Chapter 28 #2
You carry my name, but you carry too much weight.
The thought landed clear and whole.
I am the ground beneath you. I am the strength that holds you. You don’t carry the sky. You carry your own feet.
Tears blurred Than’s vision. Shame. Blame. Fear of losing Fly. It all pressed down at once.
You fear telling the truth because you think he’ll see darkness in you. He already carries his own. Love isn’t the absence of darkness. It’s the light shared to walk through it.
The horse stepped closer, its shadow cooling his skin. Warm breath brushed his face, sweet with grass and hay, then its forehead rested against his.
The world gave way.
Cold water closed around him. Pressure crushed in from every side. He wasn’t alone. Mei’s hand was in his. Another hand reached through the dark. Fly’s. They held fast, three linked together, unbroken. Fear existed, but it didn’t rule them. They had each other.
Than came back to himself gasping, face wet with sweat and tears. The sun sat high now. The meadow lay empty. The horse was gone.
The clarity remained.
The weight on his shoulders had eased. The hollow in his chest no longer echoed. It held something solid and quiet.
He packed slowly. Rolled the buffalo robe. Gathered the prayer ties. The walk back stretched long ahead of him. He was still Than. He still had to face Fly. He still had BUD/S waiting.
He wasn’t running anymore.
He was walking toward the truth, and for the first time in a long while, he knew he wouldn’t be alone in it.
The land hadn’t changed on the return. He had. The hills no longer challenged him. They witnessed. The wind through the pines didn’t sound lonely. It spoke steadily. Hunger reminded him he had a body, a place in the world.
Quiet settled into his bones. The noise in his head was gone, replaced by a steady hum.
As he crested the final ridge, Sleeping Wind came into view. Smoke curled from the chimney, a single gray plume against the vast blue sky. It looked like home. His steps quickened, not with urgency, but with a sense of purpose, of return.
He passed the corral, the horses lifting their heads at his approach. They were beautiful, strong animals, but they were just horses. Then one of them separated itself from the herd.
His buckskin.
He stood apart, his coat the color of sun-bleached earth, his dark eyes fixed on him. He wasn't startled or curious. Waiting. The same calm, steady presence from the meadow, the same deep, knowing gaze that had looked right through him and seen the truth.
Than stopped at the fence, his hand resting on the rough wood. The buffalo robe over his shoulder felt light compared to what he’d left behind in that high meadow. He looked at the animal, this solid, enduring creature that had anchored him, guided him, taught him.
He didn't call out. He didn't whistle. He just breathed the name into the space between them, a quiet acknowledgment, a greeting, a truth.
"Hoka."
The horse's ears swiveled forward, sharp and attentive. It took a single step toward the fence, his hooves making no sound on the dry ground. Recognition. A greeting returned.
A slow smile spread across Than's face, the first one that felt truly his own in a long, long time.
Fly came out of the house. He looked as rough as Than felt. With purpose, he strode toward him.
Flynn fucking Gallagher. His friend. His brother. A force that had shaped him into someone stronger than he’d realized. How had Than ever doubted that Fly would take it on the chin and give back more of himself than he’d already given. He’d been a fool to doubt himself. A fool to doubt Fly.
The certainty settled in quietly, something he’d always known and finally trusted.
Fly didn’t lead by force or volume. He never had. He led by seeing farther than most, holding the whole field in his head, while others stayed locked in their own lanes. Big picture first. Then the details that mattered. Nothing wasted.
Than recognized it because he’d lived it himself, long before teams and ranks and consequence put weight to it.
On the wrestling mat in high school, when the room was loud and nerves ran hot, he’d been the one who steadied it.
He knew who needed pressure and who needed space.
Who needed a shove and who needed a word.
At the Academy it had been the same. He hadn’t barked orders.
He watched. Adjusted. Held the line when others surged or faltered.
Different style. Same instinct.
Mei had seen it long before either of them understood it was tangible.
She’d pegged them with quiet insight and strong explanations.
To her, Fly carried the view from above, the kite riding the thermals, reading pattern and drift and consequence before the rest of them ever felt the shift.
Than carried it from the ground, a buffalo set against wind and storm, close enough to feel the strain in the muscles, and the weight in the hands that depended on it.
For the first time, Than understood that emulating Fly didn’t mean becoming him. It meant integrating what Fly saw into the way Than already led, steady, present, accountable.
That wasn’t something he needed permission for.
It was something he needed to trust.
Fly offered him a sandwich and a cold glass of iced tea after he carefully set down the buffalo robe and the empty canteen.
They sat on the porch, knees angled toward each other, the quiet settling naturally between them.
Than took the first bite and realized how hungry he was.
The bread was soft, the meat rich and salty, the iced tea cold and sweet enough to make him close his eyes for a second.
He ate with unguarded focus, with a pleasure that surprised him, like his body had been waiting for permission to come back online.
Between bites, Fly talked about walking empty beaches, about the town at midnight with no cars and too much space, about pines tall enough to make a man feel small.
His voice stayed low and even. His words were soft.
“I came to a conclusion I can live with. Mei loved me like a brother. She trusted me. I couldn’t control a rogue wave.
I know in my heart she wouldn’t blame me. ”
He listened, watched the tension ease out of Fly’s shoulders, the quiet steadiness in his eyes. Fly had found an answer he could carry.
Than couldn’t let him stand there alone in it.
“She wouldn’t. But will you forgive me?” Than said, his voice low, rough.
Fly’s easy smile faltered. “Forgive you? For what? Than, what are you talking about?”
Than looked out across the plains, at Hoka standing apart from the herd. The fear was still there, a cold knot in his gut, but the clarity from the meadow held him steady.
“Before Mei told me she loved me, I thought she was going to tell me she loved you. I resented you.” The words landed hard.
“When she said it was me, I wasn’t clean about it.
I was jealous. Ashamed.” He swallowed. “That’s not the friend I thought I was.
” Fly didn’t interrupt. “There’s more,” Than said.
“After she died, I blamed you. I knew it wasn’t fair.
I knew it wasn’t right. But I needed somewhere for the pain to go, and it went to you. ”
The wind moved through the grass. Than waited for disgust. For anger. It didn’t come.
Fly stood, paced a few steps, then turned back, hands on his hips. His face had gone pale, but the horror in his eyes wasn’t aimed at Than. It was aimed inward.
“Oh God,” Fly said. “Than. I had no idea.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You carried all that alone.”
Than nodded. “I was afraid if I opened my mouth, I’d lose you.”
He paced a few steps away, then turned back, his hands running through his hair in agitation. “All this time you were carrying this? While I was…” He trailed off, shaking his head, the weight of Than’s silence suddenly crushing him.
“That’s why I didn’t want you to talk to Shawl.
I might be able to resist him, barely, but I couldn’t resist you, Fly, and he knew it.
” His chest heaved with the relief of releasing it all into Fly’s capable hands.
“I was terrified that if I opened up this Pandora's Box of shame, resentment, and blame to Shawl, he would have confirmed my worst fears. That I was a bad friend, a flawed lover, and a man whose foundational relationships were built on fault lines.”
“None of that matters to me, Than. Your feelings are your own. There isn’t a moment that doesn’t go by that I think what would have happened if I had turned on my first warning. I can’t go back and change it. Neither of us can. But we can move forward, knowing we’re flawed fucks.”
Than huffed a half-laugh. “You idiot.”
He knelt down in front of Than, his hands on his brother’s knees, forcing Than to meet his gaze.
“I would be surprised if you didn’t blame me,” Fly said, his voice thick with emotion.
“I blame me. I blame me more than you ever could.” His next words were a raw, shuddering breath.
“Nothing Shawl says will ever alleviate that guilt. I have to live with it, Than. We’ll live with it all because it all belongs to us.
We own it, and we’ll move forward with it tucked safely inside us where it belongs.
We’ll know what we’ve weathered…fucking together. ”
He squeezed Than’s knees, a hard, desperate grip.
“Your love for her wasn't poisoned. It was human. You were afraid of losing her, and you pointed that fear at the easiest target. Me. That’s not conditional brotherhood, Than. That’s just…
being human. The fact that you felt it, and you still stuck by me?
That you were there for me when I fell apart? That’s unconditional.”
Than stared at him, the tightness in his chest finally, finally beginning to loosen. The shame, the blame, the terror. It was all still there, but it was no longer a solitary weight. It was a shared burden.