The Bear's Redemption

Chapter 6

Makini

Whose dumb ass idea was it to invite Kuma to post-op beers again?

Oh yeah. Jax. Of course.

I’m sitting on the couch, trying to radiate serious Master Sergeant Leader Chill, the kind that says I have my life together, I am unbothered. I absolutely do not notice how broad his shoulders are or how he somehow smells like forest and bonfire.

But inside? Inside, I’m a damn schoolgirl waiting for her crush to glance her way.

Darn it, Makini.

What is wrong with you?

We’ve survived ambushes, extraction missions, and half a dozen near-death situations. I’ve led black ops. I’ve faced down generals and monsters. But the second that giant bear of a man walks into a room, smiling now, like he belongs here?

I forget how to function. And that’s not ideal.

Especially when he laughs at something Jax says, and it does something weird to my chest.

Nope. Absolutely not. I’m the leader here. Professional. Focused. Emotionally untouchable. Tactical genius.

Totally not watching him from the corner of my eye like a lovesick i***t.

Totally.

I'm not even sure when our mutual disdain turned into… this. This whatever-it-is.

I used to grit my teeth just hearing his name. “Grumpy Bear,” Jax called him, and I’d roll my eyes so hard it hurt. He hated us, hated me especially. Just another human to him, another face to blame for what the NNA had done.

And maybe I didn’t blame him for it.

But still, the tension between us? It used to be the kind that made rooms feel colder. Now… It’s something else. Warmer. Sharper. Confusing as hell.

He looks up right then, like he feels me watching, and our eyes lock for just a second too long.

My stomach flips. Nope. Not doing this.

I tear my gaze away, pretending I’m studying the dregs in my cup like it holds the secrets of the universe.

This was not part of the plan, not in any of the strategic projections. Definitely not in the mission brief.

Then he decides to come sit right next to me. And just like that, my nerves are shot to hell.

He’s a furnace, heat radiating off him like a damn wildfire. His scent hits me before my brain even catches up, earthy and warm, a hint of smoke and something that makes my instincts sit up and pay attention. Not fair. Not safe.

I try to play it cool, take a sip of my drink.

Which promptly misses half my mouth and ends up on my shirt.

Flawless.

Good job, Makini. Master Sergeant of the Year.

Jax snorts loud enough to make the others look. “Real smooth, Master Sergeant.”

I glare at him, but the damage is done, the others are all biting back smiles, Gin even letting out a poorly disguised wheeze. I feel my face heat up.

Kuma, bless his grizzly bear heart, takes pity on me.“So, Sarg,” he rumbles, eyes twinkling just slightly. “What’s the next op then?”

Jax bolts upright like he sat on a live wire. “Perfect!”

He charges to the liquor cabinet, practically vibrating with excitement. “Shot!” he shouts, digging around with dramatic flair.

Kuma blinks, utterly confused. Gin grins so wide I’m surprised her face doesn’t c***k. “Rule number two of post-op beers,” she explains, “No talk of ops.”

“Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that?” Kuma grumbles, but it’s light, teasing.

I lean in just slightly, smirking. “You learn on the go.”

He shoots me a raised brow and a sideways grin that does terrible things to my stomach. “So what are the other rules, then?”

Jax returns triumphantly and hands him what looks like a triple shot of tequila.

“For body mass,” he claims. I guess he added a new rule then.

“Actually,” Gin says innocently, like they didn’t just make this s**t up, “that is part of the rules.”

Kuma eyes the shot, fake sighs like a soldier about to march into battle… and throws it back in one go.

“Can I at least know how many rules there are?” he asks, wincing slightly.

“Nope,” Gin answers, popping the P.

Kuma clinks his glass with mine. “Welcome to the suffering.”

And for a second, just a second, I let myself laugh. Let myself feel how damn good it is to be part of this madness. Even if Kuma’s arm is a little too close. Even if this crush is a very, very bad idea.

Still. Maybe bad ideas are just part of the rules too.

After that, the beers flow a little too well. Kuma and Jax have taken to inventing the most ridiculous rules just to get the other to drink, and they’re both pretty buzzed. Of course, the standing rule still applies; Kuma drinks three shots for every one of Jax’s.

Jax went on this long, winding speech about body mass and shifter metabolism that somehow devolved into a deep dive into the migration patterns of Egyptian ducks. Yep, definitely wasted.

Gin and Cho have suspiciously disappeared again. Big surprise there. And now Jax has stumbled off to hunt for food, muttering something about tactical sandwiches.

I’m half-sprawled on the couch, totally relaxed, with Kuma lying on the floor beside me.

“You know how awesome Navy SEALs are?” he mutters, slurring slightly. “Man, you’re something else.”

“Yes, Griz, you’ve told me three times in the last five minutes,” I laugh.

“But it’s true!” he insists, like that’s the issue I had with it.

I just snort at him, amused, and then he sits up suddenly, eyes serious, swaying a little.

“You are so damn amazing, ‘Kini. I was so wrong about you. Stars, you impress me more every day.”

It’s drunken flattery, sure, but I feel my heart flutter anyway.

“Shut up, Griz,” I half-laugh, half-sigh.

“And you are so damn beautiful,” he adds. “The ancients know, I wanna kiss you so bad.”

“Grizz, you’re gonna feel really dumb about this tomorrow,” I warn gently.

“No, ‘tis the truth,” he slurs out.

I don’t know what comes over me, tequila, beer, stupidity, or bravery, but I lean in and kiss him. He’s shocked for a second, then kisses me back, pulling me down until I’m straddling him. I’m completely lost in the kiss, in him.

And then someone cracks up laughing.

We whip around to find Jax in the doorway, doubled over.

“Well slap my tail and call me Smokey,” he chokes out between snorts. “The bear does cuddle!”

I bury my face in Kuma’s shoulder, mortified. Kuma is half-laughing, half-mortified.

I glare up at Jax, still laughing. “Jax, I swear on the last tequila shot, I will skin you.”

Jax, of course, laughs harder. “You would, but then who’d keep track of Rule #7: never interrupt a bear mid-smooch?”

“Pretty sure you just broke that one,” I mutter, still caught between wanting to vanish into thin air and grin like an i***t.

“Exceptions can be made for historic moments,” Jax says, wiping his eyes. “Next post-op, we’re putting up warning signs. 'Caution: Bears in Heat.'”

Kuma sorts a laugh and I groan out. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Jax says, backing out the door dramatically. He’s still laughing as he disappears.

I bury my face in Kuma’s neck and whisper, “We are never drinking with him again.”

Kuma’s chest rumbles as he laughs.