Chapter 4 #2
Flynn’s throat tightened. “I know. It’s not that I’m ungrateful. I love it here, but…” His hand curled into a fist at his side. “It’s not mine. I didn’t earn it. I need something more. Something I can call my own.”
The horse shifted, and Flynn felt the truth of it burn in his chest.
The scrape of the barn door cut through the quiet. Flynn jerked his head up to see M&M standing in the shadows, arms crossed, green eyes flashing.
“I suppose I should’ve known you’d run to him when you’re done fighting me,” she said, voice sharp but fraying at the edges.
Flynn opened his mouth, but Clint lifted a hand, steady as stone. “He’s not wrong to want more, darlin’.”
He muttered under his breath, “Too right, mate,” before he bit down on the words.
Her throat worked, anger and grief tangling. She stepped forward, boots crunching on straw. “Then we’ll help him. Finances, a place to land until he finds a job. But don’t you think for a tick, Flynn Patrick Gallagher, that leaving us means you stop bein’ ours.”
She closed the space between them, reached up, and tweaked his ear like she had when he was ten and too wild for his own good. Tears shone in her eyes, fiercer than the fire in her voice.
“You will always have a home here, my boy,” she whispered, echoing Clint’s words. “Don’t ever forget it.”
Flynn’s chest burned as her words hit him, fiercer than any scolding.
Before she could see the tears pricking his eyes, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face against her shoulder.
His throat locked up. He wanted to argue, to shove off the weight of her love, but all he managed was a nod.
It was awkward. He’d shot past her in height years ago, already topping her by a head. He had to bend down to fold himself into her arms. She felt small against him, but she’d never seemed smaller than when he clung to her now.
Not just because he needed to, though God, he did, but because it was the only way to hide the tremor in his chest. He was scared, even if he’d never admit it. Scared, but determined all the same.
M&M stiffened, then softened, smoothing a hand down his back. “My boy,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Whatever path you take, don’t you forget where you came from. Mind your manners.”
“Yes, ma’am. No worries,” he whispered.
He breathed in the scent of lavender soap and hay dust, his throat tight all over again, memorizing it.
Behind them, Clint cleared his throat, voice dry as mesquite. “Don’t hog all the sugar, Maggie.”
She gave a wet laugh and swatted at her husband with her free hand, still holding Flynn close. The sound broke the heaviness, leaving Flynn caught between a grin and the sting of tears.
The next day, Flynn walked away from the best home he’d ever known, counting his blessings as he climbed into his granddad’s beat-up truck. They didn’t talk much on the drive, the silence comfortable, the weight of parting thick between them.
“I set you up with an account at one of them surf shops,” Clint said at last. “I’m sure you’ll want a board. Get yourself a good one, Flynn. You deserve it.”
Flynn clenched his teeth. He already had a board, but it would’ve been awkward to drag it on the plane. His granddad’s generosity had always been quiet like this, trips back to Australia, cash when he needed it, time when he didn’t know he did. Gratitude washed through him, sharp and deep.
“You’re the best, Granddad. I won’t let you and M&M down. I’ll find my way. I’ll make you proud. I promise.”
Clint reached across, a big warm hand slipping around the back of Flynn’s neck. Those hands had taught him to rope, to ride, to work, to pray. They had served up supper, balanced the books, and fastened a gold cross around his wife’s throat. “We’re already proud. Don’t you be forgetting that.”
At the airport entrance, Clint pressed a wad of bills into Flynn’s palm. “Remember the bank where you’ve got your account?”
Flynn nodded, the glow of this man and his M&M settling inside his gut. He would carry their love with him and warm himself when nights got lonely or long.
“When you land, you call us. We’ll be fretting.”
“Yes, sir. My first call.”
“All right. Now git, before I change my mind and lock you in the shed.”
Flynn grinned. “Why d’you reckon I asked you to drive me? M&M would’ve bloody done it for real.”
Clint’s laugh rolled deep and sharp. “That wife of mine is a pistol. Reason I married her.” He patted his shirt pocket with a grin. “That’s why I keep the key right here.”
Flynn chuckled, stepped out, and shut the door. One last look, one last nod, and Clint drove off.
His chest felt heavy as he turned toward the terminal, each step away from McAllister Ranch like tearing out roots.
But as he straightened, something else lit inside him, a spark, bright and restless.
He was ready to find his way, to face something hard enough to shape him into the man he wanted to be.
One like Clint.
Bear woke earlier than normal. Habit. He didn’t have to report to base until Monday, when the new recruits would pick up helmets and gear for six months of the hardest training rotation in the world.
His body ached, but not from sore muscles or strain.
It was her.
She made him burn and hurt and want to break something.
Not with you.
The words hit him again like a blow to the solar plexus.
He closed his eyes. The memory of her mouth, her skin, her breath still lived in him.
She was torture he couldn’t satisfy by any simple, physical means.
He lay there as his dick hardened, pulsing with an intensity no other woman had ever stirred.
It wasn’t just the need to have her. He almost wished it was.
There were plenty of ways to fuck away want.
But not with Bailee Thunderhawk. When her heartbeat had synced with his, the hunger had turned into something deeper, body, soul, and mind trying to find a place of peace. He couldn’t.
He threw the sheet back and swung out of bed. Nothing good came from dwelling on rejection. He gathered the clothes he’d discarded the night before, and her scent hit him so hard he had to stand there and wrestle with the want rising through him. Fuck. He wished he didn’t have this downtime.
He tossed the clothes into the hamper and forced himself to move.
A hot shower, cold at the end. A towel dragged across his hair. Jeans. T-shirt. Boots. Ritual, not relief.
He stepped into the living room and froze. Something in the air felt displaced, the faint scent of mint and lemon that didn’t belong. He needed to feed his horse, so he opened the front door.
Mateo “Zorro” Martinez sat there like he owned the place, ankles crossed, boots on the railing, a glass of iced tea sweating in his hand.
“Damn,” Bear muttered. “You breaking and entering now? Adding that to your skill set?”
Zorro didn’t flinch, didn’t even look up. “Door was unlocked.”
“The hell it was.”
He took a long sip, ignoring the protest. “I was thirsty and you keep the good stuff in the fridge—lemon-lime mix, crushed ice, real mint. You ever leave the Teams, you could tend bar.”
Bear grunted. “Bartender? Right now, I’m thinking more like a bouncer. Get off my property.”
“That’s not very neighborly, amigo.” Zorro’s tone didn’t shift a note.
“You’re outta your damn mind.”
Zorro finally tilted his head, that half-smile easing into place.
“Nah. Just observant.” He tapped the side of his glass.
“You and Bailee flirted through that pool match, talked at the bar with your body language screaming, danced like it was your last one, and left together. You drove her home, didn’t you? ”
Bear just stared.
“Of course you did. She was tipsy, and you never drink to excess. Daddy’s influence.”
Bear’s fist tightened. Zorro’s words were too true to counter, so he didn’t try.
He swallowed, the pain of his daddy’s blows long healed, but the memory of what caused them never faded.
The smell of whiskey. The sound of a chair scraping back.
The way the air tightened right before the storm hit.
Drinking was a good way to lose control, and Bear fought that every step of the way, on ops, in the field, with the people who got too close.
Even with Bailee. Especially with her. She was the one person who tempted him to lose that hard-won control, to feel, to speak, to want, and that upended his world.
His whole life had been one long effort not to turn into the man who’d raised him, or to want anything enough to risk becoming him.
“Now? Poof. You’re pushing your rotation forward. Call me crazy, but I don’t think you’re that eager to make sugar cookies and ice pops in the surf.”
“Don’t start.”
“I already started. Hell, the whole team did. Buck thinks it’s guilt. Blitz says denial. Joker says I should mind my own goddamned business.” He snorted. “Want to know what I think?”
“No.”
Zorro didn’t blink. “I say she scares the hell out of you.”
Bear’s jaw flexed. “You got too much time on your hands.”
Zorro uncrossed his ankles and let the chair drop.
“Wasn’t it you who came to me when I was swimming laps in Rio, half out of my mind over Everly?
Wasn’t it you who talked me down? You speak your mind when it’s one of us, but when it’s you, amigo, you clam up.
” He pointed the glass at him. “Spill it. I’m not leaving till you do. I’ll drink you out of house and home.”
Bear shut his eyes. The truth burned in his throat. “I fucking want her.” He swallowed hard. “But when we kissed, she said it was a mistake. Her words were pretty clear. Not with you.”
He opened his eyes, and Zorro’s expression showed everything Bear needed right then, everything he’d never had, never asked for, never even hoped for.
Love without demand. Attention without a price. Were those even possible?
As a boy, Bear had learned that asking cost too much. His mother came home from double shifts with her shoulders bent and her eyes half-closed. No matter what he needed, he set it aside for her. Don’t ask. Don’t need. Don’t add weight.
He’d carried that lesson through every loss that followed, Thatcher’s death, Ayla’s disappearance, through every quiet night when the wind over Pine Ridge had sounded like grief breathing. Silence was his armor, his way to love people without burdening them.
Bailee had been clear.
But with his team, he should have known better. These men were part of him, deep in his bones, bound into the fabric that made him whole. They were trying to keep him from vanishing behind silence, but he had his ways of coping, and they would accept that. His way.
Zorro squeezed his shoulder. “All I can say is welcome to the pain, to knowing she’s the only one who makes you feel complete.
Distance isn’t always the answer, but with Bailee, it might be.
” He shrugged. “I don’t care what she said.
She wants herself a piece of the grizzly.
Her words might push you away, but her eyes and her body told a different story.
” He brushed past, smirking. “Go after what you want, Dakota. Fight, talk, work it out. If she’s worth it, and she is, then your time’s worth it. ”
Bear stared out at the drive, jaw tight. Silence filled the space between them, heavy and familiar. It wasn’t his time he was worried about. It was his heart and respecting her wishes. Burdening her with his needs was out of the question.
The quiet stretched, then broke with the sound of his cell phone. The tone they both recognized. The team was getting spun up, and something caught in Bear’s chest.
Zorro checked it and sighed, then focused back on Bear. “Hey, stand outside her house and beat a war drum. Get her attention. You’re about to teach a whole class of men what it means not to quit, so lead by example.”
“You’re an idiot. You know that?” Bear growled.
“Maybe.” Zorro’s grin flashed. “But you know what else I observed?” He tilted his head. “I’ve seen the way you look at her…that’s how Joker looks at Pippa, Blitz at Bree, Gator at Izzie, and so on. You think you’re the only one terrified? Join the rest of us on this crazy train.”
Bear’s throat tightened. “You done yet?”
“Not even close.” Zorro grinned. “I was hounded the same way, hermano. Get used to it.” He waved as he started down the steps. “Next time, I might be sitting in a chair by your bed.” He switched to Spanish, spinning a finger beside his temple. “Cierra la puerta, loco. Lock your damn door.”
“You’re the one who’s loco,” Bear called. “I did lock the door.” He watched Zorro leave, that lazy stride eating up the path back toward his house. “Stay safe,” he called, asking the Great Spirit to watch over them. These men he loved like family.
Zorro stopped. “Six fucking months without our dog handler.” Bear swallowed hard. “Admit it. You’re going to miss us.”
Bear looked away, realizing that everything that had happened to him was affecting the team. Even when he tried to get something for himself, he still burdened others. “I will miss you. I approved the new handler. Benedicto “Razor” Margosa, dog’s Raider. He’s sharp and his partner is lethal.”
Zorro shook his head. “I’m sure he is. You would never leave us hanging.
” He turned to go, then stopped. Bear wished he wouldn’t say anything, but that just wasn’t Zorro’s style.
“It won’t be the same without you and Flint, Dakota, and you know it.
Give them boys hell and get us some good new blood on the Teams. The brotherhood waits. ”
Bear swallowed hard, went down the steps, watching until he disappeared in the distance. The wind felt emptier for it, and his heart tugged toward those seven men.
The glass still sweated on the railing, catching the first hint of dawn over the ocean.
Beat a war drum? Fight for her? He didn’t know how to battle something that had already broken him open. He had his silence, and it had always protected him. But now he wasn’t sure which way was up.