Page 11 of Finding Gideon (Foggy Basin Season Two)

First time I’d heard that note in him—confidence, not just surviving the conversation but leaning into it. Something uncoiled in my chest.

We split into sides, racked the balls, flipped for break. Ronan won. He cracked them open with a sharp, echoing break that sent the cue ball spinning off the edge cushion, a couple solids rolling into the pockets like they’d been planning it all along.

I chalked my cue, eyeing the spread. “We’re going to embarrass ourselves.”

Gideon shrugged like he didn’t mind, lining up behind me as I took the next shot. “Embarrassing’s better than boring.”

Theo pointed at him with exaggerated approval. “See? I like this one.”

The game started easy, light banter trading across the felt, occasional cheers when someone sunk a ball by accident or sheer luck. Ronan played sharp, Theo was inconsistent but hilarious about it, narrating every shot like he was announcing an Olympic final.

“Watch this—physics is about to cry,” Theo said, sending a stripe bouncing wildly into two cushions before, somehow, dropping into the side pocket. “Genius or chaos? You decide.”

By the third round, Gideon had found his rhythm—easy motions, smooth aim, a quiet kind of focus that kept catching my eye when I wasn’t busy losing miserably on angles. His mouth tugged up at one corner when Theo missed an easy shot, and damn if that smile didn’t feel like a prize in itself.

He didn’t look sad anymore. Not like he had this morning, lost somewhere in the weight of whatever memory had pressed him down.

And maybe that’s why I was here. Not just for cheap beer and decent burgers—but because seeing him like this felt like pulling someone out of a shadow into something better.

“We’re catching up,” I said, lining up a shot I absolutely wasn’t going to make.

“Got your back,” Gideon murmured, and his voice went straight to the middle of me, stable as gravity.

Theo groaned when Gideon sank two in a row. “Who is this guy?”

“Dibs if Malcolm doesn’t keep him,” Ronan said mildly.

I barked a laugh, nudging Gideon’s shoulder with mine. “Better get used to it.”

Without thinking, I hooked an arm across his shoulders, all easy, like guys did when they were messing around in good fun, taking the win.

Except the second I touched him, something in me recalibrated.

Gideon stiffened—but then… softened. Stayed there, actually. Leaned into it, barely, but enough for me to feel it through my whole arm.

Should’ve been a joke. Just messing around. But now I was wondering why he fit like that. Why it felt so damn easy.

Didn’t move. Didn’t want to.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

I should’ve let go.

Any normal person with basic social skills would’ve let go by now, gone back to the game, laughed it off like nothing happened. Instead, my hand stayed draped across his shoulders like I’d forgotten how arms worked.

Gideon shifted—not away. Just enough so his side lined up against mine. Not pressing. Not leaning. Just there .

The crack of a cue ball against the rack made me blink. Ronan was breaking again for a new game like nothing had shifted under the floorboards. Theo was narrating his own failure before it even happened.

“And here we witness a master of mediocrity—watch closely, I’ll miss by a mile.”

I dragged my arm back to my side, careful, casual. No sudden movements. Like if I played it cool, the thunder in my chest would give me a break.

Gideon glanced at me.

It wasn’t a big look. Not some soft movie gaze full of meaning. Just a flick of his eyes, down and back, like he was checking to see if I knew what I’d just done. If I meant it.

Hell of a thing to realize I didn’t know either.

“Alright, married life’s got one game on us,” Malcolm said, eyeing the scoreboard with mock-seriousness. “Time to ruin their winning streak.”

I stepped up to the table, cue in hand, and forced my mouth into a smirk. “Let’s make it interesting, then.”

Theo perked up. “What, like bets?”

“Nah,” I said. “Bragging rights.”

“Already have those,” he fired back, lining up his shot. “You’re playing with a ringer.”

I looked at Gideon again—he was chalking his cue, rolling it between his palms, focused on the felt like it held his secrets.

Didn’t know what to do with the ache of it.

“C’mon, Doc,” Theo goaded, “don’t let us down.”

Gideon lifted his head, gave a small, lopsided smile that shouldn’t have hit me the way it did. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

And I swear—if I wasn’t careful—I was going to start wondering what else I wanted him showing up for.

We lost by one point.

Barely. A lucky shot from Theo that kissed two cushions like he planned it, though from his expression, I knew better. Ronan threw both fists in the air like they’d won a championship.

“I knew married life had perks,” Ronan crowed. “Unbeatable teamwork.”

“Accidental teamwork,” Gideon murmured under his breath, but the corners of his mouth twitched, like he didn’t mind the loss much.

He didn’t seem to be carrying the weight he had earlier. That eased something in me. Seeing him this way—shoulders looser, eyes lighter, as if the bad days didn’t get to own him all the time—felt good.

When we were shrugging into jackets and saying goodbyes, Theo clapped me on the back. “Good game, Doc.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Next time we’re rematching sober.”

Merle, still propping up the bar, gave me a wink on our way out, the kind of wink old men used when they thought they knew something you didn’t.

Outside, the street had quieted down. Just the soft hum of a town settling into itself late at night. My boots hit the gravel alongside Gideon’s, both of us walking in step without trying.

Neither of us said anything. The quiet wasn’t empty—it was weighted. Not heavy, exactly, but tuned to something I couldn’t quite name. Every step toward the truck still carried the ghost of his shoulder under my arm, like my body had filed the shape of it under important without my permission.

I caught the faint sound of his breath over mine, steady and even, and wondered if he was thinking about it too—or if that was just me, trying to read meaning where there wasn’t any.

By the time we reached the steps, I’d told myself a hundred times to let it go. Pretend it was nothing. A friendly thing. But every time I tried, the memory of how he didn’t pull away threaded its way back in, quiet but insistent.

I unlocked the front, Gideon behind me, close enough to catch the shift of his breath when I swung the door open.

I stopped by his door, hand still holding my keys, suddenly very aware of how the quiet between us had changed.

Should’ve just said goodnight. Should’ve done the normal thing. But I stood there like a fool, wanting?—

Didn’t even know what I wanted. Just knowing the part of me that had draped an arm over his shoulders and forgot to breathe… was still standing there waiting to finish the thought.

Gideon opened his door halfway, glanced at me over his shoulder. “Night, Doc.”

His voice was soft. Tired, maybe. But not closed off.

“Night,” I said, the word coming out rough.

Door clicked shut.

Mine didn’t, not right away. I stood there like an idiot, keys still in hand, feeling like someone had knocked something loose in my chest and I didn’t know how to put it back.

It should’ve been nothing.

Just a game. Just drinks. Just a walk back.

But now I was standing here wondering how the hell his shoulder had fit under my arm like it belonged there.