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.
Strength left him with the thought, and he sat on the edge of the bed. BUD/S had been the right choice. It had given him what he’d wanted most after Bailee’s rejection, a place to bury that slow, gnawing ache with work and purpose. But distraction had its limits. He missed his team and the steady scrape of Flint’s nails on the floor.
He missed her.
The admission hit like a knife between the ribs. He missed the way she’d argue with him about nothing, the spark in her eyes when she thought she had him cornered. Now that he knew what it felt like to kiss that soft mouth, to feel the fire in her, the silk of her skin beneath his palms, the way she’d clung to him as if he mattered, he couldn’t breathe for it. Sleep came fitful and broken, the hollowness inside him echoing with the memory of her voice.
If he had the courage to speak to her, his truth, the way he’d done to Brick and the students under his tutelage, maybe the ache wouldn’t own him. He thought of Flynn Gallagher, all that fire and no outlet, and wanted the kid to succeed. Was he being a coward, stingy with what he’d learned? If one of his own tribe had come to him instead of Flynn, would he have turned him away?
He shifted, unease threading through the quiet. Had his isolation served him at all? Or had it been fear masquerading as discipline? There was shame in that thought. Giving freely of what he knew, of what had saved him, was the truest form of humility.
Who had he really served by his silence?
