Panama City, Florida

Scarecrow and Wicked stood outside Blue’s apartment. “Maybe we should have texted him first,” Wicked said, looking more uncomfortable by the second. He was sweating.

“You all right?”

“Is anything about this all right?” Wicked ground out, clenching his fists.

“None of us want to talk about this. But dammit, Wicked, suck it up.” Scarecrow grabbed the big man’s arm and brought him to a halt. “We’re going to talk about it until we’re blue in the face if that’s what it takes.”

Wicked’s eyes narrowed. “Can’t we just get shit-faced like normal guys, have a fist fight, then make up and drink some more?”

Scarecrow set his hands on his hips. “Do you want to be the reason this team doesn’t gel anymore? Do you want to be part of that, ruining something that was damn good?”

Wicked tipped his head back and swore a blue streak. “Fuck you, Crow.”

“Did I hit a nerve? Good. You’re always so goddamned cryptic.” Scarecrow ducked the swing directed at his jaw and took a step back as Wicked planted his feet.

“He knows how we feel.” The quiet declaration was like a shout.

“No, he doesn’t. He probably thinks we don’t respect him anymore. You can’t even look him in the eye. I was an idiot. You saw his meditation room. He destroyed it. He’s hurting, man. Because of us. We have to make this right. So stop acting like an asshole.” Wicked closed his eyes, and Scarecrow watched as he battled with himself. There was much more going on here than what had happened with Blue. “We’re brothers. We need to support Blue no matter how hard this is. He deserves it. We deserve it. If we don’t, it’s as if we left him behind in battle. I’m not doing that.”

Wicked dropped his head and set his hands on his hips. Scarecrow could feel the struggle in him. “You’re right. Fuck you, but you’re right.”

“Gentlemen,” a female voice said. “Could you identify yourselves?”

He looked up to find a gorgeous dark-haired woman dressed in a suit, her hand resting on the butt end of a gun still in her holster. The guy next to her was sharply dressed in a suit, his piecing blue eyes warning them not to make any sudden moves.

“Arlo Porter and Orion Cross. We’re Navy SEALs. Who wants to know?”

“Friends of Ocean Beckett?”

“Yes, we’re here to see him,” Scarecrow said.

“Who the hell are you?” Wicked asked.

“NCIS.” The grave looks on their faces made Scarecrow’s gut clench.

“What happened?”

They explained in quick detail. “We found out that the man who had been following him is part of Irina Komaroff’s crew.”

“Who’s Irina Komaroff?”

“Natasha Golovkin’s older sister. She’s out for blood.”

---

San Diego, California

Blue had easily found Charlie’s family estate. It was a good thing he had mad skills at breaking and entering SEAL style. He’d stopped by the base first to pick up what he needed: an Afghan urban assault hook, his navy-issued automatic, face paint, his side arm, and his body armor. He was already geared up, locked, and loaded when he tossed the hook up to the wall. The hooks were designed for scaling the thick, high mud walls typically found surrounding compounds in Afghanistan. Once the hook connected to the top of the wall, the operator could jerk on the folded-up ladder attached to it, which released a swing arm atop the hook. That secondary hook snagged the wall to create a secure anchor point for operators to begin climbing the now fully unfurled ladder.

It worked like a charm on Charlie’s wall. Every sense on alert for danger, he dropped down into a lush garden. He crouched there, taking in the lay of the land. He didn’t want to tip anyone off if they were waiting for him to rush to Charlie to protect her.

He needed a cool head here.

In the past, Navy SEALs used to go through walls with a forty-pound charge. But in this instance, he didn’t want to wake the neighborhood and tip off that bitch’s sister. He was going in, and God help anyone who stood in his way.

He moved through the dense foliage and crouched in the darkness, his eyes moving across the landscape, looking for any threat. When he spied nothing, he raced across some the open patch to the inground pool area. Going down a terraced flight of stairs, he crouched low and moved quickly past the glistening turquoise water as a breeze blew, rustling the bushes and sending the edges of the colorful blue and white umbrellas dotted around the massive pool flapping.

He paused before he hit the patio, decked out with a fire pit and enough seating for a small party. This place was huge.

He set down his weapon, looking around to make sure he hadn’t been spotted, then began working on the door mechanism. When he popped the lock, he grabbed his sub-auto and opened it enough for him to slip inside.

Closing and locking it behind him, he found himself in a massive kitchen. The light from the living room beyond illuminated the glossy granite countertops, giving him the ability to make out the huge side-by-side fridge, three ovens, and pricey artwork.

With his finger alongside the trigger of his sub-auto, he took two steps.

“Don’t move a muscle,” said a female voice from behind him, full of business.

Then he heard the distinctive sound of her cocking a shotgun, pumping a shell into the chamber.

---

Scarecrow and Wicked headed for the airport, already dialing LT’s number. When he answered, Scarecrow told him what NCIS had found out. Ruckus swore under his breath.

“Where is Blue now?”

“We don’t know. He’s not answering his phone.”

“Dammit. Get your butts back here. I want you in the ready room after you land. I’ll muster the others. Keep me posted.”

“Copy that,” Scarecrow said.

They landed back in San Diego five hours later the same day. When they walked into the ready room, everyone was there: Cowboy, Kid Chaos and his wife, Paige, Tank, and Hollywood.

Ruckus pointed to two vacant chairs, and as they sat, Bronte came over to them, greeting them with her cold muzzle and wagging tail. “Hey, girl,” Scarecrow murmured, absently petting her as he turned his attention to Paige at the front of the room.

“I’ve been in touch with the Panama City Office, and I’m afraid that it’s confirmed that Irina Komaroff is in the US.” She clicked the remote, and Irina’s picture flashed on the screen. “This was taken fourteen days ago at the Panama City International Airport. There have been no more sightings of her, and at this point, we don’t have any idea where she is. But NCIS is working on finding her.”

The tension in the room ratcheted up a notch. “So, she could have Blue and could be torturing again,” Hollywood said, his voice gruff. “Son of a bitch.”

“We don’t know where he is at this point. We know his plane touched down and when, but after that, nothing.”

Paige’s cell phone rang, and she answered it, moving quietly off toward the door.

“I can’t sit around here waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Cowboy drawled. “If she has him, we’ve got to find him before it’s too late.”

Kid was watching his wife, and he straightened when she turned back to the group. “A woman and six men, two of them matching the description Blue gave, chartered a private plane.”

“Where?” Scarecrow asked, his body as tight as a drum.

“San Diego. She’s already here.”

---

“Hands up and where I can see them, or I’m going to pull the trigger.”

Damn, that girl meant some business. He raised his hands and turned around. The shock on Charlie’s face would be almost comical if this wasn’t such a serious situation.

“Blue,” she breathed and secured the gun. Setting it on the counter, she ran to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her gaze for a moment, then lifted her face and gave her a slow, comforting kiss. He heard her breath catch, and she gripped his wrists.

Tightening his hold, he moved his mouth ever so softly against hers, the clean scent of her filling his senses. Releasing an unsteady sigh, he gathered her up in a secure embrace, tucking her head against the curve of his neck. He didn’t say anything. He just closed his eyes and drew her deeper into his embrace, his chest tightening. He cupped the back of her head, her hair soft and silky against his skin. He could breathe again. She was safe for now, and he intended for her to stay that way.

“You changed your mind?”

“No, not exactly. It wasn’t me they were watching, Charlie. It was you.”

“Me. Why…oh my God, who?”

“Irina Komaroff. Natasha’s sister. She’s here in San Diego. She’s coming after you.”

“She can try,” Charlie said, her features hardening.

He smiled. He couldn’t seem to help it. “You ready to kick some ass, babe?”

“Damn straight.”

“How did you know I was in the house?”

“Security system. It’s state of the art. My dad installed it when he bought some valuable art. I’ve kept it updated all these years.”

“It covers the whole grounds?”

“It does,” she said with a smile. “Every last inch.”

“I need to use your phone.”

---

Scarecrow paced the room while the other guys all milled around waiting for some word on the whereabouts of Irina. Wherever she was, that’s where they’d find Blue.

His cell rang, and he looked down to see that it was his mom’s number. Unable to concentrate on anything other than figuring out where Blue was, he declined the call. She called back, and he put the phone on silent.

Then in the quiet, the ready room phone started to ring. “Put it on speaker,” Ruckus said as Scarecrow answered.

“Lieutenant Cooper,” Ruckus growled.

“LT?”

“Blue. Where the hell are you?”

“In some deep shit. I need you guys.”

“All we need is an address.”

Blue rattled off one. “Be advised. Irina Komaroff, Natasha’s sister, and six of her goons are already here. They’re after a navy diver, Charlotte Coventry. That address is her family’s estate. We spotted them on the grounds, but we’ve got—”

The line went dead, and everyone started moving.

---

Blue headed for the light switch and turned it off. In the dark, he made his way back to Charlie. “Garage?”

“Oh, vehicle, escape. Good idea. This way.”

Automatic gunfire ripped into the house, mixing in with breaking glass, exploding glassware, and shredded furniture. Blue pulled Charlie down with him to the floor. She covered her ears, and he flipped to his back and returned fire. “Crawl to the hallway. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Blue.”

“Go, Charlie. I’m the guy with the gun and the experience. Move!”

A body hurtled through the open window. Blue, still on his back, fired off four fast rounds. It caught the man in the chest and blew him back as blood splattered against the wall right before his body hit and slid down into a heap.

More automatic gunfire erupted, and Blue scrambled across the hardwood, his body armor catching as he propelled himself into the hallway too fast, and he hit the stairs with his back. Charlie was huddled just a few feet in front of him. She would have seen the guy he’d shot. Her eyes were fixed and determined, and a surge of adrenaline went through him at the sight of her. She had ducked into the kitchen and gotten the shotgun. It was clutched in her hands, and it looked like she was ready to unload it.

He got up just as gunfire ripped into the front door. He ran down the hall in a hail of bullets, plaster, and wood, grabbing her as he went past. Immediately he shielded her with his body as he depressed the trigger to return fire.

He ran, his steps so wide she was forced to run hard. They made it to the end of the hall, but the kitchen was blocked with two goons. Luckily, they had their backs to them. “It’s through there. Through them,” Charlie whispered close to Blue’s ear, so the two goon road blocks wouldn’t hear them.

“We need to make a hole then,” he whispered back.

“Copy that,” she said, slowly cocking the gun, and—boom—she discharged the shotgun into the room. The shot struck the closest man as he screamed and went down, his face bloody. The second man didn’t even get off a shot as she pumped again and blew him back and into the wall.

“Hole made,” she said.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” he murmured as they went through the kitchen. Shouts from the side of the house sounded off as the intruders realized they were moving toward the garage.

Charlie ran ahead of him and opened the door. “This way.” She gestured hurriedly. “Get the lead out.”

Charlie slammed the door and locked it against the threat of heavy footsteps and the crunch of glass beneath boots.

“It’s not going to hold them long.”

She grabbed a set of keys from a hook near the door and ran to an SUV. “Get inside.”

Before they could enter the vehicle, the door disintegrated and blew inward. The blast knocked Blue back and against the side of the SUV. Charlie disappeared in the smoke and debris, but the sound of the garage door rising was the only sound left in the wake of the explosion.

Through the splintered door, Irina Komaroff stepped inside, dressed all in black with a pair of commando boots on her feet. Shock coursed through him at how much she resembled her sister. For a moment, he was back in the run-down mansion, back in that small basement cell where Natasha was breaking his will. But he fought it off, fought against what he thought she had taken, but that he had actually given to her. He had never lost it. His personal power was always his, no matter what happened to him. He took it back.

His sub-auto was not far from him, but out of his reach, snug up against the back wall. The garage door continued to lift.

He lunged for his weapon, knowing it was futile but not giving up. She slammed her foot into his chest and pinned him to the floor.

She raised the side arm in her hand and pointed it at his head. “Where is she?”

“Go to hell,” he said.

“Tell me where she is, and I’ll make this quick. Defy me, and I will make you watch as I carve her into little pieces fit for the fishes in her pond.”

He clamped his teeth together. With any luck, Charlie was already long gone.

“You have until the count of five.”

He just stared at her.

“One…two…three…four…”

“Five!” Charlie shouted, and the shotgun exploded. Irina threw herself to the side as her two goons took cover. Charlie scooped up his semi-automatic as he rose, tossing it to him as he dove into the passenger seat. She jumped into the driver’s seat, started the vehicle, and gunned the engine.

Peeling rubber, she barreled down the driveway. “Shit!” she yelled as one of her tires blew out. Blue looked back to see Irina and her goons running after them. Charlie wrestled with the vehicle, but they blew out another tire and she braked hard as the vehicle slid off the driveway sideways onto the grass.

The vehicle’s momentum was too much, and it rolled twice, coming upright against the stone wall. Charlie was slumped over the wheel. Blue turned his body and kicked at his ruined door until it swung open. He propelled himself out of the vehicle and took a bead on the running Kirikhans. They took cover behind some topiaries.

A bullet whizzed by Blue’s head so close he could feel the heat of it score his temple, knocking him back against the SUV.

As he reached for a clip, one of the goons was already advancing on him. He fumbled it just as the guy reached him.

The sound of metal on metal clashed in the air as a vehicle crashed through the gate, sending one half of the wrought iron careening into a cluster of rose bushes. Then seven SEALs, armed to the teeth, jumped out of the assault vehicle and ran at them, shouting at them to drop their weapons. Irina fired back along with her goons, and his team—his brothers—returned fire until the three Kirikhans were down, unmoving, blood pooling around them.

Blue pushed off the hood and watched as Scarecrow ran to him. He met Blue’s eyes, his gratitude and love for his brother unmistakable. When he was almost there, one of the Kirikhans came unexpectedly from around the vehicle with Scarecrow in his sights.

“Crow, watch out,” Blue shouted as Irina’s goon discharged his weapon. Blue threw himself in its trajectory, and it sliced into his arm. Without hesitating, gritting his teeth against the pain, he barreled toward the man, hitting him like a battering ram. With his knee in the man’s chest, he threw two punches and disarmed him.

He turned and saw that Scarecrow was down. “No!” he shouted as he rose and sprinted to him. His eyes were open, but blood was soaking into his uniform.

“Blue, your case,” Kid said as he dropped Blue’s medical gear near him. “Is it bad?”

He shouldered Kid out of the way and grabbed a pair of shears out of his bag. He cut away scarecrow’s uniform and grimaced. The bullet had hit his chest, above the fleshy part of his pectoral. He was gasping. “It’s going to be all right,” Blue said as he got to work stemming the flow of blood and controlling the bleeding.

Even as he finished with the pressure bandage, he could hear sirens in the distance.

Wicked was sitting at Scarecrow’s head while the others were mopping up the scene, making sure there were no other goons to contend with. Hollywood was tending to Charlie’s scraped temple as she watched Blue work on Scarecrow, her eyes shining.

As the ambulance pulled up, the EMTs jumped out of their vehicle and raced over to them with a stretcher. As they loaded Scarecrow up, he clasped Blue’s hand. “I need to talk to you.”

“Later,” Blue said. “Get him out of here.”

“What about your arm?” one of the EMTs said, respect in his eyes.

“It’s nothing. I can take care of it myself.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, then ran to the ambulance. They loaded up Crow and raced off.

Blue sat down and pulled off his bloody shirt. He reached for some antiseptic wipes, but Charlie’s hands covered his. “Let me,” she said softly.

He released the packet, and she ripped it open. He bit his lip at the sting of the antiseptic. She cleaned the area thoroughly. As thoroughly as he would have. She reached for a bandage, pulling off the tabs. As she pressed it down, she whispered, “Thank you.”

He closed his eyes. “Charlie…now that this is over, I want to talk to you—” She covered his mouth with her fingertips, her eyes sad.

“We have unfinished business. I know that. But I need time, Blue. I have to understand myself and what I want before I can finish what we started.”

He stared at her, his heart dropping. “How much time?”

“I don’t know. It’s complicated. You’re a SEAL. I’m a diver. How would we ever make this work?”

“That’s just the fear talking. We would,” he said, turning toward her and taking her hands. “We’d find a way.”

She closed her eyes. “I don’t know if I can risk everything again. I just don’t know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re still afraid of loss?”

“Yes. Our jobs are so dangerous.”

“All the more to live for every moment,” he said.

She shook her head and rose as Ruckus came up to them.

He crouched down and said, “You ready to get back on the team, Blue?”

Charlie took a step back, her eyes filling. When she turned away and started to walk back toward her house, he felt as if he was losing everything. But he latched onto Ruckus’s words. “Hooyah,” he said. “I am, sir, but I still need some time to see a therapist.”

Ruckus nodded and smiled. “Welcome back, Blue.”

---

In his bloody T-shirt, fresh from battle, Blue walked into the hospital with Ruckus. They went up to the floor where Scarecrow had been taken. He was in surgery to remove the bullet and patch him up. Ruckus found out the doctors considered it a routine procedure. There was some damage, and he would be out of commission for a few weeks, but nothing that would slow him down.

When they exited the elevator, his teammates all came over to him, hugging him and talking about how badass he was to take on Irina and six of her goons by himself. He smiled and said, “I wasn’t alone.”

That’s when they all sat down together. Blue met Tank’s eyes. They’d already reconnected after his visit to Panama City.

“It’s good to have you back,” Hollywood said. “We’re sorry about what happened to you in Kirikhanistan. If we could have gotten to you sooner—”

“I know,” Blue said as he squeezed Hollywood’s shoulder. “I know you would have. Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“Never gonna happen,” Wicked said.

That knot under his breastbone unraveled a bit at Wicked’s comment.

“We’re proud as hell to fight alongside you, Blue.”

Wicked had always been a man of few words. But those words were all he needed to know. With his eyes full of the respect that Blue worried had been lost, Wicked said, “Hooyah. The Brotherhood.”

Everyone chimed in, and the sound of their solidarity echoed off the walls and down the corridors of the hospital like a battle cry.

After a moment, their conversation shifted to giving Kid a hard time for almost clearing out the candy machine.

“I want the Kit Kat bar,” Tank said, and there were several protests.

“Fuck that. Give me the 3 Musketeers bar, man, and no one gets hurt,” Cowboy said.

“I’ll freaking arm wrestle you for that one. It’s worth that fluffy, whipped nougat,” Kid said.

“Were there any M&Ms?” Everyone turned to Hollywood.

“You gotta go there and bogart the M&Ms. I think there’s enough to share,” Kid said, rolling his eyes. “I think there’s plenty to share with everyone.” A grin spread. “But I’m keeping the 3 Musketeers.”

Everyone groaned, and it started up all over again.

“Can I have a word with you?” Wicked asked. “Privately.”

Blue and Wicked walked to just beyond the argumentsk, and Blue turned to Wicked with a smile on his face, feeling as if everything was getting back to normal.

“It’s probably no surprise that I’ve been struggling with what happened to you.”

Blue had moved to a different place. Even a week ago, he would probably have walked away from Wicked, but he understood now. It wasn’t that Wicked didn’t respect him, it was because he hurt for Blue and didn’t know how to express it.

“If someone’s sense of trust has been broken, and they’ve been hurt, they can sometimes get into excessive control as a way to try and make sure they don’t experience hurt again,” Wicked said.

“True.” Wicked was obviously talking about himself, and Blue had to wonder what had happened between Kat Harrington, that tough redheaded spook, and the never-give-an-inch warrior. Blue responded, “The need to be in control can lead anyone to put undue pressure on themselves, to close down and isolate themselves further or to try to ruthlessly control the immediate environment and their lives. But it’s out of fear, not enlightenment.”

“In your case, it was about having control and choice taken away. This could be about control over your body and how it reacted to the torture, or how you react to memories of the torture now. But I was pissed and reacting to the control that was taken away from us, as a team, to be able to get to you and save you. We all feel like we failed you. That’s on us and something we can work out.” He grabbed Blue by the back of the neck and his fingers tightened with his next words, shaking Blue slightly. “But don’t for one minute think I don’t respect you. That’s just not true and will never be true.” He looked Blue straight in the eyes and the rest of his worry just dissipated. “You are one of the best men I have ever met, and I mean that in the deepest meaning about being a man, not in this macho bullshit we all perpetuate to keep ourselves in fighting form. That’s necessary. But I’m lucky to be in the presence of such warriors. Hooyah!”

Blue smiled as Wicked said hooyah. Every one of them stopped their bickering about chocolate, and the sound of it once again echoed against the walls. It was the most Wicked had ever said to him, and Blue had no doubt he’d go back to his stoic self. Blue was okay with that. He’d jumped out of his comfort zone to make sure Blue knew the score. That was more than enough.

After that, they all sat, talked, and shared the bounty, even the 3 Musketeers, until it got quiet, then before Blue knew it, he’d fallen asleep. He dreamed of Charlie warm and curled against him. But when Blue opened his eyes, there was nothing but wall to wall SEALs. The doctor was talking to Ruckus, but the other guys were out cold. Ruckus nodded, and Blue rose and went over there. “Scarecrow?”

“He’s conscious. He’s asking for you. Why don’t you go in before these knuckleheads wake up and it’s a free for all?”

“Thanks, LT.” He walked into the room, and Scarecrow was lying there, bandages around his shoulder and across his chest, IVs and heart monitor going.

“Hey, man,” Scarecrow said.

Blue walked over, and they clasped hands. Blue sat down, and Scarecrow said, “Thanks for patching me up. Felt like old times.”

Blue smiled, and it felt good. “Yeah, well, it’s my job to keep all the blood inside the body.”

“You took a hit for me.” He looked away. “I appreciate that.”

“What are brothers for?”

Scarecrow nodded. “Look, Blue. About before you left.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“I’m sorry. I reacted badly to how we found you. I just got pissed.”

“At me?”

“No. Hell no. More self-directed. We were so close to getting you back. I thought if I could have been just a little bit faster…I could have spared you that situation.” He looked away again, his voice a little uneven. “Instead it was like abandoning you all over again.”

“You didn’t abandon me, Crow. None of you did. It was the way the shit went down, out of our control.” He smiled as a quote from Zen Master Suzuki Roshi came to him. “To control your cow, give it a bigger pasture.”

Crow laughed. “I’ve missed your out-of-left-field shit, man.”

“Stick with Kid and you’ll get plenty of random,” Cowboy said from the door. They looked toward the entrance to the room where six brothers stood, all trying to peer in.

“What kind of random crap, Kid?” Blue asked.

“Our bodies are made up of sixty-five percent water.” He glanced at Hollywood. “Well, all except Hollywood.”

“Sixty-five percent bullshit,” Wicked said, and Kid laughed while Hollywood shrugged with a smart-ass grin. The laugher felt good.

Hollywood said, “Did you know, Kid, that the tongue is the strongest muscle in the human body? I bet yours could lift a freaking car.”

“Two words, one finger, Hollywood.”

Blue glanced over at Ruckus, who was leaning against the doorframe, a satisfied look on his face. Blue smiled. Damn, he had some stuff to still figure out, but this…this was everything.

---

Three Weeks Later Maui, Hawaii

He watched the sun come up over the big waves as he sat in the sand, his eyes closed and his senses open. Getting back to meditating had been a journey. He wasn’t quite all the way there, but he was progressing. He sensed it the moment the sun inched up over the horizon, the light touching his face, the warmth flowing through him. A breeze blew across his bare chest and upturned face.

“It’s going to be another gorgeous day,” Kanye said. The “therapist” he’d chosen was an employee of his dad’s, Kanye, which in Hawaiian meant free. He was an old dude who had always been influential in Blue’s life. He could shape a surfboard by touch, and every one of Blue’s boards had been enhanced by this man. He might not be trained in psychotherapy, but he had a degree in life that Blue had discovered to be much more profound. Along with his dad, this man had shaped his life.

Blue rose, the waves speaking to him, and he grabbed his board for another lesson. Surfing was an escape, there was no doubt about it, a natural high and an adrenaline rush. But the whole nature versus man thing, pitting himself against the ocean, appealed to him at a base, competitive level. It was here, where he searched himself so deep and long, that he had found the path back to inner peace.

Almost. The nightmares and the flashbacks were fewer, but they were still part of his struggle. He needed Charlie. Needed her to make him whole.

He hadn’t heard from her in all this time, not even a text. He’d let her be. No two waves were the same, and they crashed and rolled to their own rhythm. That’s the one thing Kanye had said to hammer it home to him that he and Charlie might have had a very deep connection, but what she had experienced was different from his own. Like a surfboard, Blue couldn’t rush perfection.

He raced to the water, his body honed and strong from so much wave riding. He’d pushed himself at the gym to get back into top SEAL condition. His brothers were waiting for him to return.

Kanye had taken him back to his roots, had talked to him about life and the principles that Blue had been raised to embrace. It was why he’d had such a hard time with witnessing Rory’s sexual molestation and been unable to affect any change in that area, even when he knew he was right. When he’d come home, he’d had a long talk with his parents about what happened. They apologized and said that the moment the camp counselor had been arrested on charges of molestation, they realized he had been telling the truth. But they did it out of love for him and to protect him. He’d come to terms with the way they had treated him and forgave them for shunting his feelings aside.

But that incident, along with what had happened in his past, including his torture at the hands of Natasha, were really behind him. He’d relearned Hawaiian philosophy. Seven tenets that were so deep and profound that the moment he reconnected with them, he’d found pieces of his inner balance that needed to be woven into a whole. Pono stipulated that effectiveness was the measure of truth. There wasn’t just one way to do something, and that had given him the impetus to seek out Kanye and ask for his help. Ike, Makia, and Manawa opened up his mind.

Ike was about knowing what he believed was what was real to him. Ideas created reality in everything. It was his basis for understanding what needed to be done in SEAL training. Makia’s tenet was energy flows where attention goes. By focusing on his torture, he’d only made it worse. Kanye had told Blue in simple terms. He could change his focus. It was up to him, and daily surfing had helped with that. It was immediate, and he had to live in the moment. Then there was Manawa. The present was the most powerful moment. The here and now. Not the future, not the past, but now. That’s where Blue needed to live: in the immediate present.

Mana. The stuff of life. It lived in everything—plants, people, the earth. Hawaiians believed it was the source of all power in the universe. It fueled Blue, and he felt the power of it every time he took a wave.

Kala. No limits. Nothing stood in his way that he didn’t perceive as an obstacle. It was so close to what it meant to have the mental toughness to be a SEAL. There were no boundaries, no complications, nothing but open water.

Then the last, the most beautiful. Aloha. The word had many meanings to Hawaiians, and it defined their culture, but to him, Aloha was love. It’s what he felt for Charlie, and it radiated out of him.

Feeling refreshed after his surf therapy session, he headed up to his sister’s house. She lived there with her doctor husband and their four-year-old daughter, Sophia.

After showering, his Sophia enticed him to color with her on the lanai. His sister was busy with redecorating the bathroom. He sat on the floor with his niece. She pushed too hard on the crayon she was using, and it snapped. She drew a happy face with one of her broken crayons, then smiled.

“I’m sorry, Soph. You want me to find one that isn’t broken?”

“No, Uncle Ocean. Don’t you know that broken crayons still color and there’s two of them now?”

He blinked. His heart turned over, and he felt his eyes fill. Out of the mouth of babes. He pulled her up onto his lap and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, sweetheart. You are a little life savior.”

“You got any?”

“What?”

“Life Savers. I like the cheery ones.”

“Do you mean cherry?”

“Yeah.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s what I said, cheery.”

Something that had been knotted from the moment he’d walked away from Charlie loosened and fell away. He’d been such a fool to let her go without a fight. He rose as his sister came into the room. She looked at him. “You’re leaving.”

“Yeah, I have something I need to do.” He embraced her, holding her close. Reconnecting with family had been the next to last piece of the whole. “Tell Mom and Dad I love them.”