Page 30 of The Forbidden Summer (Pathfinders Lake #2)

Van

Morning light spills across the bed, warm on my face. I wake to the sound of birds and the faint smell of woodsmoke from last night's fire still lingering in the stove.

Père is already awake, lying on his side facing me. His hand rests on my back, tracing lazy circles, like he’s memorizing me all over again.

“Did you come back because of the fire?” he asks, his voice low, a little rough with sleep.

I blink up at him, my chest tightening. I almost say yes, because of course I did, I was panicked. Out of my mind with worry.

But I owe him the truth.

“I came back because you're here,” I whisper. “The fire just gave me an excuse.”

His hand stills. His eyes search mine like he’s looking for cracks, any sign I’ll take it back.

I push closer, tucking my head under his chin, feeling him breathe me in like he needs me as much as I need him.

“I would’ve come even without the fire,” I say, voice thick. “I couldn’t stay away.”

For a long moment, he just holds me, his arms tightening until there’s no space between us. I feel him exhale, a long, shuddering breath, like maybe he’s been holding it for weeks.

“Did you tell your parents?”

“I did.” Lifting my hand to his face, I caress his stubbled cheek. “She’s… trying to understand, but I don’t think she’s mad.”

“I wouldn’t blame her if she was.”

“I think she’s more afraid of losing me. Making a point isn’t that important.”

Père leans into my touch, his eyes searching, like he can’t quite believe I’m here, that this is real. His hand covers mine, holding it against his cheek like he never wants to let go.

“I get that,” he says quietly. “I was afraid of losing you, too.”

I scoot closer until our knees bump, and I can feel the warmth of him seeping into my skin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I promise. “Not unless you send me away.”

He shakes his head immediately, fierce and certain. “Never.” His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “Even if it’s hard sometimes… even if the world doesn’t understand… you’re my heart, Van. Always have been. ”

My throat tightens, and all I can do is press my forehead to his, breathing him in, memorizing the way he smells.

Outside, the cabin creaks and sighs around us. I close my eyes and whisper against his skin, “I’m home.”

And I mean it in every way that matters.

We lay like that for a long time, dozing on and off, in no hurry to leave the safety of the warm cocoon of his embrace.

When the smell of coffee and bacon reaches me, I climb out of bed and wander down the hall.

The faint creak of floorboards under Père’s boots calls me to the kitchen.

Sunlight slips through the parted halves in the curtains, painting lazy golden stripes across the table.

I stretch, feeling the soreness in my limbs, the leftover adrenaline from the night before when I thought I might lose him forever.

Padding barefoot across the kitchen, I join him by the window, mug in hand, watching the lake. He’s got that far-off look he wears sometimes, like he’s talking to ghosts only he can hear.

Without a word, I wrap my arms around his waist and rest my cheek against his back. He hums low in his throat, leaning into me.

“Thought you'd sleep longer,” he murmurs.

“Didn't want to waste a minute,” I say, voice still rough with sleep.

We drink coffee on the porch, watching the early morning mist lift off the water. The silence between us feels almost sacred. No expectations, no big talks about the future. Just being in the moment. Together.

When the sun is high above the peaked roof, we walk the perimeter of the cabin together, surveying the damage. Ash dusts the grass and the lower branches of trees like a grim kind of snow, but the cabin itself is untouched, stubborn, and strong, like Père.

“We got lucky,” he says, nudging a charred branch with the toe of his boot. “We’ll drive into Stony Creek and see if we can help with the cleanup.”

I nod, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “Yeah. Whatever they need.”

We walk the edge of the property a little longer, checking for hot spots, for anything smoldering that could flare up again. Every now and then, he glances at me like he still doesn’t quite believe I’m here. Like if he looks away too long, I’ll vanish into the smoke.

I feel the same way.

The sky is gray blue now, heavy with fading smoke and the lingering scent of ash. I keep close to him, not touching but near enough to feel the heat of his body.

When we make it back to the porch, he sinks onto the steps with a grunt and pulls his boots off. I follow suit, setting mine beside his.

“We got lucky,” he says again, quieter this time, more to himself.

I sit down beside him, pressing my knee to his. “Yeah. But even if we hadn’t… I’d still have found you.”

His eyes flash to mine, and the relief in them burns bright. “You did,” he says, voice rough. “You found me.”

For a while, we just sit there, watching the wind ripple across the lake, listening to the empty hum of a world that almost burned but didn’t .

“I’ll always find you,” I say, so softly I’m not even sure he hears it. “I was always coming back. You know that.”

He reaches over and threads his fingers through mine, grounding me in that simple way only he can.

After a long moment, he says, “Let’s get cleaned up. Then we’ll drive into town. Help however we can.”

I squeeze his hand once before letting go. “Okay.”

As we stand and head inside, I catch a glimpse of us reflected in the window—two men covered in soot and sweat, tired and aching, but standing. Together.

And somehow, that feels like the luckiest thing of all.