Riley returned and plopped down beside him, hands jammed in his jacket pockets. “You want to talk about it?” Riley asked, no preamble.
“About what?”
Riley made a face. “Dude. You’ve been on a different planet since we left the ranch.”
Ethan considered denial, then gave up. “It’s… I don’t know what it is.”
Riley leaned back, boots stretched toward the embers. “It doesn’t have to make sense. You think I planned on being a twink in the Montana backcountry? Life happens.”
Ethan let the silence fill up, only the rush of water and the snap of wood for company.
“You ever want something and not know if it’s even allowed?” Ethan said, low and shaky.
Riley nodded, serious for once. “All the time. When I was nineteen, I tried to straight-date a girl just because everyone said I should. Worst three weeks of her life.”
Ethan smiled, the image vivid and sad. “I was married. To a woman. For ten years.”
Riley whistled. “Damn.”
“Yeah.”
“You regret it?” Riley’s tone was light, but the question hit heavy.
Ethan shook his head. “I don’t regret her. I just… I think I regret never asking if I was allowed to want more.”
Riley’s hand found Ethan’s, a brief but deliberate touch, fingers curling around his knuckles like a secret handshake. “You get to want what you want,” Riley murmured, and at first it struck Ethan as simple, maybe even trite, but the words burrowed deep anyway, louder than the falls, more persistent than the ache behind his ribs.
Ethan opened his mouth to reply—thanks, or maybe something sarcastic—but what came out instead was a single, shaky exhale. His eyes stung, as if the smoke had finally caught up with him, but he didn’t look away. Riley’s gaze stayed steady, no judgment, no pity, just an unspoken acknowledgment thatpeople like them didn’t have to keep apologizing for what they wanted, or who.
Riley squeezed Ethan’s hand once more, then let go, as if passing a torch. “Seriously. If you need a pep talk, or a distraction, I’m your guy. Or, I don’t know, just someone to sit here and talk shit about Jack with. Whatever you need.”
The offer loosened something in Ethan’s chest. He gave a choked little laugh, surprised at how much lighter it felt. “You’ll have to work hard to top Jack’s own shit-talking,” Ethan said, voice scratchy but alive in a way it hadn’t been in months.
“Oh, challenge accepted,” Riley returned, grinning, then reached for a stick to poke at the fire. “Tomorrow I’m roasting him so hard he’ll have to sleep in the creek.”
Ethan nodded, and let his gaze drift up to the wavering constellations above. The air between them was easy, companionable, like they’d skipped a year’s worth of small talk and just landed here, beneath the dark slap of the universe.
After a minute, Riley stood, brushing the soot from his jeans. “I should crash. If I don’t, Harper’s going to steal the only dry sleeping bag.” He hesitated, then, softer: “You okay?”
Ethan thought about lying, but it seemed pointless. “I will be.”
“Good.” Riley smiled, genuine this time, then padded off into the shadows.
Ethan stayed put, letting the warmth of the fire work its way deeper. He listened as the camp settled: tent zippers, low murmurs, a distant laugh from Harper as she probably dragged Riley into a prank. The solitude wasn’t lonely tonight; it was more like space for a new shape of thought to form.
He traced the words over and over in his mind: You get to want what you want.
It felt dangerous, and also true.
A flashlight swept the perimeter; Cole returning, breath visible, boots thudding across the hard-packed dirt.
“Everything’s set,” Cole announced. “Weather’s holding. We leave at sunrise, so get some sleep if you can.”
The group nodded, none eager to move just yet. Cole lingered at the edge of the firelight, then added, “You did good today. All of you.”
When the fire burned down to coals, Riley and Cole peeled off, leaving Ethan alone at the embers. He let the cold settle in his bones before crawling to his tent, where the synthetic warmth of his bag felt both alien and comforting.
He lay there, listening to the waterfall and the hiss of wind in the pines, mind replaying every moment of the day.
