Ethan handled the tent setup, and Cole joined him, helping to pop the poles and tension the lines. Every time their hands met, they held on a second longer than necessary, like the shock of connection still surprised them both. As they drove a stake into the soft earth, Ethan leaned over and kissed Cole’s forehead, brief and shy and perfect. It made Cole blush—he could feel theheat in his face, knew it was visible even through the grime and mud.
They worked fast and in sync, and in less than an hour the tents were up, the gear stacked dry, the firewood set aside under a lean-to of branches. Riley and Harper built a fire.
Jack still seemed to be in shock. He wandered the clearing, collecting limbs and dragging them into a tidy heap. His limp was real, not just performance, but he didn’t mention it. Not even once.
By twilight, the storm felt like a rumor. The last pink of sunset slanted between the pines, throwing long shadows and gold on every face. The smoke from the fire curled straight up into the sky. Cole couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so weightless, so invincible. The ache in his shoulder, the dried blood on his palm, the dirt streaked across his shirt—they were just proof he’d survived.
Dinner was whatever they could salvage—some vacuum-sealed pouches of stew, a sleeve of energy bars, a fistful of almonds that Riley dumped into the stew and said there would be a “crunchy surprise.” They all ate with the ferocity of a starving dog, barely pausing to let the heat cool from their tin cups.
When they finished, they gathered around the fire, knees touching.
Riley produced a battered flask. “I keep this stashed away for emergencies only, and given the fact that we are out of our initial stash of Whiskey, I consider this an emergency. I filled this up the night we left and kept it hidden for the when the bottom of the bottle was dry. I figured we’d all drink through the booze too fast.” He passed it to Cole, who took a slug and was surprised by the burn. Good whiskey, not the cheap stuff.
Harper accepted the flask next and raised it high. “To not dying.”
“And to the best damn rescue I’ve ever seen.” Cole said with a warm smile.
Jack joined in. “To Walker,” he said, grinning at Cole. “You may be a son of a bitch, but you’re one hell of a guide.”
Cole raised the flask to his lips and paused, caught off guard by a sudden swell of affection for these people. He looked at Ethan, then at the others, and didn’t even try to hide how much it meant to him.
“To all of us,” Cole said, his voice thick with emotion, almost cracking. “And to tomorrow.”
They drank in turn, then fell quiet, the firelight painting everyone in shifting, living color.
Harper started to speak, but was interrupted by a spasm of pain that showed clear as day on her face. She sucked in air through her teeth and hoped nobody noticed, but Cole saw it and immediately called it. “Let me see your arm.”
She hesitated, Harper never wanted to show pain, but she relented and rolled up her sleeve. The cut was ugly, a jagged tear lined with grit and crusted blood. Cole unwrapped the soaked bandage and examined the wound. “Gonna need a cleaning.”
Harper made a face, but let him work. Cole found the med kit, doused the cut with iodine, then bandaged it fresh. She hissed and swore under her breath the whole time, but didn’t pull away. She took another chug of the flask with the hopes of numbing the pain.
“Next,” Cole said, gesturing at Riley.
Riley pretended to sigh, but his shirt was already up, displaying a technicolor bruise from hip to ribcage.
Cole ran his fingers over the bruise, gentle but firm. “Nothing broken. Just sore. Just take it easy. Don’t go pulling any circus acts tomorrow.”
Jack, sensing the pattern, lifted his pant leg to show a swelling the size of a grapefruit on his shin. “Some stupid fucking rock did this. What do you think?”
“I think it’ll be fine, just take it easy.” Cole said.
With the injuries attended to, they resumed their conversation around the fire.
Ethan sat at Cole’s side, close enough their thighs touched. Every so often, Ethan would bump Cole with his knee or lean in and rest his head on Cole’s and it made Cole’s heart go wild.
It was Riley who called it out first. “Look at you two,” he said, eyes bright in the firelight. “All it took was a little near death experience and now you two can’t keep your hands off each other.”
Cole expected to feel the old flush of shame, but it never came. Instead, he leaned in, brushed the hair from Ethan’s eyes, gave him a big kiss and then turned back toward Riley and let the affection shine through on his face. “I feel stupid that it took this long and a near death experience for me to finally wake up and see the light, but I couldn’t be happier that it finally happened.”
Ethan smiled, green eyes shining, and put his hand on Cole’s. “Better late than never.” Ethan teased, followed by a seductive look and smile. Cole had to look away to avoid getting a hard-on in front of everyone.
They sat around the fire for hours—talking, sharing stories, teasing, remembering.
The fire burned lower. Shadows crept up the trees and the cold pressed in.
Night dropped hard and sudden, as if the whole world finally exhaled. Shelter Grove became a hush of black pines and flickering gold, the only light from the fire licking up at faces hollowed by exhaustion and awash in relief. For the first time in days, Cole felt the absence of dread. His body ached, but every nerve felt awake, ready to believe anything was possible.
“So, boss,” Harper said, “why do they call it Walker’s Edge Ranch, anyway? I get the Walker part obviously, but where does the edge part come from?”
