Breathe through it, Bailee. Breathe through it.
The sound of the rotors grew nearer. She exhaled once, long and trembling, and let the dark take her.
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.
