Cole hesitated, pleasantly caught off guard. He shifted, pulling Ethan a little closer. “You want the long or short version?” he asked.
“Whatever you think is best.” Harper said.
Cole gazed into the fire, “Alright,” he said as he paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before beginning. “According to ranch history, my great-grandfather, Thomas Walker, established this place in 1892, right during the mining rush. He wasn’t much of a miner—more of a drifter with barely enough to his name to feed a horse. One brutal winter, the river iced over, cutting off every supply line. Camps all around were starving and freezing to death. Thomas decided the only hope was to ride over the ridge to a logging camp on the far side and fetch help and supplies.”
He paused, voice low. “That ridge forms our eastern boundary now. It’s a sheer drop that is very narrow and when the wind funnels through it howls like a banshee. No one had ever tried it in winter; they said it was suicide but Thomas didn’t care. He saddled up in the heart of the storm and vanished into the whiteout. Days later, he came back leading a crew of loggers who’d followed him over that ridge. Together they saved almost the entire camp and other nearby camps. From then on folks called him ‘Edge Walker.’ He wore it like a badge of honor and always said that you either live life on the edge or you die wishing you had.”
A log in the fire popped, sending sparks spiraling. “So that’s where your old man got the name.” Harper said.
Cole glanced at Ethan, resting a steady hand on his knee. “For my father, maybe it was just a story, a good idea for a name, but for me, it means you don’t get to pick your edge. You learn howto walk it.” Silence fell, broken only by the fire’s crackle and the pines rattling in the wind.
“We walked ours today, didn’t we?” Riley asked.
Cole looked at the group—bruised, battered, but alive. “Yeah,” he said. “We all did.”
Harper nodded, her usual sharpness replaced by genuine warmth. "Some of us spend our whole lives avoiding the edge. Today I learned why that's a mistake."
Riley raised the flask. “To the Edge Walkers!”
Ethan squeezed Cole's hand, his voice thick with emotion. "I've never been prouder to walk beside anyone in my life."
They passed the flask around and each of them took another swing.
Soon after, Harper excused herself, muttering about being exhausted and desperately needing some sleep after today. Jack and Riley also opted to return to their tents as they followed Harper. Jack was feigning bravado but limping. Riley left last, pausing only to blow a dramatic kiss to Cole and Ethan before vanishing into his tent.
The fire was down to embers now, but neither Cole nor Ethan moved. They sat for a while longer before heading back to their tents.
As Ethan turned to head to his tent, Cole grabbed his hand and gently pulled, leading Ethan to his tent. They both stepped inside and Ethan zipped up the tent behind him.
They crawled into the sleeping bag. For a few seconds they just lay there, side by side, listening to the wind.
Cole turned toward Ethan, propped up on one elbow. “You ever think about what comes next?”
“All the time.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back and pretend. Not after this.” Cole confessed.
Ethan grabbed his hand. “You don’t have to,” he said, so sure it was almost frightening. “We don’t have to pretend for anyone, not anymore.”
Cole wanted to believe it. He did. But the fear ran deep. “My dad—he’s going to lose his shit. You know that, right?” Cole’s voice roughened, truth scraped raw. “He’ll make sure I don’t have anything left. The ranch, the land, the inheritance. He’ll make my life hell if I defy him like this.”
Ethan shifted, pressing his forehead on Cole’s and placing a gentle hand on his cheek, bringing them nose to nose. “Then we’ll go somewhere else. You don’t need his land, money or approval to have a life.” He feathered his thumb along Cole’s cheek. “You’ll have me. That’s not nothing.”
For a long moment Cole couldn’t answer. The words felt too big for his mouth, too delicate for a world with men like Hershel Walker in it. But Ethan waited, never pushing, just present in the way Cole had always needed.
At last, Cole reached up, and placed his hand on Ethan’s cheek and gently stroked it with his thumb just like Ethan had done to his. “That’s… everything,” he whispered. “I’m just scared, is all. This is what I have always feared.”
Ethan smiled, patient and strong. “We will face that fear together and conquer it. And when the time comes, we’ll face him. I don’t give a fuck about the ranch, or the money, or any of that. I only care about you. I only want you. Even if you only had two cents to your name I’d still want you.”
Cole’s world rearranged. All the old scaffolding of fear and anger snapped, then dissolved, and was replaced by something cleaner and pure, a since of happiness and comfort that he has never experienced in his life. He leaned in and kissed Ethan and held it for what felt like an eternity as he savored the taste of Ethan’s lips and the feeling of new beginnings.
It wasn’t sex—not tonight. It was a different kind of hunger, one that left them tangled in each other’s arms, sharing heat and heartbeat, until the last of the adrenaline burned off and they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Outside, the fire finally went cold. Inside, they drifted off to sleep, the edge no longer something to be feared but something they could walk together—one step at a time.
Chapter 22 - Ethan
Ethan woke in stages. He lay tangled with Cole in the warmth of their sleeping bag, the thick nylon fabric gritty with pine dust and sweat. For a moment he let the quiet invade—the faint sound of horses, the sizzle of fire outside, and, nearest, the steady thrum of Cole’s chest against his own, that new and impossible comfort.
