Chapter 13
Bailee was still leaning against the wall, both of them fully dressed again, her heartbeat slowing, her skin humming in the aftermath, when she heard the front door open.
Voices filtered in first, low, joking, familiar.
Then footsteps. Laughter.
That very specific tone of bickering that could only mean one thing. Bear’s baby SEALs were back.
Bear pulled away from her slowly, like he didn’t want to, brushing his knuckles along her cheek before he stepped back and adjusted his shirt.
“You okay?” he asked, voice low and thick with everything they’d just shared.
She nodded, lips still tingling. “Yeah. But I think your tribe is home.”
A crash sounded from the kitchen, followed by a loud, exasperated groan.
“Goddammit, Kavanaugh.” That was definitely Fly.
Bailee smiled. Bear shook his head.
They moved toward the kitchen together, Bear’s hand at the small of her back, grounding and protective.
As they rounded the corner, Fly was standing at the island, arms crossed, scowling at the growing mountain of chips and dip Than was unloading from a reusable grocery bag like it was a tactical violation.
“Eight bags,” Fly muttered. “Eight. Plus three dips. None of them are even the good kind.”
Than was biting back laughter as he placed a bundle of cilantro and a lot of steaks on the counter like a peace offering.
Shamrock, on the other hand, looked entirely unrepentant.
“Challenge accepted and mission success.”
“This wasn’t a challenge,” Fly snapped. “You smuggled them into the cart while I was getting steaks!”
“Exactly,” Shamrock said, like he was proud of himself. “A stealth op. Executed with precision and flair.”
Bailee pressed her fingers to her lips to stifle the laugh bubbling up. “Oh, dear,” she whispered. “This is your life now?”
Bear grunted, but she saw the edge of a smile in the curve of his mouth. “They’re a handful,” he said.
“They’re a riot,” she said softly, more to herself than to him, and she meant it. They were so much more than SEALs in the making.
They were Bear’s choice to speak his wisdom, his knowledge, his truth.
Shamrock, of course, kept unloading chips like nothing in the world could possibly be more important.
Bailee stepped forward slowly, her sling still snug against her shoulder, and offered a small smile.
“Hi. Thanks for doing the grocery shopping and all my chores. Sorry for the reception when you got here. I was out of sorts.”
Fly was the first to respond, nodding stiffly.
“Ma’am. Good to see you upright.” His voice was controlled, but his eyes flicked toward Bear briefly. Checking. Measuring.
Bailee’s smile widened.
Than stepped forward next, offering a respectful nod and a hand she didn’t expect but gladly took.
“No need to apologize,” he said. “You were pretty out of it last time. Glad you’re better.”
His grip was warm. Solid.
He reminded her of Bear, not in size, but in gravity.
Shamrock bounded forward last, one hand over his heart and a ridiculous grin on his face. “I might be a BUD/S candidate, mission snack procurement specialist, part-time chip pirate, but helping you was a mission worth taking.”
Bailee blinked. “I…don’t know what that means.”
“It means he’s the reason we have eight bags of chips and a deficit of actual groceries,” Fly muttered.
“You wound me,” Shamrock said, dramatically. “But don’t worry. I only steal for causes I believe in.”
Bailee laughed softly, her heart doing something strange and warm in her chest. She looked back at Bear, who leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the interaction like he couldn’t decide whether to be proud or irritated.
“They really are baby SEALs,” she whispered, teasing.
Bear’s brow lifted. “I heard that.”
“They’re adorable. In a dangerous, could-blow-up-a-country kind of way.”
Bear chuckled. “They are at that.”
She felt that deep down. The way he said it. Claiming more like a mentor and less like an instructor.
The moment settled, that awkward haze of getting reacquainted giving way to something softer. Something real.
Fly shifted, then reached into one of the bags and pulled out a small, neatly folded brown paper sack. He didn’t say anything right away, just walked over and held it out to her.
“This is for you,” he said simply. “It’s nothing big. Just thought it might help.”
Bailee took the bag, brows drawing together. Inside was a warm-scented jar of loose-leaf, fragrant tea, and a bar of handmade soap, wrapped in muslin and twine.
“Fly,” she said, surprised by the lump rising in her throat. “This is…really thoughtful.”
He shrugged one shoulder, not quite looking at her. “You’ve had a rough few weeks. I know how it feels to be stuck healing and hating every second of it. Thought this might make it suck a little less.”
“It does,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”
He nodded once and stepped back, almost like he didn’t want to intrude on his own kindness.
Then Than stepped forward, holding the eucalyptus and mint body wash with a shy, hesitant glance toward Bear, almost like he wanted approval first. Then he turned to her.
“Fly asked what scent you’d pick. I guessed this one.”
Bailee took the bottle from him, smiling as the cool herbal notes hit her nose.
“You guessed right.”
Than looked relieved, then, dryly added, “The other options were pink roses or bourbon, so...I played it safe.”
“You played it perfectly,” she said.
Then Shamrock appeared beside her, dramatic as always, holding a bag of chips in one hand and bowing like he was presenting a royal gift.
“I regret to inform you, lovely lady, that I come bearing no heartfelt items, unless you count eight bags of processed potato and the potential for a limerick or two.”
“You know what? I’ll take it.”
“You hear that?” Shamrock turned to Fly, triumphant. “Validation!”
“From a woman with a head injury,” Fly deadpanned.
“Details.”
He cleared his throat, delighted with himself.
“There once was a lad from Kilkee,
Whose charm was as wild as the sea.
He wooed with a grin,
Got in terrible sin,
And blamed every scandal on me.”
Bailee laughed outright.
Empowered, Shamrock grinned, already gearing up.
“There once was a bard named Bonaire
Who was doing a lass on the stair—”
He inhaled to finish the line.
“Shamrock!” Bear, Than, and Fly snapped at the same time.
He blinked, offended. “None of you appreciate art.” Then grinned. “It’s one of me best.”
Bailee laughed harder, clutching the gifts to her chest, then looked at the three boys, all of them so different, so chaotic, so deeply loyal.
“You guys are kind of amazing,” she said.
Shamrock grinned. Fly looked embarrassed. Than just nodded like he’d filed the compliment away for later examination.
She glanced back at Bear, catching the look in his eyes.
Pride. Quiet and deep. Affection, real, unguarded affection for all three of them.
They’re mine, he’d said. Now, standing in this kitchen full of chips and laughter and new beginnings, she wasn’t sure where exactly she belonged. But she knew she wanted to find out.
Fly reached into one of the grocery bags, pulled out a familiar green and rainbow-colored box, and stared at it like it had personally betrayed him.
“How did these Lucky Charms get in here?” he asked, holding them up like evidence. Then he looked at Than.
Than blinked, wide-eyed. “I swear I have no idea. I never saw him put it on the belt.”
Bailee couldn’t help it. She giggled.
Shamrock leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, expression smug. “I have ninja skills you can only guess at.”
“Fucking Kavanagh,” Fly growled, dragging a hand down his face. “I’ll never surrender. But bro…you’re a crazy bastard.” He offered his fist to Shamrock.
Shamrock smirked like he wore the title proudly, and he tapped it. “Did I tell you that right before I saved your ass, I hallucinated a leprechaun?”
Fly paused. Released a long, slow breath. “Don’t tell me…”
“He was after me Lucky Charms,” Shamrock confirmed solemnly.
“Of course he was.”
“We rowed faster,” Shamrock added, deadpan. “If it wasn’t for him, we might’ve been… too late.”
There was a moment of silence.
Then Bailee cracked up, doubling over in laughter. Than shook his head, muttering something under his breath about “snack madness.”
Fly just looked at Bear and muttered, “I hope you kept the receipt on this one.”
Bear, stone-faced, replied, “No returns. He belongs to the Teams now.”
Dinner had been loud and full of smoke and laughter.
Fly had taken charge of the dinner like it was a live op, barking orders and checking every steak as if a life depended on it. Shamrock’s running commentary never stopped, half complaint, half stand-up routine. Than moved between them, calm, methodical, the quiet center of their chaos.
The food had been ridiculous for a spur-of-the-moment meal, crisp salad, corn on the cob charred and sweet, steaks dripping with a dark, spicy Texas sauce from Fly’s grandfather’s recipe.
They’d eaten outside, the late light soft on the porch, the air thick with that easy comfort she’d almost forgotten existed. The boys had teased each other nonstop, but it was all affection, leaning shoulders, quick shoves, the sound of men who trusted one another.
Everything was superb in the hands of teenagers.
Bear came in from the kitchen with a tray of bowls and the smell hit her before he set it on the table, molasses and corn, cinnamon, vanilla, and heat. She blinked. “I know that smell. What did you do?”
“Indian pudding,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “My mom used to make it. I did my best to remember how.” He set the bowls in front of everyone. The dish was a little rough around the edges, the way things made by memory always were.
Than looked especially eager. “You make it as delicious as Mom’s,” he said with pride.
Bailee stared at the dark, steaming surface crowned with melting vanilla ice cream. “You made this from memory? From your mother’s recipe?”