Chapter 5
There’s something about chopping vegetables and arguing over whether beans need more salt that smooths the sharp edges off everything.
The sun is dipping low enough to soften the trees into silhouettes, and the fire’s steady now, crackling with a kind of contentment that makes me think it knows something I don’t.
I lose myself in the rhythm. Slice, scrape, drop. Carrots into the cast iron pot hanging over the flames. My hands take over while my brain finally shuts up for a minute.
For three guys with smartphones and subscriptions to every streaming service known to mankind, we’ve chosen the most outdated, pioneer-ass way to make dinner. But watching the fire lick the bottom of that blackened pot makes freeze-dried meals feel like surrender.
It adds to the fun, I guess.
Maybe everything tastes better when you’re pretending to be someone else.
I’m halfway through the carrots when Milo appears over my shoulder, so quiet I nearly stab myself. He has a gift for materializing at the exact second you think you’re alone.
He makes a low, thoughtful sound as he watches me chop. “You always cut like that?”
I pause mid-slice. “Like what?”
“Like you’re worried you’ll hurt its feelings,” he says, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “You’ve got a gentle touch, babe.”
I try to shrug it off, but I can feel my neck heating up. “I don’t want carrot shrapnel in the beans. It’s called precision.”
“Sure,” he says. “Precision. Not overthinking.”
Milo swings one leg over the bench and drops down beside me, all casual like he’s not about to ruin my day.
He’s got this look. Dark eyebrows a little too high, mouth twitching, arms folded like he’s holding something in. The same look he’s had since we were kids, right before he says the thing that hits a little too close and then laughs like it’s a joke.
“The hike,” he says.
“What about it?” I keep chopping. Harder now.
“C’mon. You know what.”
I glance up and give him my best blank stare, then go back to the cutting board and take it out on an onion. Must’ve missed the mark, because he lets out this sharp laugh that makes me want to stab something that isn’t vegetables.
“Oh come on, Nate,” he says, swiping a piece of carrot and crunching it between his teeth. “You two were practically holding hands out there.”
His eyes flick over my shoulder to where Tanner’s digging through the cooler. I don’t turn. I don’t have to. Some part of my brain has been tracking him all day, like if I lose sight of him he’ll disappear again.
“We weren’t holding hands.”
“Oh no… it was so much worse,” Milo says, grin stretching wide enough I can count molars. “You were… flirting.”
The way he says it is makes me want to dump the entire cutting board into his lap.
“Weren’t doing that either.”
Whatever Tanner’s doing must catch Milo’s attention, because he leans in close enough that I catch the citrus deodorant he’s been wearing as long as I’ve known him.
“It’s kinda hot.”
I keep chopping. Maybe if I focus hard enough on these vegetables, I can pretend I didn’t hear that.
“Seeing him want you for once? Like he doesn’t know where to put his hands?” Milo’s voice drops lower. “Turns out I’m into that.”
I roll my eyes so hard I nearly see my own brain. “He’s not flirting. He’s not… whatever. We’re getting back to normal.”
“Uh-huh,” Milo says, nudging me with his shoulder. “Look… we’ve been together a long time.”
“Five years. Yes, I know. Tragically.”
He laughs, the sound warm against my ear. “And it’s not like… we haven’t ever… you know…”
“No, I don’t know,” I say, fighting the smile trying to break through my irritation. I do know exactly what he’s about to say, but hearing it out loud might actually stop my heart.
“You’re gonna make me say it?” he asks. I nod.
He sighs, then leans in close enough that his lips brush my ear. “Had a guest.”
Milo has never been the jealous type. I don’t even think he knows how to feel threatened. I’m pretty sure he could be in a life-or-death situation and treat it like an interesting new experience.
My stomach does this weird roller-coaster drop because if Milo’s suggesting what I think he’s suggesting, then whatever’s happening isn’t my brain playing tricks.
The air between the three of us really has changed. There’s a pull now. A weight I can feel even when I’m trying not to.
“Here,” Milo says. “Give me your hand.”
I glance at him and then set the knife down. He takes my palm and guides it to him, pressing it against his hard length.
“See what that thought does to me, Nate?” he murmurs, voice rough, and I hate how instinctively I respond, how my grip tightens before I can stop myself. “I’m saying… if you want it, I definitely do.”
My pulse stumbles. “I don’t want to screw this up.”
“We won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What are y’all talking about?” Tanner’s voice cuts in from a few feet away.
I jerk back like I’ve been burned, snatching my hand away and grabbing the knife again. I focus hard on the cutting board, on the rhythm, on anything that isn’t the heat burning me up from the inside.
Milo swivels. “Relationship things. Find the bug spray?”
“I did,” Tanner says, holding up a can.
I can’t help but grin. “See? Told you we packed it. Milo thought we left it at home.”
“I said it was possible,” Milo shoots back. “You panic-pack.”
“I prepare,” I correct.
Tanner’s eyes catch mine at that, and there it is again. Something alive. Something quick and quiet that no one else would clock unless they were looking for it.
His eyebrow quirks. “What kind of relationship things?”
“Oh…” Milo stretches the word, all fake innocence. “You know. Thrilling stuff. Joint bank accounts.”
“Insurance premiums,” I add, chopping a little faster than necessary.
“Whether the gutters need cleaning before winter.”
Tanner slides onto the bench across from me, his knee knocking into mine under the table. It lingers half a second too long to be accidental. “Right. All that adult shit you two have figured out.”
“Exactly,” Milo says, tapping the table. “Boring stability. Not everyone can live out of their car like some kind of…”
Tanner reaches across me, arm brushing my chest, heat and pine and sweat flooding my senses as he snags a carrot. “Good thing I don’t.”
My knife pauses mid-cut. “Don’t what?”
“Live out of my car.” His eyes find mine again.
“Course you do…”
“Nope.” Something shifts in his expression. “Not anymore.”
I suddenly can’t get a full breath, and I don’t entirely know why.
Tanner reaches across the table, his hand landing on my forearm, stopping my knife mid-chop. His thumb moves once, barely there, and my whole body lights up.
Milo’s watching. His throat works as he swallows, and I catch the way his pupils widen, drinking everything in.
I drop my gaze to the cutting board. There’s a small mountain of diced onion. When did that happen?
“I moved home a few weeks ago,” Tanner says, hand still on my arm. “I’m tired of the road. I want something… stable.”
“What does that look like for you?” Milo asks, leaning forward, voice a little too even.
“I don’t know.” Tanner shrugs. “I guess it could be whatever I want. Stability looks different on everyone.”
“So you’re back with your parents,” I manage.
“For now.” His mouth tilts up at one corner. “Wanted to tell you in person. A surprise.”
I try to find something normal to say. Something adult. “That’s, um… wow. Congratulations?”
Tanner laughs, open and easy, almost as if nothing about this moment is loaded. “Thanks. Guess you’re stuck with me.”
The bench wobbles as Milo shifts closer, his knee warm against mine, and suddenly I’m boxed in by two versions of the same message: stay, stay, stay.
It’s what I used to want. I spent years bracing for Tanner to disappear again, so the idea of him sticking around hits harder than it should.
Tanner sighs. “Haven’t slept in a real bed in years. My own room. With, like, walls.”
“Yeah. Modern living. Wild concept,” I say, but it comes out tight. My knife starts moving again, dicing potatoes I don’t remember grabbing.
This should be good news. It is what I wanted. Five minutes ago, the idea of the three of us tangled up in something had my pulse racing. Now my stomach feels like concrete.
Guest. That’s the word that sticks.
That’s what Tanner has always been. Someone who shows up like weather and leaves just as fast. Wanting him was easier when there was an expiration date.
But now? He’s staying. Across town, and with that there’s no countdown or exit or safety net.
I sneak a glance at him through my lashes. His knee’s still pressed to mine under the table, and I swear I can feel every point of contact like it’s amplified.
My knife stalls mid-chop. If he’s not leaving, then whatever Milo was hinting at isn’t some temporary fantasy. It’s real. It’s something that could actually happen. And anything real can fall apart as easily.
I just got him back. The idea of messing that up makes my chest ache, even if some reckless part of me still wants it.
“It’ll be nice to have you back,” Milo says, and that’s when I notice the quiet.
I stare down at the potatoes. “Should get this soup going.”
I stand too fast, nearly knocking over my water bottle, and busy myself at the camp stove.
Behind me, Milo and Tanner slip into one of those conversations that doesn’t need words. All glances and small shifts. I can feel it happening without turning around, like the air changing before a storm.
Tanner sighs and pushes to his feet. “I’m disgusting. Gonna hit the bathhouse while you do your chef thing.”
“Cool,” I say, pouring water from the plastic jug with far too much focus.
He ducks into the tent, comes back out with a bundle of clothes and a towel, then disappears down the trail. The second he’s gone, Milo’s at my side.
“You’re being weird.”
“Am not.”
“You’re being really, really weird, and it’s kind of adorable but mostly pathetic.” His tone’s off though. Less teasing. More… something else.
Milo leans a hip against the table, arms crossed. “Talk to me.”
I fit the lid onto the pot and keep my eyes on the steam. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
He scoffs. “Let me try again. Talk to me, or I throw your favorite knife into the woods.”
I snort. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“I would. You know I would.” He nudges my shoulder, hard enough to throw me off rhythm. “So what is it? Mad? Sad? Or aggressively you?”
I watch the carrots swirl in the boiling water. “I don’t know. It’s weird.”
“This shouldn’t be as weird as you’re making it.”
A laugh bursts out of me like a startled bird, surprising both of us. Milo’s eyebrows shoot up. I clap a hand over my mouth, heat rushing to my face. “Sorry. Tanner said literally the exact same thing to me. Word for word.”
It’s so weird. Milo and Tanner feel like two sides of the same coin. One chasing movement, the other building something steady. One wants to go, the other wants to stay. And somehow I’ve always been caught right between them, pulled in both directions at once.
“Well, he’s right,” Milo says, crossing his arms. “The guy’s moving home. You’ve spent, what, five thousand hours complaining about him being gone? This should be confetti-level news.”
I fumble the lid back onto the pot, avoiding his eyes. “I know. You’re right. It shouldn’t be weird.”
But it is. It absolutely is.
I can’t remember the last time something felt this off-kilter. Tanner being back for good has the texture of a dream I’ve had a thousand times, except now that it’s real, I’m a little sick with it.
There’s nowhere to put the old ache. The half-decayed longing I kept manageable by convincing myself Tanner was temporary. A comet. Bright, brief, gone.
Now he’s not gone.
Now we’re all here, the three of us circling something I don’t have a name for yet. And it hits me, sharp and unwelcome, that maybe stability is as terrifying as loss.
“I should go talk to him.”
“Nate, you don’t have to—”
But I’m already moving. Halfway down the trail before my brain catches up with my legs.
“I do,” I call back, not turning around. “I’ll feel better if I tell him I’m happy about it. This is good.”
Good or not, I don’t know.
All I know is that I can’t stand there another second under Milo’s gaze, feeling like I’m being gently but thoroughly understood.
If I don’t find Tanner now, this tight, burning thing lodged somewhere between my lungs is going to eat me alive before morning.