Brittany stirred, running a lazy hand across his chest. “You think too hard, handsome.”
He gave a small, guilty smile. “Can’t help it.”
She shifted closer, the soft press of her body easing against his. “I don’t know what you’re chasing, but whatever it is, it’s big. You quit your job, walked away from everything stable, and somehow that makes sense when I look at you.” She kissed him once, slow and lingering. “They call us your Fly Girls,” she whispered against his mouth, “but you're the Fly one. Look how that nickname takes the first three letters of your name and makes it soar.”
He laughed quietly. “Fly. Yeah, I like that.”
She smiled, eyes already drifting closed. Within minutes, her breathing evened again.
The room went still except for the hum of the city. He rolled out of bed, tugged on a pair of shorts, and crossed to the desk cluttered with notes, training schedules, diet plans, printouts of BUD/S breakdowns highlighted and circled. The screen of his laptop glowed with the image of men running in the surf, helmets glinting in dawn light. He felt the same pull in his gut he’d felt since the rescue. He leaned on the edge of the desk, staring at the image until it blurred. Part of him demanded order, and the other wanted to be useful. Both were starving.
He was still thinking about control when the knock came, how easily he lost it, how badly he wanted it back.
He opened it. Surprise shocked through him. It was the last person he expected to see. “Bear?”
The big man stood there, calm as ever, that same steadiness in his eyes. Beside him was a younger man, Native, lean but carved from the same grit.
“Tomorrow,” Bear said. “Dawn. South end of Silver Strand Beach. Lifeguard Tower Eight. You know the one.”
He blinked. “Where I used to work?”
Bear nodded once. “You said you wanted this. That’s where it starts. Bring running shoes and a full water bottle. If you survive that, we’re going boot shopping.”
A shock of adrenaline hit Fly square in the chest. “Seriously? You’re training me?”
Bear’s mouth lifted, the ghost of a grin. “You’ll train yourself. I’ll just make sure you don’t quit.” He nodded toward the man beside him. “This is my brother, Nathaniel. Meet your swim buddy.”
Fly broke into a grin. “Awesome!” This was it, the beginning of his journey, and he couldn’t be happier, stoked, raring to go.
Nathaniel smiled, extending his hand. “Call me, Than. Nice to meet you, brother.”
He clasped it, feeling that same spark he’d felt on the beach that night, the one that refused to die. The path ahead was real now, and it would begin exactly where it had all started, the sand, the surf, and the dawn.
Outside, the city still pulsed, but now it beat in time with the surf he would face at dawn.
Somewhere in the Bolivian Jungle
The first thing she lost was the sky.
One heartbeat they were airborne over the jungle, the next a streak of fire. The RPG came from her blind side, a black projectile, and then a loud boom that shook the whole bird right into her bones. The helo bucked so hard her harness cut across her ribs, and the world began to spin.
“Eagle Two taking fire,” the pilot barked. “Losing hydraulics?—”
Bailee squeezed the frame, not in panic but to anchor her body. Her colleagues across from her did the same, mouths agape, eyes wide with alarm. She didn’t even have a moment to offer them reassurance.
Light twisted. Instruments strobed nonsense. The world went weightless, then slammed back down. A sickening roll, the nose dropping. They plowed into the canopy with a violence that tried to rip the soul right out of the body. The pilots fought it to the end, one whispering a prayer, the other still feeding coordinates through the radio as if words could stop gravity.
Branches snapped like bones. The fuselage ripped open. Her harness tore loose, and she slammed hard, pain detonating through her left shoulder. Then darkness.
She came to with smoke curling through the wreck. Every breath burned. The stink of jet fuel coated her tongue. Her ruined harness held her at a cruel angle. Her left shoulder sent waves of pain down her arm. Her right wrist answered with a bright, electric throb that warned her every breath would cost extra. A fine rain of dust and glass haloed the cabin. Rounds pinged off the twisted metal, a hail of gunfire.
“Mayday.” Her voice was strained. “Mayday, this is Eagle Two, down five clicks north-northeast of grid charlie-seven. Taking fire. Repeat, taking?—”
Static answered. Then one voice bled through, calm as a blade laid flat.
“Copy, Eagle Two. We read you.” Joker. Steady. Immediate. “You mobile?”
“Injured, both arms, but I can manage.”
