Chapter 10
The surf was calm, a steady roll that hit the sand with low thunder.
Bear watched his trainees, Flynn “Fly” Gallagher and his kid brother, Than, fight the current about thirty yards out.
The callsign Fly had stuck after a lifeguard named Brant teased the flock of girls who followed him around, dubbing them The Fly Girl Club.
His latest girlfriend, Brittany, had given it a new twist, a play on his name and his good looks.
He had no idea what kind of box that opened for the guys he trained with. The ribbing would be endless. The three of them fit together like a young, impossibly sharp team.
Than was easygoing, well-liked, and taking to the water faster than Bear expected.
Still learning, still fighting the current more than flowing with it, but fearless.
On land, nothing had ever really challenged him.
He had been a beast in high school wrestling, all leverage and heart and grit, the kind of athlete who could outwork anyone in the room.
But the ocean was different. He had eyed it at first like a monster under the bed, flailed through the surf, swallowed half of it, and still hadn’t quite conquered it.
But damn if his heart didn’t make up the difference.
Than never quit. He’d need that attitude for BUD/S.
Bear had spent countless hours on video calls with his brother over the years, talking about everything under the sun.
Than had always been open, trusting, unguarded in a way Bear had never been at that age.
He marveled at how well-rounded the kid had become despite the disadvantages stacked against him.
That was their mother’s doing. She had run roughshod over both her boys with the kind of fierce love that turned softness into strength and gave them the tools the world would demand from them.
Than had shared clips of his wrestling matches, talking through each movement with that calm focus that had always been his.
The way he described teaching younger boys, breaking down technique, steadying their nerves, leading practices, captaining his team—it had hit Bear hard.
Leadership wasn’t something Than needed to learn.
It was already built into his bones. He had carried that wrestling team into championships with grit and that quiet confidence people followed without question.
He brought that same presence here. He and Fly were syncing already, moving in a rhythm that felt instinctive, inevitable, as if they had been built to complement each other.
Fly, though, was the fish. Born to the water.
He understood it without thinking. Already advanced in hydrographic reconnaissance, he could read surf and tide, calculate wave periods, and interpret currents and littoral zones as if the ocean were speaking to him. It wasn’t just skill; it was instinct.
He was teaching Than, passing the knowledge down like it was second nature.
There was something about these two. Natural-born leaders, calm, collected, steady when it mattered.
After only two weeks, Bear was itching to get Joker’s opinion on their potential.
It was the same feeling he’d had when he first recognized greatness in a teammate, the quiet certainty that these kids were the real thing.
Both men were running ocean-survival drills, part of their weekend training rotation. Petty Officer Cormac “Shamrock” Kavanagh had tagged along to help or stir up trouble, depending on his mood. His boat crew had given him the nickname, and it fit.
“Work with the water,” Bear called. “Not against it.”
Than gritted out something that sounded like Roger that and flailed through a wave, but he didn’t quit.
Fly cut across a swell, head snapping toward Bear. “I get the theory, Instructor, but the current’s running counter to the break. If I angle thirty degrees north—”
“Just do it,” Bear called back, steady as stone.
Fly muttered something, shifted his line, and tried it his way anyway. The wave caught him wrong, slapped him sideways, and sent him tumbling in a spray of foam and limbs. He surfaced sputtering, hair plastered to his face, blinking seawater out of his eyes.
Shamrock cupped both hands around his mouth. “And there it is, ladies and gentlemen! Gallagher Logic!”
Than groaned, laughing. “Fly, he literally just told you not to fight the water.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Fly said, shoving his wet hair back, grinning like a madman. “Science requires experimentation.”
“So does drowning,” Bear said dryly. “Now try it my way.”
Fly angled exactly where Bear had indicated. This time the current lifted him clean, slid him through the break like he’d been born for it. He popped up, triumphant. “Okay! Fine. That worked better.”
Shamrock slapped his knee. “Gallagher Logic. Fail first, obey later!”
Fly slapped his tight, wet ass, laughing. “Kiss my ass. You love me.”
“Yeah,” Shamrock said, grinning wickedly. “Like a rash.”
Shamrock stood on the sand, coffee in hand, shouting encouragement that sounded more like heckling.
“Than, you’re swimming like you’re allergic to oxygen! Fly, try not to make the rest of us look bad!”
Fly popped up and before he jumped back into the surf, he gave Shamrock double fingers. Bear hid a small grin. The rookies gave it back as good as they got, which made for a good team day.
“Nice one!” Shamrock shouted with a wide grin.
After another round, Bear called them in. They dropped to the sand, breathing hard, the sun cutting through the early fog. Shamrock handed them bottles of water.
“Not bad,” Bear said. “Next time, use the tide to pull you, not fight it.”
“Easy for you to say,” Than muttered, wiping saltwater from his face. “I’m a flopping idiot fish to this guy’s sleek control.” He nudged Fly with his shoulder.
Fly laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, but I’ve been doing this my whole life. You’ll catch up, landlubber.”
“Yeah,” Shamrock said. “He reminds me of Bolt, and probably has gills just like him.”
Fly’s grin faded a little. “Most of my life, being good at something just made people look at me different,” he said, voice quieter now. “With you guys…it feels like I’m where I’m supposed to be.”
Than’s grin eased into something softer. “My grandfather calls that Wolakota.”
Fly blinked. “What’s that mean?”
“Balance. Harmony. Living right with the people who walk beside you.” Than shrugged, eyes on the surf. “Guess you found it.”
The beach went quiet for a second, only the low boom of waves filling the space.
Shamrock tipped his coffee cup. “Well, hell, Gallagher. Don’t get all misty on us.”
Than grinned. “He’s saying he loves us, Sham.”
“Too bad,” Shamrock said, deadpan. “I don’t like redheads.”
Their laughter rolled out, easy and loud. Bear felt it settle under his ribs, the sound, the word, the meaning. Fly hadn’t been the only one who needed to hear it.
Bear shook his head. “You two talk too much. Back to work.”
Than slung an arm around Fly’s shoulder. “Let me introduce you to surf torture, Lakota style.”
“This I gotta see, mate,” Fly said, punching Than in the ribs with a light tap before tripping him into the sand and sprinting for the water. “Keep up if you can, sugar cookie!”
Than was up in an instant. He caught Fly, locked him in a wrestling hold, and drove him into the surf.
Shamrock’s laugh carried down the beach, and Bear let the sound stay with him a moment longer before turning toward his gear. The word still lingered.
His phone buzzed inside the dry bag. Once. Then again. Bear pulled it out, checked the screen. Zorro? The guys!
Bear stepped a few feet down the beach where the surf could cover his voice. “Yeah.” He was braced for hearing that someone was down or worse.
Zorro’s voice came rough and tired. “Bear, I’ve got some news about Bailee, and you’re not going to like it, amigo.”
His stomach went cold. “Bailee?” Not the name he expected, and his grip on the phone tightened. “What’s going on with her?”
A pause. The kind that told him this wasn’t a scrape or a near miss. “Bailee went down in a helo crash. Two CIA support, both KIA. Pilots too.”
Everything inside him stopped. The tide still moved, the gulls still called, but the sound tunneled away. “Is she alive?” His voice came out low, crushed.
“Dios Mio, I should have led with that. Yes, she’s alive. Got a Mayday out. Minor injuries, all things considered. We got to her as quickly as possible. She was medevacked out. Balboa kept her a bit, then sent her home. Helen stayed three days to help.”
Bear’s jaw locked until it ached. “When did this happen?”
“Two weeks ago. Give or take,” Zorro said quietly.
Static hissed between them. “If I hadn’t been downrange, you’d have known sooner.
I’m sorry.” A breath. “Listen, she fought like hell. Left a trail of bodies behind her with one arm out of commission and the other wrecked. She…” His voice softened.
“When she went under, she called for you. More than once. It’s been killing me that I couldn’t reach you. ”
Bear turned toward the water. The horizon blurred, the salt in his throat sharper than it should have been. He wasn’t sure he could hold himself together.
He swallowed hard. “Thanks for calling.”
“Bear—”
He ended the call. Stood there, the phone heavy in his hand. The surf rolled in, hissed around his boots, and slid back out, steady and merciless.
She’d called for him.
Unconscious, she’d wanted him there, and he hadn’t been. Not because he didn’t want her, but because she’d made him go.
The thought hit like a fist. The idea of losing her, of her gone from this world, nearly put him on his knees. She might have sent him out of her life, but that didn’t change the truth sitting like stone in his chest. He’d never stopped belonging to her.
He’d given her space because she’d needed it. He’d stayed away because she’d asked him to.
But fuck it.
Wolakota bound them in more ways than one, and there was no way he could stay away now.