Ethan rolled over and climbed on top of him, their bodies fusing again, but this time it wasn’t about sex, it was about sealing the pact, about learning how to be two people who didn’t have to shrink or hide or flinch from themselves or each other.
For the first time in his life, Cole felt no fear, no shame, just a soaring, relentless joy.
They lay together for a long time, not talking, not needing to. Just breathing and touching, mapping the new shape of their world. Cole traced the ridges of Ethan’s ribs, the scar on his left pec, the faint dusting of freckles at his shoulder. He wanted to know it all—the parts Ethan showed the world, and the parts no one else had ever seen. He wanted to see how the light looked on Ethan’s face in the morning, wanted to wake up every day to something this real.
When the fire had burned low, and their bodies had cooled, they reluctantly peeled themselves apart and got dressed.
“Time for dinner and one last night around the campfire with our new friends.” Cole said, as he opened the cabin door for Ethan and shot him a warm smile. “After you.”
They left the cabin together, side by side, ready for whatever was waiting in the main lodge and beyond.
As they walked into the night, Cole felt lighter, taller, and more alive in a way that no one could ever take away. He took Ethan’s hand in his, not caring who saw, and walked to the lodge with a confident smile.
They were a team now and they were ready for the next adventure.
Chapter 26 - Ethan
The walk to the lodge was different this time. The mountains had softened into shadow, sun still burning at the ridge but all else turning a shade bluer, as if the world had drawn a long sigh and let the day go slack. Ethan could feel the residual energy of what had just happened in Cole’s cabin, the wild newness of it, but more than that, he felt the weight of Cole’s hand in his—solid, callused, and unwilling to let go. Every now and then, their fingers would flex at the same moment, a silent pulse of you’re real, this is real.
The main lodge loomed ahead, its windows gold with lamplight. The distant clang of a dinner bell mixed with the heavy, resinous smell of nightfall and wet grass.
Ethan wanted to drag his feet, but Cole’s stride was all momentum, almost as if he feared what might happen if he slowed. As they neared the lodge, two of the night wranglers swept past, both nodding to Cole in the way ranch hands do—respectful, a little wary, but not unkind. Neither batted an eye at their joined hands.
Inside, the place was already buzzing. The old timber walls made every laugh and clatter ricochet which gave the big space an intimacy that felt less like a public hall and more like someone’s great room on a holiday. Harper, Riley, and Jack were already seated at their spot, the round table tucked under a rack of old wagon wheels, the centerpiece a battered lantern that threw shadows up onto the ceiling.
Ethan and Cole were spotted instantly. Riley whistled, stood, and raised a glass. “There they are! About time you two joined us. We almost started eating without you.”
There were two open seats left beside Harper, so Ethan slid in and she gave him a one-armed hug, squeezing his shoulder. “Looking good, Hayes.” Harper leaned closer and, for a second, it looked like she wanted to say something deeper, but Riley cut her off, waving at the waiter for more drinks. Cole sat in the open seat beside Ethan.
Jack, who had clearly pre-gamed the evening, lifted a bottle in toast. “To not dying in a landslide,” he said, voice hoarse. “And to the new couple.” He shot a look at Cole, eyebrow raised. “It’s official, right?”
Cole didn’t hesitate. “It’s official.”
The clink of glasses echoed, and for a moment Ethan forgot the outside world.
Dinner was a blur of sound and heat. They served bison steak, fried green beans, and potatoes in a lake of brown butter. Every plate was heavy and no one left so much as a smudge.
At some point, Cole peeled away and excused himself for a “work thing.” He returned five minutes later with a cloud over his face, something tight around his mouth. He slouched into the chair and, under the table, his hand found Ethan’s knee and squeezed.
Ethan leaned in. “What’s wrong?”
Cole’s voice was low. “I asked where my dad was at. I wanted to confront him later after dinner, to go ahead and get it over with and see what happens, but apparently he flew to Europe two days ago for some business summit. He won’t be back for a week.”
The news should have read as relief—Ethan expected Cole to smile, to sit up, to loosen. But the tension didn’t leave; it only seemed to harden into something more fatalistic.
“That gives us a week,” Ethan tried. “Plenty of time to figure out…anything.”
Cole nodded, but there was a shadow at the edge of his gaze. “Yeah. But when he comes back—” He let the rest hang.
Riley held court over dessert—strawberry shortcake that tasted like real summer—spinning stories from their week in the wild. He skipped none of the embarrassing details, like the time he’d nearly pissed his sleeping bag during a thunderstorm.
The only thing that marred the warmth of the scene was the painting on the wall above the head table—a formal portrait of Hershel Walker rendered in oil—the old man had the charisma of a monarch and the eyes of a tyrant. Ethan saw Cole glance up at it, then quickly look away.
With dessert finished it was time to move to the campfire for one final night of fun around the flames. Riley grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and the whole group spilled out into the cold, clear night. They walked the footpaths to the edge of the clearing, where a fire pit was already ablaze, the logs stacked with architectural precision. Cole brought his guitar. Jack brought cigars, and for a while, they passed both whiskey and cigars around, the smoke, the buzz and the music braiding into the night air.
The fire was the only light for miles. It painted everyone in gold and seemed to make the drinks go down easier. The conversation ebbed and flowed, sometimes fast and sharp,sometimes wandering into comfortable silences. Every now and then, Cole would rest his palm on Ethan’s thigh, as if checking to see if he was still there.
At one point, Jack tried to make a final play for Harper—he put his arm around her and started into a speech about “the beauty of strong women and what the city boys back home didn’t understand.” Harper let him finish, then slugged him in the ribs and snorted, “Strong women also know their worth.” Jack took the hit with grace, grinned, and offered her the last third of his cigar as a peace offering.
