April squeezed back, then slowly let go. But the comfort of that touch stayed with Shane, warming him from the inside out as they continued up the trail.
The boy didn’t notice the change in the adults. He was too busy trying to find another perfect skipping stone.
“Shane,” Kevin called. “How many times can you get one to skip?”
“Depends on the throw,” Shane said, voice steady again. “And the water. Flat and calm’s your best bet.”
Kevin wound up and flung a stone into the woods.
Shane grinned. “Good arm.”
Kevin looked back, pleased. “You think so?”
“I know so.”
The kid’s smile widened, and Shane felt something unclench in his chest. He wasn’t a father, wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to be to this boy—but maybe this was enough. Teaching him how to listen. How to see. How to find direction when the sky went stormy.
The forest quieted then, as if on cue. Even the birds went still.
Kevin’s head snapped up. “Why’d everything stop?”
Shane lowered his voice. “When the woods hold their breath like that, it means change. Could have been the stone you threw. Could be a hawk overhead. Could be weather shifting. Always pay attention to silence—it tells you things noise can’t.”
April tilted her head, listening, too.
After a moment, the birds resumed their chatter, and the tension eased. “Guess it’s clear for now,” she said.
“Guess so.” Shane reached to squeeze her hand lightly before letting go.
They reached a clearing where the trail widened into a ledge above the canyon. Sunlight poured through the gap, turning the red stone gold.
Shane reached for April's hand, lacing their fingers together. Not a quick squeeze this time but something more deliberate. More permanent.
April's breath caught as his thumb stroked across her knuckles—slow, deliberate, intimate. The touch conveyed everything they couldn't say out loud with Kevin ten feet ahead of them.
I'm here.
I'm not leaving.
Give me a chance and I'll spend the rest of my life proving you can trust me.
April's fingers tightened around his, answering in the same silent language.
I'm scared.
But I want this.
I want you.
They stood like that for a long moment, hands clasped, the canyon spreading out below them in shades of gold and rust. The clouds moved overhead, casting shadows that danced across the cliffs. Pete’s bark and Kevin's laugh echoed off the stone walls.
Finally, reluctantly, Shane let go. But the phantom warmth of her hand in his stayed with him, a promise of what was coming.
“Hey, Kevin, c’mere. You hear that?” He pointed toward the mountains where thunder rolled, faint and far away.
Kevin tilted his head. “The storm’s coming?”
“Eventually. Count the seconds between flash and sound—divide by five. That’s your distance in miles. Works for weather or artillery.” He caught himself, softened his tone. “Or, you know, fireworks.”
