Eventually, Harper sprawled on her back, looking up at the sky, and announced, “If I die tonight, I want you all to know I was happier here than at any time in the last decade.”
“That’s so fucking sad,” Riley said, but he smiled.
Jack stared into the flames, voice unexpectedly soft. “Isn’t that what this is all for? To feel something bigger, even if it’s just for a night?”
Ethan nodded, the words ringing so true he thought he might cry.
Nobody answered, but it didn’t feel like a question.
Someone started humming an old country tune, and the others joined in, off-key but together.
As the fire burned down to a red glow, Ethan pulled his knees up, resting his chin there. He watched the shadows dance on the faces he’d started to care about, on the man he was maybe a little in love with, and decided he wasn’t going to hold anything back anymore.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever again.
Ethan noticed Riley’s focus shift from the group to him, a silent bullseye drawn in the campfire light. He could almost feel Riley’s gaze burrowing through his clothes, down to the place in his chest where all the chaos pulsed.
“Hey, come help me with the firewood?” Riley said.
Ethan followed Riley into the darkness, away from the circle. The forest was full of tiny noises: the scrape of branch on windbreaker, the hush of moss underfoot, Riley’s slightly ragged breathing. They stopped by the pile of cut logs, moonlight silvering their edges.
Riley turned to face him, his pupils enormous. “You know I love you, right?”
Ethan grinned, the words catching him off guard. “We’ve known each other less than a week.”
Riley put his hands on Ethan’s shoulders, squeezing just enough to get his attention. “Doesn’t take that long to recognize your own kind.”
Ethan stiffened, felt a familiar urge to bolt, but Riley held him fast. “Don’t fucking panic,” Riley said, eyes both amused and deadly serious. “I’m not hitting on you. This isn’t about me.”
“Okay,” Ethan said, still feeling the edge of old, brittle defenses.
Riley took a deep breath, let it out slow. “You need to go for it with him. Cole. Stop pretending you’re just bros with intense eye contact. You two are going to combust if you don’t do something.”
Ethan shook his head. “I’m not—I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“Bullshit.” Riley smiled, not unkindly. “You know exactly what you’re doing. You’ve just never had the chance to admit it before.”
Ethan tried to laugh, but it caught in his throat. “I was married for ten years.”
“I know,” Riley said, voice gentler now. “But you’re not anymore. And I don’t think you ever had what you needed, not really. You’re dying for something real. And I think he’s the same. You just have to get out of your own way.”
The words hung there, bright as coals in the dark. Ethan heard them echoing, knew they were right, but also knew he was afraid to be that honest.
“I’m serious,” Riley continued. “You don’t get many chances in life. You want him, you take the shot. Worst case, you get rejected and drink more bourbon. Best case, you get to stop hiding.”
Ethan looked down at his shoes, the laces caked with mud. The ground felt suddenly unsteady, like it might crack open and swallow him. “I’ve never even—” he began, but the words withered.
Riley nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. “Nobody’s keeping score. You don’t need to know what you’re doing. You just have to want it.”
Ethan said nothing, and Riley’s hands softened their grip.
“Look,” Riley said, “you’re scared, I get it. The first time I hooked up with a guy, I threw up after. Thought the world would end. But it didn’t. It got better. It got fun. You’ll figure it out, or you won’t, but at least you’ll know.”
Ethan felt the truth of it, the inevitability. It wasn’t about being gay, or bi, or any of the labels. It was about wanting—about letting himself want.
The cold night air prickled along his skin, but the fire inside him was brighter, stronger. “Thank you,” Ethan said, the words small but clean.
