Chapter 21 - Cole
Shelter Grove waited for them—a hollow in the ridgeline, cupped in the arms of battered pines and knuckled stone. They hobbled in like war heroes, mud-caked, half-soaked, clothes torn, hair tangled. Cole led the way, walking Ethan by the hand, and didn’t care who saw.
Their horses stood clustered under a bower of drooping pine, docile and almost smug in the silence after the storm. Every saddle was slick, every lead rope trailing loose. None had bolted, not a one, which was the biggest miracle of the day, next to their own survival.
Cole looked at the horses, at the wet streaks on Ethan’s face. It felt like looking at the world through new eyes—everything so sharp it was almost silly, every detail charged with the thrill of simply being alive.
Harper was first to speak, voice rough but triumphant. “I vote we just crash here tonight.” She dropped her pack at the edge of the clearing and exhaled hard, winded by pain and relief. The bandage on her upper arm was already soaking through with a thin red line, but she moved like it was nothing.
Jack limped as he carried three bedrolls that were slung over his shoulder. “I second the motion,” he said, eyeing the hollow. “This place looks like pure heaven compared to that last mile of hell we just went through.”
Riley, chest rising and falling with exaggerated breaths, staggered to the fire ring and let himself fall onto a log with a melodramatic sigh. “Not a chance any of you are getting me off of this log.” He grinned, but Cole didn’t miss the way his hand pressed under his ribcage.
Ethan’s smile was quieter, reserved, but Cole could see it in his posture, the shoulders that weren’t hunched, the hands that weren’t clenched in his sleeves.
Ethan didn’t let go of Cole’s hand, not even when they had to maneuver around rocks and the occasional log.
Instead, they moved as one, bumping hips, bumping elbows.
Cole liked the way that felt—no, loved it. And he refused to hide it.
Shelter Grove was perfectly protected. The walls of pine and craggy stone funneled the wind over their heads, leaving only a gentle hush at ground level.
The forest floor was spongy with years of fallen needles, a cushion that muffled every step.
It was easy to imagine nothing bad could ever happen here.
Cole set to work. His hands flew through the routines: unrolling the tarps, staking the corners, trussing the horse lines. He moved with new energy, every muscle a little raw but also electric with joy. He caught himself smiling at nothing, just because the world was still here and so was he.
Ethan handled the tent setup, and Cole joined him, helping to pop the poles and tension the lines.
Every time their hands met, they held on a second longer than necessary, like the shock of connection still surprised them both.
As they drove a stake into the soft earth, Ethan leaned over and kissed Cole’s forehead, brief and shy and perfect.
It made Cole blush—he could feel the heat in his face, knew it was visible even through the grime and mud.
They worked fast and in sync, and in less than an hour the tents were up, the gear stacked dry, the firewood set aside under a lean-to of branches. Riley and Harper built a fire.
Jack still seemed to be in shock. He wandered the clearing, collecting limbs and dragging them into a tidy heap. His limp was real, not just performance, but he didn’t mention it. Not even once.
By twilight, the storm felt like a rumor.
The last pink of sunset slanted between the pines, throwing long shadows and gold on every face.
The smoke from the fire curled straight up into the sky.
Cole couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so weightless, so invincible.
The ache in his shoulder, the dried blood on his palm, the dirt streaked across his shirt—they were just proof he’d survived.
Dinner was whatever they could salvage—some vacuum-sealed pouches of stew, a sleeve of energy bars, a fistful of almonds that Riley dumped into the stew and said there would be a “crunchy surprise.” They all ate with the ferocity of a starving dog, barely pausing to let the heat cool from their tin cups.
When they finished, they gathered around the fire, knees touching.
Riley produced a battered flask. “I keep this stashed away for emergencies only, and given the fact that we are out of our initial stash of Whiskey, I consider this an emergency. I filled this up the night we left and kept it hidden for the when the bottom of the bottle was dry. I figured we’d all drink through the booze too fast.” He passed it to Cole, who took a slug and was surprised by the burn. Good whiskey, not the cheap stuff.
Harper accepted the flask next and raised it high. “To not dying.”
“And to the best damn rescue I’ve ever seen.” Cole said with a warm smile.
Jack joined in. “To Walker,” he said, grinning at Cole. “You may be a son of a bitch, but you’re one hell of a guide.”
Cole raised the flask to his lips and paused, caught off guard by a sudden swell of affection for these people. He looked at Ethan, then at the others, and didn’t even try to hide how much it meant to him.
“To all of us,” Cole said, his voice thick with emotion, almost cracking. “And to tomorrow.”
They drank in turn, then fell quiet, the firelight painting everyone in shifting, living color.
Harper started to speak, but was interrupted by a spasm of pain that showed clear as day on her face. She sucked in air through her teeth and hoped nobody noticed, but Cole saw it and immediately called it. “Let me see your arm.”
She hesitated, Harper never wanted to show pain, but she relented and rolled up her sleeve. The cut was ugly, a jagged tear lined with grit and crusted blood. Cole unwrapped the soaked bandage and examined the wound. “Gonna need a cleaning.”
Harper made a face, but let him work. Cole found the med kit, doused the cut with iodine, then bandaged it fresh. She hissed and swore under her breath the whole time, but didn’t pull away. She took another chug of the flask with the hopes of numbing the pain.
“Next,” Cole said, gesturing at Riley.
Riley pretended to sigh, but his shirt was already up, displaying a technicolor bruise from hip to ribcage.
Cole ran his fingers over the bruise, gentle but firm. “Nothing broken. Just sore. Just take it easy. Don’t go pulling any circus acts tomorrow.”
Jack, sensing the pattern, lifted his pant leg to show a swelling the size of a grapefruit on his shin. “Some stupid fucking rock did this. What do you think?”
“I think it’ll be fine, just take it easy.” Cole said.
With the injuries attended to, they resumed their conversation around the fire.
Ethan sat at Cole’s side, close enough their thighs touched. Every so often, Ethan would bump Cole with his knee or lean in and rest his head on Cole’s and it made Cole’s heart go wild.
It was Riley who called it out first. “Look at you two,” he said, eyes bright in the firelight. “All it took was a little near death experience and now you two can’t keep your hands off each other.”
Cole expected to feel the old flush of shame, but it never came.
Instead, he leaned in, brushed the hair from Ethan’s eyes, gave him a big kiss and then turned back toward Riley and let the affection shine through on his face.
“I feel stupid that it took this long and a near death experience for me to finally wake up and see the light, but I couldn’t be happier that it finally happened. ”
Ethan smiled, green eyes shining, and put his hand on Cole’s. “Better late than never.” Ethan teased, followed by a seductive look and smile. Cole had to look away to avoid getting a hard-on in front of everyone.
They sat around the fire for hours—talking, sharing stories, teasing, remembering.
The fire burned lower. Shadows crept up the trees and the cold pressed in.
Night dropped hard and sudden, as if the whole world finally exhaled.
Shelter Grove became a hush of black pines and flickering gold, the only light from the fire licking up at faces hollowed by exhaustion and awash in relief.
For the first time in days, Cole felt the absence of dread.
His body ached, but every nerve felt awake, ready to believe anything was possible.
“So, boss,” Harper said, “why do they call it Walker’s Edge Ranch, anyway? I get the Walker part obviously, but where does the edge part come from?”
Cole hesitated, pleasantly caught off guard. He shifted, pulling Ethan a little closer. “You want the long or short version?” he asked.
“Whatever you think is best.” Harper said.
Cole gazed into the fire, “Alright,” he said as he paused for a moment to gather his thoughts before beginning.
“According to ranch history, my great-grandfather, Thomas Walker, established this place in 1892, right during the mining rush. He wasn’t much of a miner—more of a drifter with barely enough to his name to feed a horse.
One brutal winter, the river iced over, cutting off every supply line.
Camps all around were starving and freezing to death.
Thomas decided the only hope was to ride over the ridge to a logging camp on the far side and fetch help and supplies. ”
He paused, voice low. “That ridge forms our eastern boundary now. It’s a sheer drop that is very narrow and when the wind funnels through it howls like a banshee.
No one had ever tried it in winter; they said it was suicide but Thomas didn’t care.
He saddled up in the heart of the storm and vanished into the whiteout.
Days later, he came back leading a crew of loggers who’d followed him over that ridge.
Together they saved almost the entire camp and other nearby camps.
From then on folks called him ‘Edge Walker.’ He wore it like a badge of honor and always said that you either live life on the edge or you die wishing you had. ”
A log in the fire popped, sending sparks spiraling. “So that’s where your old man got the name.” Harper said.
Cole glanced at Ethan, resting a steady hand on his knee. “For my father, maybe it was just a story, a good idea for a name, but for me, it means you don’t get to pick your edge. You learn how to walk it.” Silence fell, broken only by the fire’s crackle and the pines rattling in the wind.
“We walked ours today, didn’t we?” Riley asked.
Cole looked at the group—bruised, battered, but alive. “Yeah,” he said. “We all did.”
Harper nodded, her usual sharpness replaced by genuine warmth. "Some of us spend our whole lives avoiding the edge. Today I learned why that's a mistake."
Riley raised the flask. “To the Edge Walkers!”
Ethan squeezed Cole's hand, his voice thick with emotion. "I've never been prouder to walk beside anyone in my life."
They passed the flask around and each of them took another swing.
Soon after, Harper excused herself, muttering about being exhausted and desperately needing some sleep after today.
Jack and Riley also opted to return to their tents as they followed Harper.
Jack was feigning bravado but limping. Riley left last, pausing only to blow a dramatic kiss to Cole and Ethan before vanishing into his tent.
The fire was down to embers now, but neither Cole nor Ethan moved. They sat for a while longer before heading back to their tents.
As Ethan turned to head to his tent, Cole grabbed his hand and gently pulled, leading Ethan to his tent. They both stepped inside and Ethan zipped up the tent behind him.
They crawled into the sleeping bag. For a few seconds they just lay there, side by side, listening to the wind.
Cole turned toward Ethan, propped up on one elbow. “You ever think about what comes next?”
“All the time.”
“I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back and pretend. Not after this.” Cole confessed.
Ethan grabbed his hand. “You don’t have to,” he said, so sure it was almost frightening. “We don’t have to pretend for anyone, not anymore.”
Cole wanted to believe it. He did. But the fear ran deep. “My dad—he’s going to lose his shit. You know that, right?” Cole’s voice roughened, truth scraped raw. “He’ll make sure I don’t have anything left. The ranch, the land, the inheritance. He’ll make my life hell if I defy him like this.”
Ethan shifted, pressing his forehead on Cole’s and placing a gentle hand on his cheek, bringing them nose to nose. “Then we’ll go somewhere else. You don’t need his land, money or approval to have a life.” He feathered his thumb along Cole’s cheek. “You’ll have me. That’s not nothing.”
For a long moment Cole couldn’t answer. The words felt too big for his mouth, too delicate for a world with men like Hershel Walker in it. But Ethan waited, never pushing, just present in the way Cole had always needed.
At last, Cole reached up, and placed his hand on Ethan’s cheek and gently stroked it with his thumb just like Ethan had done to his. “That’s… everything,” he whispered. “I’m just scared, is all. This is what I have always feared.”
Ethan smiled, patient and strong. “We will face that fear together and conquer it. And when the time comes, we’ll face him. I don’t give a fuck about the ranch, or the money, or any of that. I only care about you. I only want you. Even if you only had two cents to your name I’d still want you.”
Cole’s world rearranged. All the old scaffolding of fear and anger snapped, then dissolved, and was replaced by something cleaner and pure, a since of happiness and comfort that he has never experienced in his life.
He leaned in and kissed Ethan and held it for what felt like an eternity as he savored the taste of Ethan’s lips and the feeling of new beginnings.
It wasn’t sex—not tonight. It was a different kind of hunger, one that left them tangled in each other’s arms, sharing heat and heartbeat, until the last of the adrenaline burned off and they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
Outside, the fire finally went cold. Inside, they drifted off to sleep, the edge no longer something to be feared but something they could walk together—one step at a time.