Chapter 22
Jacob
He sat on a large, flat rock surrounded by moss and trees, his hands resting loosely on his thighs. His gaze stretched across the lake to the jagged line of mountains in the distance. The air smelled clean and fresh, of pine and damp stone.
He’d hiked half an hour from the lodge to get here, slipping away before anyone could question where he was going. The crew was still unloading gear, but he had needed a bit of space. Some stillness. A moment to breathe before the circus started.
Nature always had a way of leveling him out. When his head felt too full and his chest too tight, the woods made him feel like he could breathe again. If he sat still long enough, the serenity would always put him back together. He hadn’t realized until now how much he’d missed and needed it.
It was the first morning on location; some of the cast and crew were still trickling in. Ahead lay seven days of shooting, and seven nights in a remote lodge tucked deep in the wilderness. A full week of pretending nothing had changed—when everything had.
He tipped his head back, eyes tracing the canopy overhead. Sunlight threaded through the branches in fractured gold, catching on the leaves like fire. Somewhere far down the slope, a bird called once, then fell quiet again.
He hadn’t slept much. Not because of restlessness—though that lingered too—but because he’d been on the phone with Liam until nearly three in the morning.
Again.
He knew it was reckless. He shouldn’t have agreed to it that first time. Shouldn’t have answered last night either, yet he always did. Every time. Without fail.
It wasn’t safe anymore—if it ever had been. They didn’t flirt, not really. Nothing they said crossed a line, but they talked a lot. And Jacob, who rarely let anyone close, found himself opening up. With Liam, the walls had somehow crumbled.
Last night, they’d talked about the future—not theirs, of course, just the vague kind.
The kind you could talk about in abstractions, pretending it wasn’t personal.
They’d talked about fear, about the strange loneliness of being surrounded by people who thought they knew you and didn’t.
For long stretches, they hadn’t spoken at all.
They’d simply stayed on the line, listening to the space fill up with something that didn’t need words.
Jacob didn’t know what to make of any of it.
He should’ve shut it down before it went deeper, before it meant something.
The truth was, he needed it. He needed that voice in his ear, and Liam’s laugh that came too easily.
He needed the way Liam listened, like every word meant something, as if he could see through every wall Jacob had put up. And God help him, he wanted more.
Jacob rose slowly, brushing moss and dirt from the back of his jeans. He should head back; someone would notice his absence and come looking eventually. The first exterior scene was scheduled to shoot soon. It would be just the two of them, walking beneath the trees.
Still, he lingered, letting himself hold the quiet for one minute longer. Just a little more calm before the storm broke open.
* * *
By the time shooting wrapped, the sun had dipped behind the hills.
The clearing near the lodge had transformed.
Tables were dragged into a rough semicircle, lanterns hung from tree branches, and a big bonfire sparked and roared in the center.
Someone was grilling burgers and vegetables over a wide metal grate, the air thick with smoke and char.
It was casual and chaotic—a kind of adult summer camp.
He sat on a rough bench at the edge of the group, one foot braced on a stone, beer bottle loose in his hand. Close enough not to be rude, far enough to be left alone. He watched the fire eat through wood, the way the flames bent the faces around it, blurring them into something half-real.
Across the circle, Liam laughed loudly at something one of the crew said, a bottle raised in salute. Warmth poured out of him like it cost nothing. He was in his element: relaxed and open.
Jacob looked away. He didn’t like parties: too much chatter, too much performance, and too much empty noise.
Out here, however, the woods and the lack of walls made it almost bearable.
The fire’s crackle, the sting of cold air, and the smoke clinging to his clothes—those were things he could stand, maybe even liked.
His eyes kept drifting back to Liam. Not deliberately, but they always found him.
Liam moved through people like water: talking, laughing, lighting them up simply by looking their way.
How the fuck did he do that? How did he make belonging look so easy?
Jacob had never possessed that kind of ease. Not even close.
He dragged his gaze away, swallowing a long drink, forcing his attention on the hiss of wood splitting in the flames. The pull was relentless, though; his eyes kept snapping back like magnets.
Liam looked good tonight. Too good. The soft Henley clung in all the right places, his hair was perfectly—infuriatingly—messy, and that face…
Jesus. Firelight flickered in his warm brown eyes; a thoughtful crease formed between his brows; his mouth was soft and utterly distracting.
He couldn’t look away. Jacob hated how badly he wanted to bite that top lip, to taste the sound Liam would make when he did.
What the fuck was wrong with him? He’d never thought about anyone like this. Not even when he was young and falling in love was still something that happened. He’d never been a fan of the whole falling-in-love thing; it was reckless, messy, and someone always ended up hurt.
Growing up had meant learning better. Choosing better. Caroline had been that choice. There was respect, attraction, and a shared sense of direction. Solid ground was what mattered, not the flimsy rush of falling in love.
But this? This was different. This was closer to obsession, and he’d never known anything like it. Yet here he was, undone by Liam’s goddamn eyelashes.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. This was getting out of control.
Across the fire, Liam was still laughing, still glowing in that stupid, maddening way of his.
One of the sound guys leaned too close, saying something that made Liam throw his head back in laughter.
The guy stayed there, crowding Liam’s space.
Every word came with another touch, another excuse to put his hands where they didn’t fucking belong.
Something sharp twisted under Jacob’s ribs. His grip on the beer bottle tightened until his knuckles whitened.
Then Liam glanced at him, just for a second—a flicker of warm eyes across firelight. A few minutes later, Liam broke from the group and wandered over. Jacob felt the bench shift under new weight, and the nearness prickling his skin before Liam even spoke.
“Hey,” Liam said softly, like he wasn’t sure how welcome he was.
Jacob drained the last swallow of beer and set the bottle down at his feet. His voice came rougher than intended. “That sound guy your type?”
What the fuck?
He sounded like a jealous teenager. Petty and juvenile in a way he would have mocked in anyone else. But it was out there now, too late to take it back.
Liam blinked, then smiled crookedly. “Wow. Straight for the throat, huh?”
Jacob shrugged, jaw tight. “Just wondering.”
Liam turned slightly toward him, grin tugging wider. “Jealous?”
Jacob’s eyes snapped to his. “Should I be?”
The question hung there, heavier than the night.
Liam held it for a beat too long before shaking his head. “We were just talking.”
“You seemed friendly.”
Liam chuckled under his breath. “You’re really not subtle when you’re pissed.”
“I’m not pissed.”
“Sure.” His grin softened. “You’re Zen as fuck right now.”
Jacob didn’t answer. He kept his gaze locked on the fire, willing it to burn the tension out of him.
Liam’s voice dipped quieter. “No, he’s not my type.”
Jacob didn’t look at him, but something in his chest loosened.
Liam let out a long breath. “I’ve never been into guys. Always liked women. Their curves and softness.” He shrugged faintly. “Still do.”
Jacob gave the smallest nod, not enough to mean anything.
“But then there’s you,” he went on. “And none of that seems to matter.”
Jacob turned to him, jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t say shit like that.”
“Why not?” Liam challenged.
“Because I don’t know what to do with it.”
Liam looked away. “Yeah. Neither do I.”
The fire snapped loudly between them.
Liam’s eyes dropped to Jacob’s empty bottle. Without a word, he offered his own, still cold from the ice chest. Jacob hesitated, then took it. Their fingers brushed in a way that felt anything but accidental.
He drank from the same spot Liam’s mouth had touched, too aware of the heat it had left behind.
When he handed it back, their hands lingered long enough to matter.
Liam’s eyes stayed on him as he lifted the bottle, lips closing around the glass like a dare.
They passed it back and forth until it ran dry.
Somewhere in that quiet exchange their knees found each other and stayed, neither of them retreating. Then casually—so casually it felt deliberate—Liam placed his hand down on the bench beside him, right where Jacob’s already was. Their pinkies touching, skin to skin.
Jacob didn’t pull away as Liam’s pinky slid against his in a slow drag. So soft it was barely there, testing the current between them.
Jacob breathed through it, heart slamming against his ribs.
Their fingers touched again and tangled; a fragile knot holding them together. Jacob turned his hand, his knuckles grazing the back of Liam’s hand, as if he were measuring how much he could get away with.
Liam went still, but he didn’t withdraw. His breath caught, soft and almost soundless. Jacob felt the tremor run through him like it belonged to them both. Slowly, Liam turned his hand over, palm open, quiet in its offering.
Jacob didn’t pause. He traced the lines of that hand with aching care, fingertips gliding along skin that trembled under his touch.
A sound slipped from Liam’s throat, something unguarded he couldn’t hold back. His knee pressed harder against Jacob’s as his eyes fixed on Jacob’s hand, following every movement like it mattered more than anything.
Their hands kept searching, brushing, retreating, only to return again. Not quite holding on, not quite letting go. It was more than touch—it was a confession, a conversation in a language Jacob hadn’t known he could speak until now. One written in silence and skin.
How could something so simple feel so devastatingly intimate?
He’d done plenty of reckless things in his life, but this—this quiet communion, this dangerous softness—was more powerful than any of them had ever been.
They stayed like that: hidden in plain sight, hands moving soft as whispers, telling secrets no one else would ever hear.
For one suspended moment, Jacob allowed himself to keep it.