Than winced. “You got some battle gear I can wear when we tell Mom?”
“We?”
Than laughed softly. “You’re her favorite, so you can smooth the way.”
Bear grinned and slapped his brother on the back. “I doubt even my smoothing’s going to be easy. Better learn now, the only easy day was yesterday.”
“Hoo-yah,” Than said, voice sharp and clear.
Bear looked between his grandfather’s steady pride and his brother’s raw hope, and something uncoiled in his chest. Maybe this was what living looked like—passing it on.
Out beyond the bluff, the stars were fierce and endless. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel alone under them. The weight he’d been carrying felt lighter, replaced by something that almost resembled hope.
Later on, Bear and the family attended Than’s jam session at a local café where he and his rock band played. Blown away by his baby brother’s talent, he marveled at his strong, pure voice as he sang.
Maybe it was time to start speaking again, to share what he’d learned, to lead from wisdom instead of silence. To speak from his truth. From his heart.
His only problem?
Would Bailee listen?
9
The city outside Flynn’s apartment never quite went to sleep. Its pulse thudded through the walls, matching his own.
He knew what he was doing was wrong, turning frustration into touch, but the heat had nowhere else to go.
Each time she whispered his name, he tried to slow down, to make it mean something, but the anger kept leaking through. He told himself to ease back, to show gentleness, to be the man his grandfather would recognize. But the ache under his ribs was stronger than his discipline, and every gasp from her felt like permission he hadn’t earned.
He hated himself for hearing approval in it.
Sex, he thought. An outlet with a willing woman. When she clung to him, part of him wanted to stop, to tell her she deserved better than being someone to assuage his disappointment. The rest of him kept moving because stopping would mean feeling too much.
Flynn's throbbing body was on top of sweet, easy-going Brittney Martin, his dick aching and hard as hell. Before he brought her to his apartment, he made sure he knew her name, bought her dinner, took her on a long moonlit beach walk. But even though he wooed her, he wanted sex. That was the bottom line. It was great that she wanted it, too, but he wouldn’t disrespect her by keeping her nameless.
Brittney’s legs were wrapped around him, urging him closer. He didn't need any more encouragement. With a single, smooth thrust, he entered her, filling her completely. She gasped, her back arching off the bed as pleasure surged through him.
He began to move, hips rolling in a rhythm that was both primal and controlled. Each thrust was deep, deliberate, something he could give her even when the rest of him felt hollow. At least she’d have a good time. He kept a piece of himself apart from it, watching, searching for release from the bitterness still lodged in his chest. He hadn’t realized rejection would cut this deep, and that thought made him recoil inside even as Brittney met him stroke for stroke, her body drawing him deeper.
Their breaths mingled, hot and heavy, as they moved together. Flynn's hands roamed her body, cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples until they were hard and sensitive. Brittney moaned, her fingers digging into his back, urging him on. He complied, his pace quickening, his thrusts becoming more intense. He gave her what she asked for, but even while he moved, he knew it wasn’t enough, wasn’t right.
This was selfish, and he excused it the only way he could, reminding himself how little he ever took for himself. He was young, wounded, reaching for comfort and calling it solace. Damn it, he thought, I should’ve known better.
The room was filled with the sounds of their coupling, the slap of skin on skin, their moans and gasps, the creak of the bed. It was a symphony of pure sex, a testament to the physical fire that burned between them.
Flynn's mouth found hers, his kiss hungry and demanding. Brittney kissed him back with equal fervor, her tongue dancing with his. The kiss was as intimate as their bodies, a fusion of flesh and hormones.
He could feel the pressure building within her, her body a coiled spring ready to explode, and his thrusts doubled, more powerful, more urgent. He reached between them, his fingers finding that beautiful part of a woman, soft, erect, and wet for him. He circled her with his thumb.
Brittney cried out, her body convulsing, her pleasure coming in each uncontrollable thrust of her hips. Flynn followed soon after, his release explosive, his body shuddering with the force of it, the deep guttural groan.
For a breath, the world went white and silent. Then sound rushed back, their ragged breathing, the hum of the city outside the window. The emptiness that followed was familiar, almost comforting. Release never lasted long as it never fixed anything. He lay still, letting her heartbeat steady against his chest, already feeling the restlessness return.
Desire had burned itself out, but guilt hadn’t.
Later, he woke up from a doze, Brittany sprawled across him, skin warm, breath even, the sheet tangled at her hip. He brushed a strand of blond hair from her cheek and stared at the ceiling, unable to turn his mind off. She was part of his “Flynn’s Fly Girl” entourage. The one that followed him around on the beach. He had his pick, and she was beautiful, tanned, warm, and compassionate. She was an aspiring actress, and he hoped she made it big.
He should just enjoy her. Instead, his thoughts were racing again, Hell Week videos, the math of the swim and run times, the impossible pull-up numbers. That damn no, fueling more anger, always laced with determination. He’d memorized the requirements until he could quote them in his sleep. The officer standards were even higher. That was what he wanted. Not to scrape by. To exceed.
