Ethan stood alone, watching Cole at the cliff's edge, hands on his hips, facing the vast expanse below. Even from this distance, Ethan could see the set of Cole's jaw, the hard straightness of his neck.
He wanted to call out—say something, anything—but the words, all the rehearsed apologies and explanations, scattered like leaves.
Instead, Ethan wandered the edge of camp, stalling. The wildflowers came up to his knees, alive with bugs and color. He let his hand trail along a cluster of asters, petals buttery-soft and giving. Above, the sky was an impossible dome, blue so dense it bordered on black. He tried to imagine it, to let the grandeur crowd out the shame, but nothing had that kind of power.
Ethan dug around in his saddlebag and found what he'd stashed for this very moment—a bottle of wine and the last hunk of bakery sourdough, intended for a celebration upon their arrival in Glacier Meadows.
Taking a deep breath, he started across the meadow toward the cliff where Cole stood like a statue—a monument to holding it all in.
Walking to Cole felt like crossing enemy ground, every step flattening another perfect bloom. The air was syrupy with honey and mint, but each breath made Ethan’s throat tighter, not looser.
He closed the distance, standing a few feet away. Cole didn’t turn, didn’t even flinch.
The view here was even more beautiful. The meadow sloped off and then just dropped, a sheer fall to the river valley below. Light spilled in from the west, gold and white.
Ethan opened the bottle, the cork refusing at first, then giving with a pop that sounded too loud in all that space. “Thought you’d want to share this,” he said, voice wrecked.
Cole’s head dipped, the brim of his hat hiding his eyes.
Ethan held out the wine, the glass already fogging with chill. “We made it,” he said. “You did it. You brought us here.”
For a long beat, nothing.
Then, quietly, Cole reached over and took the bottle, his hand brushing Ethan’s for just a second. He tipped it back—no pretense of class, just a clean swig—and let out a slow exhale.
Ethan broke off a chunk of bread, handed half to Cole, who took it with a nod, then said, “It’s beautiful here.” His voice was ragged.
They decided to sit side by side on the edge of the cliff, the ground beneath them a tapestry of vibrant wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze. They admired the vastness below, where the river valley stretched out like a painted canvas, each hue more striking than the last. As they shared the bread and sipped the wine, the beauty of the landscape enveloped them, creating a fragile bubble of intimacy amidst the tension that still lingered between them. Ethan felt the weight of unspoken words pressingagainst his chest as he mentally prepared himself to pour out his heart in apology and explanation, to give it his best shot at fixing things with Cole. He took another swig of wine, hoping the liquid would give him the words he needed and the courage to finally say it.
Chapter 17 - Cole
Cole sat on the cliff edge, hands locked so tight his knuckles blanched white. Ethan sat down beside him, the knees of their jeans brushing. He passed Cole a chunk of bread, fingers trembling just enough to catch Cole’s eye. Neither said a word.
Cole drank, not because he wanted it but because he needed something—anything—to slow the churn in his chest. He felt Ethan watching him, waiting for permission to speak, and Cole didn’t know if he wanted to bash his head on a rock or fall into the valley just to avoid what was coming. Cole could feel Ethan watching, waiting for some sign that he was permitted to speak, and the waiting was a kind of torture. Cole wanted to kill the silence, to shatter it with a outburst, but knew any sound from him would be a confession, a surrender, so he kept his jaw locked and mouth shut.
The silence stretched into epochs.
When Ethan finally spoke, it was a soft, broken “Cole?” The sound hit like a physical impact, a ripple through the muscle and bone of him, and Cole had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from answering.
He didn’t answer, didn’t even look over.
“I owe you a real explanation, I owe you… everything. After the other night. ” Ethan said.
He wanted to say he didn’t care, that Ethan’s explanations were just white noise, but the truth was that every word mattered. Every syllable burrowed under his skin and set up little colonies of hope and anger. “You don’t owe me shit,” he finally managed, and instantly hated the way it came out.
"That's not true," Ethan insisted, his voice strained, a raw edge that cut through the air. "I never meant to hurt you. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I shouldn’t have let you think what we had was just a game.” Ethan paused for a moment then continued, “I haven’t felt alive in years, but when I met you, something just clicked. I wanted to believe I was over all my shit. That I could just be… honest, for once. With you.”
Cole grunted. He couldn’t trust himself to say more.
Ethan sucked in a breath. “I need to tell you what happened that night.”
Cole tensed, shoulders knotting under his jacket. He could still see it—the three bodies, tangled and exposed in the dark. Ethan’s bare skin slick with spit and tears and somebody else’s desire. The way Ethan had looked at Cole, caught and ruined and still wanting somehow.
"I was drunk. High. But I wasn't out of control," Ethan said. "I did it because… fuck, I wanted to know. If I could go through with it. If I could give up the last bit of denial. If I could ever be enough for you, I'd need to know if I was even capable."
Cole felt something deep in his gut, something ancient and rotten, curl up tight. "You think sucking off someone you barely know makes you worthy?" His own voice came out strangled, too harsh.
Ethan flinched, but he didn't back off. "I think… I needed to know if I could do it. If I could be the guy who could giveyou what you really wanted. Because you deserve more than a tease, more than some drunk fumbling in the woods." His voice dropped lower, steadier. "But it wasn't just about you. For the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of what I wanted—who I wanted. I wanted to stop running from who I am. All those years of pushing it down, pretending... It was like finally breaking through a wall I'd been pounding against for years. And when it happened, when I finally let myself feel it all, I realized there was nothing to be afraid of. That I'm gay. That I want this. That I want you, Cole. Definitely you. Only you." He swallowed hard. "“I needed to know if what I felt was real. And it was. When I was with them, all I could think about was you. You deserve someone who isn't afraid of what he wants."
