Bear Roberts

Stories

### Chapter 1: Chapter 1

Danny Moore had it all figured out. At 20, she was thriving at Cornell with amazing friends, solid grades, and a boyfriend who checked all the boxes. Life was good-until it spectacularly wasn't.

Because nothing says "plot twist" like walking in on your boyfriend... in bed with your mother.

Yeah. Let that sink in.

Suddenly single, seriously traumatized, and completely out of housing options, Danny finds herself living in a stranger's apartment. That stranger? Bear Roberts. A guy of very few words, very intense eyes, and a jawline that could cut glass. He barely speaks, grunts more than he talks-but he's also the hottest guy Danny's ever seen.

Living with Bear is supposed to be temporary. Emotionally safe. Strictly platonic.

But feelings, like ex-boyfriends and emotionally unhinged mothers, have a way of showing up when you least expect them...

Complete Chapters 31

Rating 4.8 ( 110 reviews ) Age Rating mature

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Chapter One

Danny’s POV

I moan as the warm, rich liquid slid down my throat.

Across the small table at Starbucks, Stacey gives me a look of pure, unadulterated judgment.

“Let’s head to class before you decide to make love to that cup,” she says, leaning back in her chair.

I huff, taking one last defensive gulp before following her out the door. The crisp morning air hits us as we cross the street toward the Cornell campus.

This was my second year, and I was majoring in Marketing. While some people stumbled into the major blindly, I had a very specific blueprint for my life: I wanted to own my own makeup store. I knew exactly how it sounded—like every other girl who grew up glued to YouTube—but I’d been dreaming about this since I was ten years old, watching NikkieTutorials in my childhood bedroom. Marketing was my toolkit. It was how I’d learn to understand my future customers, build a brand, and navigate the business world.

Stacey and I actually met in our introductory marketing lecture. She had a completely different motivation; she was inheriting her dad’s business.

“It’s a pretty solid setup,” she’d told me back then. He sold cars. Not glamorous, but lucrative.

“Danny,” Stacey says, clicking her fingers sharply in front of my face, snapping me out of my thoughts as we take our seats in the lecture hall.

“What?” I murmur, blinking and turning toward her.

“How’s the apartment going?” she asks, a knowing, slightly mischievous giggle escaping her.

I roll my eyes at her drama, but I couldn’t entirely hide my smile. I had recently taken the plunge, moving out of my mom’s place and into an apartment with my boyfriend, Jason. Come this June, we’d been together for three whole years. He’d been a little distant lately—a bit distracted, a bit tense—but I thought I knew why.

I was almost certain he was going to propose.

I was trying desperately not to get my hopes up, but who was I kidding? They were already through the roof.

“It’s good,” I answer, keeping my voice casual. “Though he seriously needs to fix the shower pipes.”

Stacey let out a dramatic huff. “I bet you’re getting all the action you want. Meanwhile, I am stuck in a brutal three-month dry spell.”

I force a giggle, but a cold weight drops into my stomach. Inside, I felt exactly like she did. Jason hadn’t touched me in weeks.

“I told you, I could easily set you up with one of Jason’s friends,” I offer, trying to deflect from my own reality.

“Those guys are total dicks,” Stacey mutters, leaning her chin on her hand.

“Plus, there’s no way in hell I’m bringing someone back to my parents’ house. That’s just embarrassing.”

We both look up to see our other close friend, Olivia, sliding into the row. Her hair was thrown into a chaotic, messy bun, and she was drowning in an oversized tank top and gray sweatpants. Essentially, she had rolled out of bed and walked straight to campus.

“You’re good, the professor isn’t even here yet,” Stacey reassures her.

Olivia collapses into the seat beside me with a heavy groan. “My roommate is an actual nightmare,” she laments. “She blares Green Day albums at two in the morning. I haven’t slept in days.”

“Just look for a new place,” I suggest. “There are heaps of listings on the campus bulletin board.”

Olivia hisses under her breath. “Have you seen the freaks advertising on there? No thank you.”

“It’s just a room,” I counter gently.

“Easy for you to say,” Olivia mutters, shifting her notebook. “You’re lucky. You have a boyfriend to live with.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and offer a weak smile. I guess I was.

Around 5:00 PM, I stumble through the front door of the apartment, my arms aching under the weight of two heavy grocery bags. I wasn’t expecting Jason to be home; his schedule with the football scholarship kept him running drills until late evening.

I drop the bags onto the kitchen counter and started unpacking a carton of milk when a sound stops me cold.

It was a rhythmic, heavy creaking noise. Coming straight from our bedroom.

That’s weird, I think, my brow furrowing.

I freeze, holding my breath, hoping it was just the old pipes or the neighbors upstairs. But the creaking only grew louder, accompanied by a sound that made my blood run instantly cold.

“Fuck, Jason...” a woman moans.

My heart violently hammers against my ribs. Blind fury and sheer panic take over. I march down the short hallway and bust the bedroom door wide open.

The image that greets me burns itself into my retinas. I want to vomit. In fact, my stomach violently revolts, and I actually had to clutch the doorframe to keep from vomiting right there on the carpet.

Jason bolts upright, throwing himself off the mattress and scrambling toward me, his hands raised in panic. “Danny, baby, listen to me—”

“You’re fucking my mother?!” I explode, the words tearing out of my throat in a shattered scream.

My mother. Who was currently sprawling out on my bed sheets, completely naked, casually propping herself up on an elbow. She didn’t look guilty. She just shrugs.

“She came onto me,” Jason stammers, his eyes wide as he looks for an escape route. “I—I didn’t know what to do!”

A wild, manic laugh rips from my chest. It was entirely devoid of humor. “Maybe not fuck her?!”

“Your mom is hot, Danny!” Jason blurts out, as if that were a valid legal defense.

“I am going to be sick,” I whisper, pressing a hand over my mouth.

“But I still love you,” he insists, taking a step closer, completely unbothered by his own hypocrisy. “We can still make this work. We can still be together.”

I laugh again, a sharp, choked sound. “You think I still want to be with you? After finding you buried in my mother?”

“Sweetie, Jason is good for you,” my mom chimes in, finally deciding to stand up from the bed. She didn’t even grab a towel. She just stood there, completely unbothered by her own intimacy.

“Good enough for you to fuck him, apparently,” I spat, the disgust dripping from every syllable.

“Honey, it’s okay to share,” she says smoothly, as if she were lecturing me on dividing up childhood toys.

“Both of you are sick,” I snap, backing away from them as tears finally flood my eyes, blurring the horrific scene. “Just stay the hell away from me.”

I spin on my heel, sprint out of the apartment, and practically threw myself into my car. My hands shake so violently I could barely turn the key in the ignition. I peel out of the parking lot, driving purely on adrenaline and muscle memory toward the only safe place I could think of: Olivia’s apartment complex.

I practically threw my weight against her front door, pounding on the wood until it swings open. Olivia’s roommate, Ying, stood there blinking at me.

Ying nods, her eyes widening at the state of me, and steps aside. I blew past her, storming down the hall to Olivia’s room and throwing the door open. She was slumped over her desk, surrounded by highlighters and textbooks.

The moment she looks up and saw my face, the dam broke. I collapse forward.

Olivia was on her feet in a second, catching me before I hit the floor and pulling me tightly against her. “What happened? Hey, talk to me,” she murmurs gently, rubbing soothing circles into my back as I sob uncontrollably into her shoulder.

“Jason... Jason was cheating on me,” I wail, the betrayal cutting through me like a physical blade.

I feel Olivia’s posture instantly stiffen. “With whom?” she growls, her voice dropping an octave. “Who was it, Danny?”

My stomach did another violent flip. The room spins, and I violently rip myself away from her, lunging toward the plastic trash can by her desk. I fell to my knees and threw up, dry-heaving until my throat burns.

Olivia was right there beside me, pulling my hair back and gently patting my back. “Who was it?” she asks softly, her voice laced with quiet fury.

I wipe my mouth with the back of a trembling hand and lean back against her bed. “My mother,” I croak.

From the doorway, Ying leans against the frame, a stunned expression on her face before it melted into a dark, disbelief-filled chuckle.

“Holy shit,” Ying mutters, shaking her head. “That would fucking suck.”

I let out a long, exhausted sigh, staring at the ceiling.

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### Chapter 2: Chapter 2

I still hadn’t spoken a single word to my mother or Jason. Instead, I’d spent the last thirty days sleeping on a violently loud air mattress in Olivia’s living room, surviving on sheer spite and cheap takeout. To make things even more poetic, the sketchy storage facility where I’d kept the rest of my belongings had been broken into last week. Everything I owned was gone.

My life was an absolute masterpiece.

Today, though, things were finally looking up. Or at least, that was the lie I was telling myself as I smoothed down my outfit. I’d chosen a crisp white skirt and a black button-up blouse—professional, pulled-together, and deliberately calculated to show this potential roommate that I was a functioning, serious adult. Not a girl whose life had completely imploded.

The best part? The apartment was located in Olivia’s exact same complex.

I take a deep breath and walk up the concrete stairs to the fourth floor, tracking the numbers until I reached 4F. It was tucked away at the very end of the corridor, right beneath a flickering fluorescent bulb that hummed like a horror movie prop. Creepy.

Timidly, I knock on the door. Inside, I hear a sudden, violent scramble of movement.

The door slams open so fast it rattles on its hinges, and my jaw instantly drops.

A literal sex god stood in the frame. He had luscious, dark brown hair that fell in loose, messy curls across his forehead, though they did nothing to hide a pair of piercing, striking emerald-green eyes. Tattoos crawl up his arms, peeking out from a dark t-shirt, and wrap around the side of his throat. He raises a single, heavy eyebrow at me.

Shit. I suddenly realized I was staring at him like a piece of meat, entirely forgetting how to be a normal human being.

“I’m Danny,” I murmur, clearing my throat and trying to channel some of that marketing confidence. “I, uh... I contacted you about the available room?”

He let out a low grunt. “Danny’s a boy’s name.”

His voice was deep. Dangerously deep. Like gravel scraping over velvet.

“It’s short for Daniella,” I correct, a little breathlessly. “C-can I come in?”

He grunts again, stepping back to let me pass. I walk into the apartment, instantly taking in the layout. To the left was a sleek kitchen featuring beautiful black countertops and stainless-steel appliances. There wasn’t a formal dining room, but a couple of high-top industrial stools were tucked neatly against the breakfast bar. The living room flowed directly from the kitchen, minimalist to a fault, containing exactly four pieces of furniture: a leather couch, a media console, a television, and a wooden coffee table.

I wander down the hall to inspect the bathroom, bracing myself for typical college-guy grime, but it was spotless. The walls were lined with clean white tile, featuring a separate standing shower, a deep bathtub, and a pristine sink beneath a massive mirror.

Jason had always left the bathroom looking like a locker room after a mud bowl. This was a massive upgrade.

“Where’s the toilet?” I ask, looking around.

He didn’t speak, just points a tattooed finger at a closed door just outside the main bathroom. I open it to find a separate water closet. Smart.

Continuing down the hallway, I reach for a door handle at the very end, but before my fingers could make contact, his hand shot out, blocking the frame.

“Okay,” I mumble, dropping my hand immediately. I turn around and opted for the second door instead.

When I push it open, I caught my breath. The walls were painted a clean, crisp white, save for the far wall with the window—someone had painted a breathtaking, intricate mural of climbing red roses across it. I walk over and push the window open, nearly gasping at the view. The entire city skyline stretches out before me, glittering in the afternoon sun.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, turning back to the door.

He was leaning against the doorframe; his arms crossed over his chest. He manages to make even a basic posture look entirely devastating.

“Do you have any questions for me?” I ask, trying to break the silence.

“A little,” I reply, offering a small, nervous smile. “Don’t expect a three-course gourmet meal, though.”

He didn’t even crack a smile. The emerald eyes remained totally unreadable.

“I do,” I answer quickly. “But it looks like you’ve got your end covered anyway.”

He gave a slow nod. “Are you going to be throwing parties?”

I shake my head decisively. “I’m not really a party girl.”

He let out a quiet scoff under his breath but didn’t push it. “Rent’s due on Mondays.”

With that, he turns on his heel and walks back into the living room. I stand frozen in the center of the bedroom for a full three seconds before my brain catches up. I hurry out after him. “Wait—you mean I can live here?”

“No,” he deadpans, not even looking at me. “I mean pay me rent and live on the street.”

A wave of intense relief washes over me. “Thank you,” I whisper. “It’s Bear, right?”

Another grunt. I took that as a yes.

“Well, what little stuff I have left is downstairs in my car, so... is it okay if I start moving in today?”

As he stood up, I noticed the broad muscles in his shoulders tense slightly. “Would you like help?”

My eyes widen at the unexpected offer. “Oh, well, there’s nothing too heavy, but I just don’t want to make ten different trips up the stairs,” I ramble, suddenly nervous again.

“Don’t you have a bed?” he asks dryly, looking at my empty hands.

I shake my head, the familiar sting of bitterness hitting me. “I put everything into storage after my breakup, and the unit got cleaned out by thieves.”

For a fraction of a second, a flicker of genuine sympathy crosses his face before his expression drops back into a completely blank, stoic mask. He walks over to me, and I involuntarily flinch as he reaches out. He didn’t hurt me, though; he just gently takes my arm and forces my palm open, dropping a brass key into my hand.

“Key for the apartment,” he mutters.

“Thanks,” I murmur, staring down at it.