She pulled away, eyes bright and furious with grief. “Sit,” she ordered, already turning back toward the counter. “I’ll bring your drinks. Don’t argue with me.”
They took their usual table, movements slow, slightly out of sync. Fly sat with his back to the wall out of habit. Than dropped into the chair across from him, shoulders squared. Bridge slid in last, eyes alert, posture already leaning forward, like she was braced against something invisible.
Maribel set the mugs down hard, one after the other, then stood there for a moment, hands braced on the table as if steadying herself.
“She was special,” she said quietly. “The world’s poorer for losing her.”
Than nodded once. That was all he could manage.
Maribel squeezed his shoulder, then Fly’s. “You sit as long as you need,” she said.
She walked back to the counter, wiping her eyes with the heel of her hand, and left them there with the steam rising between them.
She probably didn’t realize she had brought four mugs.
One was filled with tea.
Jasmine.
The scent filled the space between Fly, Bridge, and him. Than closed his eyes and drew the mug closer, the fragrance settling into him, warm and aching with memory. Bridge covered her eyes for a moment, scrubbed at her cheeks, and swallowed hard.
Joss appeared but stood instead of sitting. “I’m not staying,” he said, voice steady but thin at the edges. “I just wanted to say this in person.” Fly didn’t interrupt. “This life,” Joss went on, glancing briefly toward the windows, the Yard beyond them. “It’s not for me. I can’t be responsible for people’s lives. I can’t be the one who gives the order and then lives with what happens after.”
Than felt the words hit his chest, sharp and intimate.
Joss turned to Fly. “I would follow you anywhere,” he said, without hesitation. “Anywhere. But leading? Losing people?” His throat worked. “That’s not something my conscience can handle.”
Fly held his gaze. “That doesn’t make you weak,” Fly said quietly.
Joss nodded, relief flickering across his face like he’d needed to hear it aloud.
He came to attention then, sudden and formal, hand snapping up in a clean salute. Fly returned it instantly, just as crisp.
“Good luck, sir,” Joss said.
Fly dropped his hand. “Take care of yourself.”
Joss left without looking back.
Bridge watched him go, jaw tight. Then she turned to Fly, eyes hard with resolve. “I’m staying,” she said. “Not just staying. I’m going back to sailing.”
Fly’s brow lifted slightly. “Yeah?”
She nodded. “New instructor’s solid. No ego. Knows when to listen.” Her mouth tightened. “I’m skippering my own boat next term.” That landed. “I learned too much from you to walk away now,” she added. “I’m not dishonoring Mei by quitting. Not a chance.”
Fly’s mouth curved, just barely. “She’d like that.”
“I know,” Bridge said. For the first time, her voice softened. She stood, coffee still untouched. “I’ve got drills. I’ll see you around.”
When she was gone, the space she left felt heavier than it should have. Than stared into his cup, Fly’s words from days earlier looping in his head. You don’t get to quit because it hurts. The truth of it scraped deep.
If he postponed BUD/S now, it wouldn’t be strategy. It would be retreat. Wrapped up in grief. Sanitized by good intentions. Mei wouldn’t have wanted that. He knew it the way he knew water pressure and wind shift. In his bones.
Fly stood, slinging his jacket over one shoulder. “You good?”
Than looked up.
“Yeah,” he said. The word felt raw. Real. “I will be.”
