Page 38

Wyatt

I ’m beside myself, pacing the floor with restless, frantic steps.

How could this happen? Anxiety churns in my stomach, making me feel sick.

The Wildwood has been my whole world. Every memory, every significant moment in my life is tied to this place.

The thought of losing it, of everything being upended, is unbearable.

I can’t imagine a life beyond these walls, beyond the fields and forests that have been my sanctuary.

Anger simmers beneath the surface. How could Finn keep the possibility of Mr. Oliver coming to collect early from me?

Maybe we could have done something sooner?

Rather than going camping, do a fundraiser…

something proactive. The betrayal stings, sharp and raw.

I trusted him, depended on him, and now this?

My fists clench at my sides, my jaw tightens. He should have told me.

But as quickly as the anger rises, it begins to dissipate, replaced by an aching understanding.

Finn has been under a great deal of stress trying to manage the secrets he’s kept.

To keep the rest of us shielded from the anxiety he must have been feeling since he arrived here.

The weight of the lodge, the expectations, the fear of failure—it must have been crushing.

He must have been terrified to tell me about the deed coming due.

Afraid of what it might do to us, to me.

I stop pacing and take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside me.

I can’t let this destroy us. I can’t let my anger overshadow the love and support we’ve developed for each other since he arrived here at The Wildwood.

We’ve faced challenges since then, and we’ve always come out stronger.

Haven’t we?

I need to talk to Finn. I need to understand what’s happening, to find a way to fix this.

Because no matter how hard it gets, I can’t imagine a life without Wildwood or without Finn.

But when I step into the hallway to go to his room, I’m facing a wall of uncertainty.

He’d said nothing to me, gave me no indication at all of his conversation with Mr. Oliver.

He must be processing all of this himself and if I show up at his door unannounced, it could make things worse.

Dammit, I need to blow off some steam. I start to retreat back into my bedroom and then think, the pool hall is open at this hour. Not only could I use a beer or six, but it would do me some good to think about what I want to say to him when we do talk.

I drive into town, the road ahead a dark ribbon unspooling in the headlights.

The rumble of the truck’s engine is a dull background noise to the chaos in my mind.

I need to clear my head, to shake off the overwhelming anxiety and anger.

The billiard hall looms up ahead, its neon sign flickering like a beacon.

Maybe a game of pool will help me find some semblance of calm.

Inside, the hall is dimly lit, a haze of smoke hanging in the air.

The familiar clink of pool balls and the murmur of low conversations fill the space.

I head to an empty table, grabbing a cue stick and chalking the tip.

As I line up my first shot, the physicality of the game provides a momentary escape, a way to channel my restless energy.

I’m halfway through my game when I hear raised voices from the bar.

Glancing over, I see a woman, clearly uncomfortable, trying to fend off a guy who’s leaning too close, his posture aggressive.

He’s big, with a sneer plastered on his face, his eyes glinting with menace.

Anger flares hot and fast inside me like I’ve never known before.

I toss down my cue stick and stride over. “Hey, leave her alone,” I say, my voice sharp, commanding.

The guy looks up, his sneer deepening into a full scowl. “And who the hell are you?” he slurs, swaying slightly.

“Someone who doesn’t like seeing women harassed,” I reply, stepping between them.

He shoves me hard, but I stand my ground. “Back off,” I warn, my fists clenching.

“What are you gonna do about it?” he taunts, throwing a punch.

I dodge and counter with a quick jab to his ribs.

The scuffle escalates, punches flying as we grapple in the narrow space between tables.

The pain from his hits are sharp, but my adrenaline dulls it, my focus on ending this quickly.

I can taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth, but I don’t back down.

I dodge another wild swing, countering with a quick uppercut that catches him off guard.

He stumbles back, but he’s not done yet.

He comes at me again, this time with more ferocity, swinging wildly. I block a couple of his punches, but one manages to connect with my cheek, sending a jolt of pain through my skull. Ignoring it, I retaliate with a solid punch to his gut, doubling him over.

The crowd around us has grown, patrons stepping back to give us space, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement.

The pool hall is filled with the sound of our struggle, grunts and the thud of fists meeting flesh.

The guy’s friends hover nearby, but they don’t step in, watching with tense expressions.

He throws another punch, but this time I see it coming.

I sidestep and land a heavy blow to his jaw, feeling the impact reverberate up my arm.

He crashes into a table, sending drinks and pool balls scattering.

The force of the blow finally takes him down, and he stays there, groaning and holding his jaw.

I stand there, breathing hard, my fists still clenched, adrenaline coursing through my veins. My cheek throbs, and I can feel the sting of a cut on my lip. The woman I defended steps forward, her eyes wide with concern and gratitude.

“Are you okay?” she asks, gently touching my cheek where the skin split.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I mutter, wincing as she dabs at the cut with a napkin. We sink to the floor, leaning against the wall. She continues to clean my wounds with a surprising tenderness, her hands steady despite the commotion around us.

“Thank you,” she says softly, her eyes meeting mine. “That was really brave.”

“Just did what anyone would,” I reply, shrugging it off.

As she finishes tending to my cuts, she leans in closer, her eyes fluttering shut as her lips part slightly. For a moment, I’m frozen, and then I turn my head away. The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. This isn’t what I want. This isn’t who I am.

“I’m sorry,” I say gently, pulling back. “I can’t.”

She looks confused, hurt flashing in her eyes. “Why?”

“Because there’s someone else,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “And… I love him.”

Understanding dawns in her eyes, and she nods, sitting back on her heels. “I get it,” she says softly. “Thank you again.”

I stand up, my body aching from the fight but my mind clearer than it’s been all night.

I know what I need to do. I need to get back to Wildwood, back to Finn.

The thought of him waiting there, maybe just as anxious and upset as I’ve been, spurs me into action.

I have to make things right. I have to let him know that no matter what, we’re in this together.

I leave the pool hall, the cold night air hitting my face like a wake-up call.

My cheek and lips sting from the fight, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the storm of emotions raging inside me.

I get into my truck, the engine’s familiar rumble a comforting backdrop as I grip the steering wheel tight.

I drive straight back to the lodge, the road ahead dark and winding, but my mind is wrestling with the words I must say to the man I love.

The headlights carve a path through the night, and as I drive, my thoughts spiral.

I’ve spent so much of my life hiding, denying who I really am.

Living at Wildwood, it was easy to ignore the truth, to bury it under the weight of daily responsibilities and routines.

But tonight, everything is crystal clear.

The woman’s attempted kiss, my visceral reaction, the undeniable realization—I’m not straight, I’m not bi. I’m gay. And I’m in love with Finn.

Truly in love. What I feel for him is nothing like I’ve felt in the past for anyone else. This is what my father and his had… it is real.

How could I have been so blind, so afraid to face the truth?

Every moment with Finn, every touch, every glance—it all makes sense now.

The depth of my feelings for him, the way my heart races at the thought of him.

It’s been there since the day we met, simmering beneath the surface, waiting for me to acknowledge it.

The lodge comes into view, a silhouette against the starry sky, and my heart pounds harder.

Finn might still be awake. He has to be.

I need to see him, to tell him everything.

No matter what’s happening with the lodge, with the banker threatening to take it from us, none of it matters more than Finn. More than us.

I park the truck and make my way inside, the familiar creak of the floorboards under my boots grounding me. The lodge is quiet, the only sound is the soft hum of the heater. I head straight for Finn’s room, my steps quick and determined. I can’t wait another second.

Standing outside his door, I hesitate for a moment, my hand hovering over the doorknob. What if he’s asleep? What if he doesn’t want to see me? But the thought of leaving things unsaid is unbearable. I knock softly, then open the door and step inside.

Finn is sitting on the edge of his bed, looking up in surprise as I enter. His eyes are red-rimmed, his expression weary and anxious. In his hands he has what looks like a notebook. This must be what he was referring to when he said he had reading to do. But what is it?

“Wyatt? What happened to your face?” His voice is a mix of concern and confusion.