Chapter 2 – Jack
JACK
Jack had left Denver that morning at four, unable to sleep any longer.
On the drive, he struggled to keep Luke out of his mind by focusing on the job he was likely to be offered: teaching history and political science at Calder Ridge University and coaching the wrestling team, which was always in danger of being cut from the budget.
He let his mind wander, telling himself this was good: forge ahead with an open mind and a clear head, then simply assess the situation's potential. That’s all for now. No decisions required.
At sunrise, the drive turned glorious: blinding light, invigorating mountain air, and the sharp scent of pine on his first trip back.
His dog tags swayed, hanging from the rearview mirror. He’d taken them off just this morning, a symbolic step that felt right today.
He reflected on nice memories of his family’s two years here. Then his father had retired, and his parents settled back East, so there was never any reason to return.
Except the one.
And now his attention was yanked into focus by the first sign announcing his distance from Calder Ridge: 127 miles.
Even the town’s name reminded him of Luke.
For the first time in his life, Jack Garrison was free to chart whatever course he chose. Teaching? Maybe. Politics? Perhaps, and the state party was already talking with him about a congressional seat coming open.
Luke had factored into his journey back more than Jack was ready to admit.
He’d never forgotten Luke, his first love.
He’d have to see Luke at some point, but he wasn’t sure Luke would want to talk to him.
Maybe that uncertainty explained why Jack hadn’t written or called ahead.
After all, he knew he’d left Luke with more than a broken teenage heart; Jack had ghosted him completely in his first year away.
Needless cruelty and teenage recklessness then.
Midlife longing now, a hollow ache in his gut that kept him up some nights, playing the “what-if” game.
Or was it something more that Jack had been feeling?
After crossing the creek bridge and winding along the valley road, he saw the old sign: Welcome to Calder Ridge.
He checked into the lodge—the quaint yet grand log cabin hotel on the town square, where he'd stay until he found his own place. Inside, the lobby smelled of wood smoke and sourdough.
He recognized the woman behind the counter. Fit, about seventy, wearing athleisure and a Patagonia vest.
"Welcome to Calder Ridge!" she said. "First time in town?"
Jack took off his Ray-Bans and smiled. "Don't you recognize me, Mrs. Ellis?"
She studied him, then her face lit up. "Those eyes give you away! Lord, Jack Garrison. I can't believe it."
They caught up briefly before other guests arrived. "Mara runs the café now," Mrs. Ellis said. "You go see her, and we'll all catch up over dinner tonight, yeah?"
Jack climbed to his room and fell onto the four-poster bed, hoping a short snooze would clear his mind.
His "tactical nap" lasted almost three hours.
When he awoke, disoriented and cursing his usually infallible internal clock, he looked outside and saw heavy snow falling.
He needed a workout to clear his head. He'd passed The Ridge on his way in. He'd heard Luke worked there. Would it be weird just to walk in?
Maybe Luke didn't work there after all.
Maybe Luke was off today.
Maybe Jack wasn't even thinking about Luke.
Maybe.
That lie made it easier for him to move. The truth was harder to admit: that he wanted it to be true, that Luke would be there, that Luke would still remember as much as he did.
He drove the rented Jeep to the gym and sat in the parking lot for a full minute, watching the snow pelt his windshield.
This was nothing like the self-image he had cultivated of the conquering hero who plans every step, complete with backups, just in case.
But he’d simply been unable to send an email to Luke in the weeks leading up to this.
Garrison, you’ve led incursions into hostile territory and testified before Congress, he told himself. You can send one email. Just. Press. SEND.
But he couldn’t do it. He’d failed, and now he was here.
He could tell himself it was fine all he wanted, but he knew better. And he’d been trained to avoid letting gaps like that get in his way.
He should have planned what to say to Luke, but thinking about it shut his brain down. He saw too many ways it could go wrong. What if Luke was angry and cursed him out? What if it was immediately obvious that Luke hadn’t thought about Jack in decades?
It’s only your high school boyfriend, Garrison. Get over yourself.
He could keep replaying scenarios all day, but Jack finally admitted the truth to himself: Desire had driven him back. He had to see Luke, had to get this over with. Then he could make a plan.
He adjusted his demeanor—the scarred face of a combat veteran and former Golden Gloves champion—and squared himself to face unfinished business. Yes, that’s a simple way to look at it. Not a crisis, not a burden.
He ran it through the same checklist he'd used in the field: investigate, assess, prioritize, execute.
He stepped inside.
The humidity hit him immediately, thick and warm. Then Jack looked up, and there he was, bathed in the bright light from the ceiling.
Luke.
Even more devastating now, Luke seemed a little taller than Jack remembered.
His blond, curly hair was shorter than it was back then.
Luke cut an impressive figure, his red polo shirt almost losing the battle against his powerful chest and shoulders.
Luke turned to high-five a teenager, his movements and demeanor so naturally pleasant and confident, the genuine article that so many others tried to fake with bravado.
Jack's gaze instinctively dropped to Luke's ass—still round and firm, still absolutely hypnotizing.
Breathe, Garrison. You've been through worse.
"Holy shit," Luke said, walking toward him with an effortless, graceful stride. That smile. Those biceps. "Jack Garrison?"
"Hi." It was all Jack could manage. The word felt like gravel in his throat.
"Hi?" Luke laughed, warm and easy. "That's all you've got?"
Jack's mind went blank. He'd commanded troops under fire, briefed generals, and negotiated with hostile forces. But standing here, with Luke Calder smiling at him like that, he couldn't string two words together.
He heard himself say something about the university, the job, and the need to get going. Luke offered a tour of the gym. Jack mumbled an excuse and quickly grabbed an idea to save face.
“I wanted to stop by and see if you were here to say hello. I heard you work here, and, uh, I’ll definitely need to get a workout in at some point.”
That wasn’t too bad, he thought. Better than staring at Luke with his mouth open and eyes wide. It explained the deer-in-the-headlights look plausibly. Best he could do, given the situation.
The conversation was unfolding around him while his brain cataloged everything: the way Luke's voice had matured, the confidence in his movements, and the overwhelming evidence of his beauty.
"Let's catch up this week," Luke said. "Maybe grab dinner?"
That invitation felt like both a promise and a test. Was he excited or frightened? Or both?
Jack heard himself agree. Then he was walking out, legs moving on autopilot, Luke's eyes burning into his back.
In the Jeep, he gripped the steering wheel and cursed.
He was rattled. He'd lost control, instantly. He'd walked into the ambush he'd been avoiding for twenty-four years. What else could he expect? The one time he didn’t plan an incursion down to the last possible detail.
He put the Jeep in gear, set his jaw, and vowed never to let that happen again. He had a mission here, and he couldn't be thrown off like that.
But as he drove back to the lodge through the heavy snow, he recalled the instant paralysis that had seized him moments earlier and knew he was lying to himself again.