Chapter 8 #2
He’d talked their ears off on the beach afterward, demanding names, ranks, what-the-hell-was-that training, until one of them, Cormac “Shamrock,” the one with the wicked grin, told him, “Boat Crew Two, lad. Hell Week. Remember it.”
He had. Every damn second of it.
He’d left the hospital with fire under his skin.
For three straight days, he’d lived online, devouring everything he could find: documentaries, Navy briefings, interviews with SEALs, training breakdowns, books.
Hell Week, six days of no sleep, freezing surf, constant punishment.
The bell you rang when you quit. He swore to God, even if he never made it that far, he’d never ring that bell.
Those men had looked half-dead and twice as alive as anyone he’d ever met. One in particular stuck in his head, the quiet one. Big, broad shoulders, black hair dripping into calm eyes that looked like they’d already seen too much. Dakota Locklear. Bear. The name fit. Solid. Grounded. Unmovable.
Flynn had replayed that image over and over.
Now he stood outside the chain-link gate of Naval Amphibious Base Coronado, the ocean behind him glittering in late sun, the salt wind carrying the faint clang of metal and the distant bark of orders.
“Kid, what are you doing here?” the gate guard asked.
He adjusted his backpack, pulse hammering. He didn’t belong here, not yet, but he couldn’t wait anymore. The place called to him, and somewhere beyond that fence was the man who’d changed everything.
“I need to speak with someone. An instructor at BUD/S, Dakota Locklear…Bear.”
The guard’s expression softened. “You’re the kid they pulled out of the ocean, right? The whole base is buzzing about it. Good to see you on your feet.”
“Yeah. Thanks. Look, I don’t have any other way of contacting him.”
“Hang on.” The guard ducked into the small gatehouse and picked up a phone. After a moment, he leaned out. “He’s on his way. Sit tight.”
A cluster of exhausted figures emerged from the main building, wet gear slung over their shoulders, faces pale with salt and sun. Flynn’s breath caught when he spotted him. Bear. That same calm stride, that same grounded presence, moving like gravity itself.
Without thinking, Flynn jogged forward. “Bear!”
Bear stopped, slow and deliberate, eyes narrowing slightly. He looked as large as life as he had in the hospital, power wound tight under that quiet.
Flynn grinned, couldn’t help it. “I need to talk to you.”
Bear’s brow lifted. “You shouldn’t be here, kid. I think I said something about rest.”
“I’m not a kid,” Flynn shot back, then grimaced. “Okay, technically, yeah, seventeen. But I’m working on it.” He rested his forearms against the wire. “You saved my life.”
Bear’s tone didn’t change. “You already thanked me.”
“Not properly.” Words tumbled faster now. “I didn’t understand what you were doing out there, what all of you were doing, until I looked it up. BUD/S. SEAL training. Hell Week. The Around-the-World Paddle. You guys were insane, but in a good way. Like, beyond-human good.”
Bear’s face stayed unreadable. “It’s not about being beyond human. It’s about not quitting.”
“Exactly!” Flynn slapped a palm against the fence. “That’s what I mean. The way you moved out there, like nothing could touch you. Calm in the middle of chaos. I want that. I want to earn that.”
For a second, Bear didn’t answer. The silence stretched, heavy but not unkind. Then he said, “This life isn’t for everyone. It’ll test you.”
“I’m counting on that.” Flynn’s shoulders squared. “I’m done wasting time. Sitting still isn’t in me.”
That earned the faintest flicker of amusement. “I can tell.”
Flynn leaned closer. “I want training. From you. I know I’ve got to wait to enlist, but there’s stuff I can learn now: PT, water work, mindset, discipline. I want to start right.”
Bear studied him like a man sizing up a storm. His eyes gave nothing away, but Flynn could feel him seeing, not just the words, but the drive behind them.
Finally, Bear said, “You’ve got a lot of fire, Gallagher. Fire burns fast if you don’t learn to control it.”
Flynn swallowed. “Then teach me.”
Bear shook his head once. “Go home. Finish school. Grow up a little. You want to train like a SEAL, start with discipline. Wake up early. Push your limits. No one’s coming to do it for you.”
“I’m not interested in school. I’ve already started becoming who I want to be.” He hesitated, voice rough. “I can pay you. Whatever you want.”
Bear’s expression hardened, the air between them going cold.
Damn. That was wrong. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…please…I want this.”
Bear exhaled, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “You’re relentless.”
Flynn grinned, helpless. “Pretty much my brand. So?”
Bear turned toward the base. “The answer’s no, kid.”
“Wait…Bear!”
He glanced back.
Flynn pointed toward the buildings beyond the fence, sunlight burning off the fog. “Whatever it takes. I’m coming for that. Count on it.”
Bear didn’t reply, but Flynn saw it, the faintest nod, a ghost of respect.
The gate buzzed open long enough for a Humvee to roll through. Flynn caught one last glimpse of those broad shoulders before the metal clanged shut again.
He stood there, heart pounding, hopes dented but not broken. The hum of the ocean filled his ears, the same rhythm that had nearly killed him but now kept him alive.
For the first time, he wasn’t lost. He knew exactly where he was going and whether he had help or not, he’d get there.
Bear couldn’t get Flynn Gallagher off his mind as he boarded a plane for Rapid City, South Dakota and the rez. He was going to celebrate his little brother Nathaniel’s high school graduation, see his mom and Grandfather Ray.
The flight attendant scanned his boarding pass with a beep and a smile. Bear moved onto the gateway toward the plane’s open door.
The kid had been so adamant, and if truth be told, Bear saw something in him that he’d seen in Cormac and Indigo, in all the Boat Two crew.
He’d been wrong about Hutch, but only because he hadn’t seen that sensitive nature in the man.
His swim buddy almost drowning had broken him, and he’d been honest. I can’t do what you guys do.
I can’t let go of the responsibility or live with that kind of guilt.
I’m ringing out. Bear’s mouth tightened at the memory.
I’m sorry, Instructor Locklear. You don’t deserve this, but I have to do what’s best for me.
I can serve in the Navy and be happy to do it.
What I’m not happy about is letting you down.
Gallagher was made of sterner stuff. In fact, Bear saw in him the kind of spark that set men on fire. The flight wasn’t that long, and soon he was driving onto Lakota ground, the road leading to that small house overlooking a bluff.
When he parked the rental in front and got out of the truck, his mom was there, quick and furious, throwing her arms around him, holding him hard and long.
He was taken aback. She looked so vibrant and strong.
The memories of his childhood haunted him, and his chest tightened.
His decision to leave had wrought this transformation, and he was brought down by the emotions running through him.
“Welcome home, my boy.”
Her words tumbled, and the sound of his native language washed over him like a homecoming, warm and sweet.
He took a moment to swallow hard against the lump in his throat. “It’s good to be home, Mom.” He could forgive her absence, her fatigue, her neglect because she was doing everything in her power to support him and Nathaniel. Now she could rest a bit, enjoy her life.
A man came out of the house, powerful, gray hair at the temples, the rest flowing behind his shoulders. He was in his mid-forties.
She turned and beckoned him forward.
“Dakota, this is Chayton Akecheta. He and I have been seeing each other.”
The name rang a bell. Akecheta. Bear had read about him, a former Marine who’d fought in some of the bloodiest battles of the Iraq War, Fallujah, and Ramadi.
Later he’d been invited to the White House for a national poets’ summit, the president calling him one of the finest voices in the country.
An American warrior proud of his Lakota heritage.
“Chay’s a musician and poet,” his mother said, pride lighting her face. “He performs the old songs, writes new ones about the land and our people. The high-school kids adore him.”
Bear stepped forward and offered his hand. “It’s good to meet you.”
Chayton’s grip was firm, eyes clear, a fighter’s eyes. Not competition, just kinship. When he turned toward Bear’s mother, his expression softened to quiet devotion. He was the kind of man Bear wanted beside her—strong, centered, still capable of worship.
Nathaniel streaked out of the house, his Grandfather Ray, still moving pretty well, close behind him.
“Dakota!” Than yelled, launching himself forward. He hit Bear full-force, wrapping his long legs around him. Bear chuckled as Than’s weight made him take a step back, but his arms came around him tight. The kid was all muscle and hit like a battering ram.
“Who’s this hellion?” Bear asked, laughing. “Can’t be my little brother.”
His eyes met his grandfather’s, still piercing, still sharp despite the years. “Lala,” Bear said quietly, respect threaded through the Lakota word for grandfather.
When he was unpacking in the small spare room, the thought hit him like a stone thrown into still water.
He wished he could bring Bailee here. He pictured her in the kitchen, stubborn and fierce, meeting his family, learning their jokes, watching Grandfather Ray laugh.
He imagined her hand in his mother’s, how the two of them would trade small, private stories about him that would make him flush and want to hide under his pillow.
The image warmed and hurt at the same time.