The swim dissolved into a game of chicken, Harper daring the others to stay under longest, Riley upping the ante with ever-more-ridiculous dares. The energy was pure and stupid and perfect, all the exhaustion of the trail burned out by the water’s bite.
Eventually, numb and shivering, they hauled themselves to shore. Ethan wrapped in a towel, teeth chattering, pulse racing.
Cole had a fire going by the time they returned, dry clothes set out like an unspoken gift. Harper and Riley disappeared into their tents to change. Jack sprawled by the fire, sullen from his encounter with the fish guts, but pleased enough with himself to not sulk for long.
Ethan dressed behind a tree, then lingered at the edge of camp. He tried to remember the last time he’d felt this alive—so much raw, immediate sensation, every nerve open.
He nearly missed Harper’s approach. She padded over in bare feet, hair a tangled flame, smile lazy.
“Hey,” she said. “Mind if I ask you something?”
Ethan shrugged. “Go ahead.”
She sat beside him, close but not touching. “I’ve seen how you look at him. Cole, I mean.”
Ethan felt the blood rush to his face, every inch of skin gone hot. “I don’t—”
“You do,” Harper said, gentle but relentless. “And it’s fine. Trust me, it’s way more interesting than Jack trying to seduce me.”
Ethan laughed, but it was a thin sound. “I’m not—I mean, it’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?” Harper nudged him, shoulder to shoulder.
He didn’t answer, but Harper didn’t seem to expect it.
Riley joined them, dropping down with a theatrical sigh. He looked at Ethan, “You good?”
Ethan shrugged.
“Life’s too short not to go after what you want.” Said Riley, the sincerity in his voice was clear as day.
Harper smiled, eyes crinkling. “Exactly.”
The three of them sat there, quiet for a while. The falls never stopped—always moving, always loud, impossible to ignore.
Ethan wondered if he’d ever be able to go back to his old life, or if it even existed anymore.
Dinner that night was trout and rice with a chunk of bread and butter for each of them along with some freeze-dried huckleberries. Jack insisted on a toast for “the best damn camp cooks in the Bitterroots,” and even Cole raised a mug, though he didn’t say a word.
The group settled in around the fire, huddling against the cold, mugs of hot cocoa passed hand to hand, stories looping back on themselves, everyone a little closer, a little warmer than before.
Jack slid closer to Harper “You know, if it gets any colder, we could always, uh, double up for body heat,” he said, nudging her with his knee.
Harper smiled, but it was all teeth. “Not tonight, not tomorrow night, not any night, Jack.”
Riley cackled, nearly spilling his cocoa. “God, I love you, Harper.”
Jack shrugged it off, but everyone saw the flush on his neck.
The conversation eventually grew more loose and laid back. Harper told stories about her time in Alaska—midnight sun, chainsaw carpentry, random flings, a woman who could drink a bottle of Everclear and still recite Shakespeare. Riley talked about an ex-boyfriend who moved to Miami and started selling pyramid-scheme protein powder.
Ethan barely contributed. He sat and watched the group, soaking in the heat, the laughter, the shape of the people around him. Every so often, his gaze drifted to Cole, who seemed more relaxed now—firelight softening the lines of his face, making him look younger, or maybe just less defended.
When the wind shifted and the smoke blew across the ring, Cole stood. “Going to check the lines,” he announced, heading into the dark with only a headlamp for company.
The group lingered a few minutes more before breaking apart. Harper cleaned the bowls, Riley went to brush his teeth with water from the stream, Jack burrowed into his tent muttering about Wi-Fi withdrawal.
Ethan stayed at the fire, feeding the coals with small sticks, letting the smoke curl around him. The sound of the falls was louder at night, a constant static that blanketed everything else.
