should say no.

Me: Sure.

Bear: What's the good news?

Me: You'll find out tomorrow.

Bear: I hate surprises.

Willy meow-barks as I type my response. And, as you've pointed out, I love to torture you.

Bear: Ha.

Three dots appear, and I stare at my phone, waiting for Bear's message to replace them, but Willy gets my attention first by hooking his claws into my pants and shin.

"Ouch! Willy!" I set down my phone and unhook him from my leg.

I take enough time to give him fresh food and water before grabbing my phone again. Dots gone, message visible, heart pounding.

Bear: I'll bring breakfast. Ebelskiver? Bacon? Coffee?

Me: All the above.

Bear: Obviously.

My eyes land on my skates, and an idea pops into my head. I can tell him the good news on the pond. Skating with him there will be a nice goodbye. Bittersweet and agonizing, but perfect.

Me: Bring your skates too.

Bear: Skates?

Me: Yes. Don't ask questions. Just do it.

Bear: Is this where I get to say, don't tell me what to do?

I laugh out loud. I've been too busy fighting with Bear to notice how funny he is. But between his presentation tonight and this text exchange, I'm seeing things in him that have always been there, but I was too blind to see them. All I could see was the guy who I accused of being a creeper, when nothing could be further from the truth.

At this point, I should just assume that whatever I think about him is wrong.

What I know about him, though, is he has a heart big enough to fill his giant chest.

We go back and forth a little longer until he asks: Why'd you do it?

Me: Do what?

Bear: You know what.

He's right. I do know. Because of course he wants to know why I threw him and his proposal a lifeline in the middle of the city council meeting.

Me: Because you coach girls.

Only a few seconds pass before my phone rings and Bear's name appears. I don't hesitate to answer, even though I'm breathless when I do and my words come out rushed and staggered.

"Why does that make a difference?" he asks, not bothering to say hello.

"They deserve a chance to play." I hug the phone to my ear with my shoulder and lie down on my bed.

"I know that, but what made you come to the conclusion?" His voice is soft and coaxing, like it was when he kept Lynette's squirrels from attacking me.

"It's a long story."

"I love long stories."

And before I know it, I'm telling him everything. The things Captain Markham said that had me questioning my ability. The things he said that made me deeply uncomfortable and the others that made me question whether I was the problem.

"I might have sent him signals that gave him the wrong idea about what I wanted. Maybe I deserved—"

"—No you didn't," Bear interrupts. "You aren't to blame for his actions."

"How do you know?" I want to believe Bear, but I've tried to tell myself the same thing, and it hasn't worked. Markham's voice always drowns out mine.

"Because no one deserves to be treated the way he treated you. Don't let him shame you." His tone is firm, leaving no room for argument.

And for the first time, I don't want to shoot back, "Don't tell me what to do."

I've told Georgia about my administrative leave and the basics of why, but for the first time, I put down my shield. I don't have to protect myself with Bear. He's seen me at my worst, but he still believes my story, and he wants to help me carry it.

So I tell him all the ugly details that I haven't said out loud to anyone. I've only put them on paper.

As Bear listens, I more fully realize that filing an official complaint isn't enough for me to get over what's happened. The superior officer who should have been looking out for me and treating me like an asset to his department instead used gaslighting and intimidation to make me question everything I did. I'd wanted to be a detective since I joined the force, and he turned my accomplishment into something I regretted.

And, based on what Carlos told me a few days ago, I'm not the only woman he's done it to. But I was the first to file an official complaint. That's something.

I don't know that I'd describe my experience as traumatic—I've seen real trauma—but I have needed to talk about what's happened more than I realized.

And, once again, Bear is offering me a safe place to rest. I'm not at his apartment, wrapped in one of his blankets or his jersey, sleeping in his bed.

But I'm at home in a way I haven't felt for a very long time.