He cracked one eye. Pale sun slanted through the tent mesh, tracing a line across the other man’s jaw, and Ethan studied it, the scatter of stubble, the scar by his chin. He reached up and ran his fingers through Cole’s hair. Cole stirred but didn’t wake, instead he pulled Ethan tighter, muttering something under his breath.
The realization, for the thousandth time since last night, almost undid Ethan, this was theirs. No closet, no hiding, no rehearsed stories. Just real.
He kissed Cole’s forehead. Cole blinked awake, groggy and irritable, but when he focused on Ethan’s face, the edges softened. “Morning,” Cole whispered, his voice as rough as gravel but twice as gentle.
“Morning,” Ethan answered, and pressed his lips to Cole’s forehead.
Last night, after hours of laughter and stories by the fire, they’d stumbled in here and fell asleep in each other’s arms. Ethan traced the lines of Cole’s collarbone, let his hand slide down to rest on Cole’s chest, feeling the slow, steady beat under the skin.
Cole let out a deep sigh, his arm slipping lower around Ethan's waist. “Damn it. I never sleep in this late. I’m usually the first one up, already ticking off a dozen tasks before the rest of you even stir.”
Ethan chuckled softly, rubbing his hand along Cole's forearm. “It’s fine. They’ll get it. No one’s judging you for taking a moment to breathe.” He paused, letting a teasing smile play on his lips. “Besides, we almost died yesterday, we definitely earned this extra sleep.”
“I hear you, but we should get moving.” Cole grunted, pushing himself up from the ground and starting to pull on his clothes. Ethan mirrored his movements, their shared urgency igniting a spark of excitement. Once they were both dressed, they unzipped the tent, the crisp morning air rushing in to greet them as they stepped into the world to see what was going on.
Camp was already in motion. Riley had rigged a pot over the fire, the sharp aroma of coffee cutting through the crisp morning air. Harper was rolling her sleeping bag. Jack wandered the periphery, shirtless and unashamed, stretching his spine until it popped loud enough to echo.
When Ethan stepped out, the air felt electric, charged with something he couldn’t name. Riley looked up first, gave a sly smile, and in a voice pitched just loud enough for the others, said, “Well, look who’s up. We were beginning to think that you two love birds would never join us.”
Cole’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and he chuckled, running a hand through his hair as he shot Riley a playful glare. “You know, I was just trying to give you all a chance to enjoy the peace and quiet without my charming presence.”
Ethan noticed that Cole now moved with a weird lightness—still big, still imposing, but there was a new slack in his posture. The old rigidity was gone and had been replaced by the easy going presence of a man who’d given up on trying to hide.
Jack arched an eyebrow at them, then grinned. “You two want some alone time, just say so. Riley can be trusted to cover up your moans, if you ask nicely.”
Riley snorted.
Cole laughed and Ethan noticed. A comment like that a few days ago would have resulted in Cole spiraling out of control, but not today, not anymore.
“It’s too early for me and all of this banter. I can’t have a proper conversation until I have my first cup.” Ethan said as he reached for the coffee pot.
Riley intercepted him with a mug already filled. "Here, loverboy. Figured you'd need the caffeine."
Ethan smiled. “You know me so well already.”
The atmosphere in camp buzzed with an infectious energy, brighter than any morning they had experienced before. Laughter danced through the air, mingling with the scent of breakfast cooking over the fire, and a palpable sense of camaraderie wrapped around them like a warm embrace.
Ethan finished his coffee, then set about coiling rope and repacking his kit. He kept sneaking glances at Cole, who’d thrown himself into the chore of loading the horses. Every time Ethan looked, Cole was looking right back, eyes shining.
As they worked, the group slipped easily into the cadence of shared labor. Harper sorted supplies and made the rounds with medical tape, replacing the sodden, half-destroyed wrappings onJack’s shin and Riley’s bruised rib. Cole took charge of the tack, his hands moving quick and competent.
In no time the horses were ready, the groups presence at the site had been completely erased except for a ring of blackened rock and the trampled patches where they’d placed their tents.
Cole gathered them up at the edge of camp, just beyond the blackened fire ring and the field of trampled grass where their tents had stood. He stood under the arch of sun-faded trail signs, hands on his hips, hat slung low, as if bracing himself for the words. When he finally spoke, it was with a gentleness Ethan had never heard from him before—no bark, no command, just a slow drawl that seemed to catch the morning light. "Last stretch, folks. Sunrise Valley Trail, then over the ridge home. Four, maybe five hours depending on conditions and how the horses hold up."
He let the words linger, glancing from face to face. There was a softness in his eyes—anticipation, maybe, but also something heavier, a reluctance Ethan could taste on his own tongue. “Take it slow and savor it. It’ll be over before you know it.”
No one spoke at first. The moment hung there, swollen with the weight of ending. Ethan saw it ripple through the group, the collective awareness that they were stepping off the edge of something rare and irreplaceable, and when they landed, the world would be less wild.
"I'm counting the minutes till that hot tub," Riley said, though his eyes drifted back to the mountains. "And a full bottle of tequila to toast this whole crazy trip."
Harper's smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Real beds. Hot showers. A cheeseburgers with crispy fries. I can taste it." She sighed. "But I'm going to miss this. It’s nice waking up each morning without a worry in the world. Not thinking about work, or bills, or the news or the bank account, just waking up and enjoying life. It was a nice change of pace."
Jack ran his hand along his horse's neck. "Might have to buy myself one of these beasts when I get home. I don’t think I can go back to sitting at my desk all day after living like this. My ass will never forgive me, but hell, it’s worth it.”
The group’s laughter rolled out, but it was softer than before, tinged with the knowledge that every gesture and joke was now a parting gift. Ethan felt it in his chest—not grief, not exactly, but a bittersweet fullness, a recognition that the small world they’d built out here in the wilderness had become as real as the one waiting for them back at the ranch.
Ethan watched Cole through all of it. Something had shifted in him—he stood without the old armor, easy in his own body, and as the others talked, he kept stealing glances at Ethan.
