Chapter 18 - Ethan
Ethan knelt on the riverbank, fingers numb in the glacial water, as he tried to make sense of everything that had just happened between him and Cole.
The creek was barely a foot deep, but its current was wild, rabid with meltwater, and icy cold.
He stared into the riptide, watching foam and twigs spin around moss-dark stones.
His hands still shook as he tried to process the whirlwind of emotions, the flash of confusion in Cole's eyes, and the way he had bolted from him like a startled deer.
He replayed the encounter in his head—the way Cole had said "Do what you want," like a dare. The way the man’s body had melted under him, surrendering inch by inch, as if he’d never known it was allowed to feel that much.
The thrill of being used and using back, both at once.
And then, after, the way it all had snapped—Cole’s hands trembling, face crumbling into something awful and old, the image of Cole jerking away repeated in Ethan’s mind.
His cock was still half-hard and it pissed him off; he should be devastated, not aroused.
He tried to summon the humiliation that was supposed to follow, the self-loathing that had always trailed close behind, but it wouldn’t come.
Instead there was a gnawing ache in his gut—a longing, a hunger for Cole, not just the sex but everything before it.
The jokes. The shared silences. The way Cole had always, even in anger, made Ethan feel real.
Ethan rocked back on his heels, arms dangling limp.
The river roared on, uncaring. He hunched over and let himself breathe, really breathe, and for the first time since the whole thing started, he noticed the world hadn’t stopped.
Out beyond the trees, the meadow was shouting with color, the air heavy with the breath of crushed wild mint and lupine.
He closed his eyes. He wanted to cry. Instead, he laughed—a raw, broken sound—and spat into the river.
He didn’t want to go back to camp, but he knew that he had to face the music sooner or later. He could still smell Cole on his fingers, a mix of pine and sweat and the faint musk of old arousal. He sniffed his wrist and, for a crazy second, wanted to bite down and keep it there.
He straightened up and started the trudge back to camp.
The path cut through high grass and wildflowers, every footstep sending up a waft of green and sweetness.
He focused on that—the smell, the grit of seedpods under his boot, the rush of blood as his body warmed up.
He told himself it was okay to hurt, that he could survive this.
The thought was less than convincing, but it was better than nothing.
When he broke the tree line he could see camp and the smoke leaking from a fresh-started fire.
Riley and Harper, back from their walk, were hunkered by the firepit, mugs in hand, trading whispers and little sparks of laughter.
For a split second Ethan almost turned around and ran, but then Riley looked up, made eye contact and gave a crooked, warm smile.
Ethan squared his shoulders and walked in, pretending not to notice the way his hands were still shaking.
Harper glanced up. “We made fresh hot chocolate if you want some.”
Riley patted the log next to him. “Come sit.”
Ethan sat, knees cracking. The wood was hot from the fire, and the heat made his skin prickle. Riley poured a mug of hot chocolate and handed it over; their fingers brushed, and Ethan caught the question in Riley’s gaze.
Finally, Riley spoke. “Did you find Cole?” The question was gentle.
Ethan nodded his head. “Oh, I found him.”
Riley nodded, “I see.”
Harper was quiet, watching Ethan with a feline patience, as if she knew the words would come if given enough space and not too much oxygen.
He looked up at the sky, which was turning soft and purple, and it was beautiful—so beautiful it seemed obscene to be this fucked up in the middle of it.
But he didn’t regret what he’d done. Not even a little.
He regretted the fallout, the ache in his chest, but not the act itself.
If anything, it felt like breaking through a pane of glass, the first breath of air after holding it for years.
Riley gave him a minute before nudging Ethan’s knee with his own. “You wanna talk about it?”
Ethan watched sparks spiral up from the fire, dissolving before they hit the dark. He tried to line up the words, but his tongue tripped over itself. “It was supposed to be… I don’t know. I thought it was a good thing.”
Harper let him sit in the silence. Riley just waited, eyes fixed on the embers.
When the pause dragged out, Ethan finally added, “He let me touch him, and not just touch him, he let me blow him. We had this moment, and I thought we were together in it, Cole even lost himself and took control and fucked my face and throat so deep and hard. When he came it was like… it was like he’d never let himself feel that before.
Then afterward, he just… ran. He couldn’t even look at me. ”
Harper made a sympathetic noise—not quite a hum, not quite a sigh.
Riley nodded, like he was following a familiar script. “First time for him?”
Ethan shrugged. “Maybe not his first blowjob, but… with another man? With that much emotion? Yeah. I think so.” He hunched over, rubbing the grit from his palms. “I should’ve gone slower. Or said more. Or done something different.”
Harper made a soft tsk. “You can’t manage another person’s panic attack. It’s not about you.”
Ethan looked up, searching for something in their faces—judgment, maybe, or pity. All he found was patience. “I feel like an asshole.”
“You’re not,” Riley said, putting a hand on his shoulder. The squeeze lingered, solid and warm. “You want him. That’s not a crime. He just… couldn’t handle the after, but someday he might.”
“He wanted it too,” Ethan whispered. “I could tell.” He remembered the way Cole’s cock had throbbed in his hand, the desperate way he’d thrust, the heat of his breath and the intensity of his orgasm, how Cole had growled and shuddered and come harder than anyone Ethan had ever seen.
“But after… he couldn’t even look at me. ”
Riley gave a knowing grin. “That’s how it goes, sometimes. The high’s so strong, the crash is nuclear.”
Harper blew on her hot chocolate, looking up at the first glimmering star, before giving Riley a side-eye that was almost affectionate. “You’re not wrong.”
Ethan stared at the flames. The memory pulsed through him, half pride and half agony.
Riley’s eyes danced. “I gotta ask, because I’ve literally been wondering since we all skinny dipped—how big is he? Was I right about him being a grower? Or is he really that small? Not that it matters to be small of course.”
Harper snorted. “For the record, men talk about cock’s way more than women ever do.”
Riley grinned, unashamed. “There’s nothing like a beautiful cock.”
“He’s big,” Ethan said. “Not like holy shit big, but certainly above average, thick and veiny.” He looked up and saw Riley and Harper both delighted. He found himself smiling, embarrassment mixing with a strange pride. “And uncut. Which… was new.”
“Damn,” Riley said, eyebrows up. “Lucky you.”
Ethan blushed. “It’s perfect.”
Harper set her mug down and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Look, whatever Cole’s dealing with, it’s not on you to solve. You can be there. Be honest. But you can’t drag him into the light.”
Riley nodded. “Give him time. Space. He’ll come around. Or he won’t, and it sucks, but at least you get to be honest now. He’ll either work through it, or he won’t, but pretending you can fix it will drive you crazy.”
Ethan looked from Riley to Harper, amazed at the ease with which they talked about this—like it was just another day, another problem, another human mess. “How did you guys get so good at this?”
Harper smirked. “We fucked up in every possible way first.”
Riley laughed. “I still fuck up twice a week, minimum.”
The warmth of their laughter, the solidarity of their shared disasters, filled the little hollow where Ethan’s shame had been. He felt lighter than he had in years. The pain was still there, but it was edges and shadows now, not the whole world.
Above them, the sky faded to velvet, the stars leaking in so fast you could almost hear them pop into existence. The mountains stood guard, ancient and indifferent, and the fire crackled on, an anchor in the dark.
“I always thought I’d end up with someone like Cole. Or, you know, a clone of myself, just with different genitals. Instead I’m here with you disaster queers.” Harper shot them both a look of fondness so pure it stung. “I regret nothing.”
Ethan reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.” The words came out thick.
Riley bumped Ethan’s arm. “Can I tell you something cheesy?”
“Always.”
Riley lowered his voice. “It’s going to sound dumb, but… you’re braver than you think. Most people never even get close to what you just did. I’m proud of you.”
The compliment hit Ethan like a punch, but a good one—a punch that knocked something loose. He let the compliment settle into the hollows he hadn’t realized were empty. “I never thought I could be this person.”
Harper grinned. “Nobody ever does. Then you wake up one day, and you’re still alive. And the world keeps spinning.”
Ethan tried to hold onto the feeling—the clarity, the acceptance, the lightness in his chest, the brittle, beautiful sense of being known and still welcomed. Even if Cole never came back, even if it was just this, it would be enough.
A voice echoed from the far side of camp—Jack, trudging up from the fishing hole, the metallic clank of his tackle box slapping against his leg. “You pansies save me any dinner, or are you all on the cock-and-balls diet again?”
Harper groaned, “Here comes the buzzkill.”
Jack flopped onto the log next to Harper, eyes red and hair tangled. He looked at the three of them and immediately zeroed in on Ethan. “You look like you’ve been crying. What the hell happened to you?”
Ethan shook his head. “Nothing you’d understand.”
Jack grinned, sharp and mean. “Trust me, I don’t want to.”
Ethan glared, but Jack’s smile made it impossible to stay mad. “Shut up, Jack.”
Harper clapped Jack on the back. “Go clean your fish, jackass. You smell like ass anyway, I can’t tell if its you or the fish.”
Jack shot her a grin, then wandered off toward the riverbank, whistling as he went.
Riley sighed. “He’s the worst and also kind of the best.”
Ethan watched Jack’s silhouette disappear against the afterglow of the sky. “He’s a walking disaster.”
The three of them sat a while longer, watching the fire eat its way through the logs, flames hollowing them from within.
“So, what happens now?” Riley asked.
Ethan thought about it. The truth was, he had no idea. “I guess we wait. I don’t know.”
Harper shrugged. “You’ve done all you can. Be proud of that. Tomorrow is another day.”
Riley reached over, hugged Ethan with one arm. “We’ll get through it. Promise. And remember that I am proud of you.”
For a while they just watched the stars. The sky was so thick with them it looked like you could dip a hand in and scoop out a fistful.
A footfall interrupted them—heavier, slower. Cole, back from wherever he’d run to. His face was blank. He walked past the fire without looking at anyone and zipped himself into his tent.
Ethan’s heart lurched. But this time, the fear wasn’t for himself. It was for Cole—what the man might be doing to himself, alone in there, locked up with nothing but a lifetime of shame for company.
The fire burned lower, the logs collapsing into glowing charcoal. Harper yawned and called it a night, retreating to her own tent. Riley followed, giving Ethan’s arm one last squeeze before he left.
Ethan stayed behind, staring at the embers. He thought of Cole, how close they’d come to something real and how quickly it had all slipped away. He tried to tell himself that it was over, that he should just let go, but the longing wouldn’t leave.
Still, under the ache, there was something new—something wild and bright and invincible. He wasn’t hiding anymore. He’d crossed the line and survived, and there was a sweetness in that, a heat that lingered even as the night grew cold.
He closed his eyes, let the smell of smoke and wildflowers fill him, and waited for the morning.
He hoped that Cole would find his own version of the same peace. And if not—if this really was the end—Ethan decided that he wouldn’t trade it for anything.
He was happy, and for once, that was enough.