Page 27 of The Forbidden Summer (Pathfinders Lake #2)

Van

I sit on the floor of my old room, the carpet rough under my legs, cardboard boxes gaping open around me. The walls are bare now. No posters, no shelves. Just the quiet hum of a ceiling fan that never did work quite right.

My fingers brush over the sketchbook in my lap.

One of the ones I thought I lost in the last move.

As I flip through it slowly, I notice most of the pages are filled with messy lines and half-finished drawings.

Trees, mountains, and a dock that looks suspiciously like the one behind Père’s cabin.

My hands pause on a page near the back. Tucked between two sheets is a photo, faded at the corners and creased like it’s been handled too many times.

It’s of me and Père at the lake. We’re standing side by side, wet hair plastered to our faces, both of us grinning like idiots. I don’t remember putting it here. But there it is, hidden in plain sight.

My throat tightens. I press the photo to my chest like it might keep my heart from breaking open. Like if I hold it close enough, I can keep it all—Harold and Elliot, me and Père, the lake, the summer, the firelight, the feeling of being loved exactly as I am.

It’s just a photo. A little wrinkled from time, two guys sporting terrible haircuts. But it holds lifetimes.

The door creaks open behind me. I don’t turn around, but I know it’s Mom. She steps in quietly and sits beside me without saying a word. We look at the boxes for a while, the silence not uncomfortable, just… full.

“Find something good?” she asks eventually.

I nod, still staring at the picture. “I forgot how much I used to draw.”

She smiles a little. “You were always carving something. With a pencil or a stick or a butter knife.”

I laugh softly. “Yeah. Guess I’ve always been trying to shape things.”

She doesn’t say anything for a moment. The hush begins to stretch awkwardly until she finally breaks it. “You know… I didn’t realize how hard that last move was for you. Not really. I was so focused on what I thought was best for our family. I didn’t ask what was best for you .”

No shit. I glance at her. Her eyes are on the sketchbook, but her face is open and honest .

“It’s okay,” I say, but the words feel thin. I’ve waited years to hear that from her, but it doesn’t feel as satisfying as I imagined it would.

She shakes her head. “It’s not. But I see it now. And I want you to know, I’m proud of you. For finding your way back.”

That’s when it hits me. This isn’t just about leaving. It’s about finishing something I never got to finish before. This house. This version of me. The boy who had to swallow everything he felt just to survive.

I reach for my phone, heart racing, and snap a photo of the sketchbook page, one with a tree and a tiny heart carved into its bark.

I send it to Père with a message: I’ve been loving you longer than I realized. I’m almost home.

Then I close the sketchbook, set it gently in the “keep” pile, and start packing the rest.

I find Mom in the kitchen later, stirring something on the stove that smells like tomatoes and too much garlic, her comfort meal when she’s trying to hold it together. I linger in the doorway for a second, unsure how to start. The words are heavy in my chest, coiled and restless.

She glances up when she notices me. “You hungry?”

I shake my head. “Can we talk?”

She turns off the burner, wipes her hands on a dish towel, and nods toward the table. We sit across from each other, and for a beat, I don’t say anything. I’m afraid of breaking whatever fragile calm we’ve found. But I didn’t come back just to avoid this .

“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say finally, my voice steadier than I expected. “And it might be hard to hear.”

Her brows draw together, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“It’s about Père.” I pause. “And me.”

A shadow flickers across her face, like a storm cloud briefly passing overhead. She straightens but says, “Okay. I’m listening.”

I exhale, gripping the edge of the table. “It’s not new. Not to me. Not really. I think I’ve always felt something for him, even when I didn’t understand what it was. But after I came back, after we spent time together again… it became clear.”

Mom’s face doesn’t change much, but her eyes are searching mine. She’s trying to put it all together, trying to catch up.

“I love him,” I confess. “I’m not confused. It’s not a phase. He makes me feel seen, and safe, and like I matter. He makes my heart skip and my stomach flip. He makes me dizzy,” I say with a dopey grin, recalling the swirl in my head when he kisses me.

She leans back, arms folded, lips pressed in a tight line. My heart stutters, bracing for that familiar slap of disappointment. But then she exhales, slow and shaky, and her eyes soften.

“I can see that,” she says slowly, choosing her words carefully as if she’s afraid she’ll say the wrong thing. “You light up when you talk about him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile like that before.”

I blink, not sure I heard her right. Relief floods me so fast it almost makes me dizzy.

She rubs her temples. “It’s… a lot, Van. Not because I’m judging you. It’s just… my mother married him. He raised me. He helped raise you. I saw how deeply he loved my mother, and how hurt he was when she passed.”

I nod. “I know. That’s what makes it complicated. But it’s not wrong. We’re not hurting anyone. And it didn’t start until we were both adults.”

She nods slowly. “I know. I’m just trying to process. It’s… a lot. Strange, really.”

I give her a minute. Let her breathe through it.

“I want to move back to the cabin,” I say. “Not just for the summer. I want to build a life there, with him. Something that’s just ours.”

She blinks, her lips parting slightly in surprise. “Van…”

“I know it’s not what you were expecting,” I say quickly. “And I know it’s probably a lot to take in, but this isn’t something new. It’s been there for years, even when I didn’t have the words for it. And now… now I do.”

She leans back slightly, her hand still resting on the mug. “Does he…?”

“Yes,” I say simply. “He does. We’ve been careful. Respectful. But it’s real. And it’s mutual.”

My heart is tripping over itself trying to find a rhythm that doesn’t feel like I’m coding. “Mom, we both know I was never going to put on a suit and work in an office. I went to school for you, not me. This is what I want. What I’ve always wanted.”

She lets out a soft exhale, her eyes dropping to her tea. “You’ve been carrying this for a long time.”

I nod. “And I’m tired of hiding it. I don’t want to anymore.”

She looks at me again, her expression unreadable. “And what about the cabin? Is that why you want to move back?”

“It’s part of it,” I admit. “But it’s not just about him. It’s about me, too. About finding a place that feels like home. A place I can be myself. And yeah, part of that is being with him. But it’s also the life I want to build there. With or without him.”

Her face softens, and she reaches across the table to take my hand.

“You’ve grown up more than I realized, Van.

I might not understand everything about this, but I see how much it matters to you.

And I’ll do my best to support you. He did an amazing job raising you.

Look what a fine man you’ve grown into.”

Because he’s a fine man, and I wanted to be just like him.

Relief washes over me, and for the first time in days, the knot in my chest loosens.

“Thank you,” I say, my voice quiet but full of gratitude.

“I’m… still trying to wrap my head around it all,” she admits, looking down at her hands. “It’s not what I expected for you. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

I breathe out and I feel the fear and anxiety ease from my chest.

She looks up again, and her eyes shine with something tender, even if it’s a little guarded. “I just want you to be safe, Van. To be loved the way you deserve. If that’s with him… then okay. We’ll figure it out.”

My throat catches. “Thank you,” I whisper.

She reaches for my hand, giving it a light squeeze. “You’ve always had a big heart. Maybe now it finally found the right place to land.”

She squeezes my hand. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Be sure this is what you really want. For yourself. Not just for him because I love you both, and I want you both to be happy.”