Page 8 of The Forbidden Summer (Pathfinders Lake #2)

Waylon

One brief moment—a handful of precious seconds—that’s all it took to lay my soul bare. Now, it’s all out in the open, the ugly truth hidden in our hearts brought to light. And there’s no taking it back.

I was caught up in the moment, the quiet wrapping around us like a cocoon, the soft sway of the boat beneath us, gently rocking, lulling me into a false sense of security.

His eyes—those bright, trusting eyes—locked onto mine with a kind of knowing that sent a ripple through me. And I couldn't look away. I didn’t have the energy to shutter my feelings, to disguise the need simmering just beneath the surface, begging to be acknowledged.

It was there, unspoken but raw. And Van saw it.

In that moment, when the world felt like it had fallen silent, I let go.

I gave him permission to admit his desire without needing a long, drawn-out conversation neither of us was ready to have.

It was simpler this way. Less complicated.

I couldn’t bear the weight of words when everything between us was already so much more than what could be said.

I didn’t have to say it. I let my silence speak for me.

Van almost kissed me. I almost let him! The softest of touches, but it felt like a spark, setting something ablaze inside me. A quiet, dangerous promise.

There’s no going back now. No pretending I haven’t noticed his attraction to me strengthening each summer. No disguising my interest, the way my pulse quickens when he’s near, how his mere presence stirs something deep within me.

We’ve danced around it for too long, avoided the words and the truth, but there’s no way to pretend it doesn’t exist anymore. Not after today.

I can feel the shift between us, the subtle tension growing, and I know that from this moment on, everything is different. Whatever happens next, there’s no pretending we don’t both know exactly what we want.

Merdé! I fucked up so bad.

My conscience wants to rationalize this, to point out that Van isn’t really my grandson, not by blood, but I refuse to deny our connection to justify my inappropriate desire.

Evander Holt is my grandson in every sense of the word. Every sense that counts.

My attraction to him is complicated, nuanced, and forbidden, and just plain wrong. It is. It has to be, or I wouldn’t feel so guilty and ashamed every time I look at him, every time I have to stop myself from reaching for him.

I can’t imagine telling his mother or his stepfather, I can’t imagine holding his hand walking down the street. Hell, I can’t imagine sitting on my wife’s grave and telling her I’ve fallen in love with her grandson.

Which means it’s wrong.

But goddamn, it feels so right.

Where do we go from here?

How do we go back to normal?

Will it ever be normal again?

I rush through dinner prep while Van showers, the sound of water running through the pipes drowning out the noise in my head. His plate sits untouched on the counter, but I take mine outside to eat on the porch. Alone.

Nothing but crickets and owls to keep me company.

Until Van pushes open the screen door, the rusty hinges creaking loudly in the peace. The sound breaks through my thoughts, sharp and jarring, and my heart skips a beat.

“Mind if I join you?”

I glance over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of him in the doorway, his damp hair falling loosely around his face, his shirt missing, as always.

I hesitate for a moment before I push my plate aside and gesture to the chair beside me. “Yeah,” I say quietly, “there’s room.”

He steps outside, the door clicking shut behind him as he walks across the porch toward me, his gaze meeting mine in the dim light. The air between us feels heavier now, expectant, like it’s been waiting for this moment to arrive.

We sit in silence, just listening to the sounds of the night, both of us unwilling to break the fragile peace. Then Van’s voice cuts through the stillness again, softer this time. “Cap?”

I’m Cap now, not Père, not the name that reminds him of our connection.

Van clears his throat, and my heart kicks up its pace. “You know, earlier... on the boat,” he starts, but trails off, like he’s not sure how to finish the sentence. “I thought...”

I meet his gaze, my chest tightening. “You thought what?” I ask, my voice steady, but underneath it, there's a rawness, something vulnerable I can't hide.

Van looks away, his hand brushing the back of his neck as if he's trying to find the right words. The tranquility between us feels like it’s about to break. “I thought maybe... that we were both about to do something we couldn’t take back.”

I feel a rush of heat flood my face. My pulse quickens as I try to make sense of it, try to understand what he’s really saying. Because if he’s saying he doesn’t want this, that it’s nothing more than an innocent fantasy, he’ll knock twenty years off my life, and I’ll be able to breathe again.

“Van,” I start, clearing my throat. “I would never do anything to hurt you. Ever. Thoughts are just that, ideas in your head. They don’t necessarily have to have a place outside of that. It’s not wrong to want something you don’t plan to act on.”

Actually, that’s not completely true. It’s not wrong for him, but for me… well, I hold myself to a different standard.

“But that’s just it, Cap. What if…”

Don’t, Van. Please, don’t say what if .

“What if I… I want to act on them. What if I want them to be real? What then?”

What then? Then, we’re fucked, that’s what.

“Van, you don’t?—”

Van holds up his hand, cutting me off mid-sentence.

“Don’t do that,” he says, his voice firm but not unkind. “You feel what I’m feeling, and you wouldn’t if you didn’t see me as an adult. Yet, by dismissing my feelings, you’re treating me like a child. Please, Père, I’m asking you to give me more credit than that.”

A pang of guilt twists inside me. He’s right. I’ve always treated him like the younger version of himself, the one I could protect, the one who still needed guidance. But he’s not that person anymore, and pretending like he is? That only makes things harder.

I lower my gaze, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “I... I’m sorry,” I say, the words coming out softer than I intended. “I don’t mean to treat you like that,” I admit quietly, my voice hoarse. “It’s just... old habits. I’ve always tried to protect you. To keep you safe.”

I know he’s not used to being seen as anything other than the carefree guy with a smile that could light up a room. But tonight, I see the man he’s becoming. Not the kid he once was, but someone more.

Van watches me closely, his expression unreadable, but I can see the way his jaw tightens.

“I know,” he says, his tone even. “But I’m not a kid anymore, Père.” He fidgets in his seat, leaning a little closer but still untouchable. “And you don’t need to protect me anymore.”

There’s a flicker in his eyes as he says that, and I realize he’s not just talking about the past, about the things I’ve tried to shelter him from. He’s talking about now . About this. About the way we’ve circled each other, avoiding the inevitable.

He reaches for the edge of my chair, fingers brushing against the wood, and for a moment, I wonder if he’s going to touch me, but he stops short.

“I want to stop hiding,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to stop pretending there isn’t something here.”

My breath catches in my throat. I want to say something, anything, but my mind goes blank.

The words are there, just on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to speak them.

I’ve been afraid to admit what’s been growing between us, this pull that’s only gotten stronger as the years have passed.

But now... now that the floodgates are open, now that the serenity has been shattered, I can’t ignore it. I can’t pretend anymore.

And apparently, neither can Van.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” I confess, my voice thick with uncertainty. “For us . But I can’t keep pretending it’s not there.”

Van’s eyes search mine as if he’s waiting for me to say more. Waiting for me to give him permission, or maybe just to admit what we both already know.

“I’m not asking you to be ready,” he says quietly. “I’m asking you to trust me. To let me show you... what this could be.”

A shiver runs down my spine despite the summer warmth.

His hand moves slightly closer to mine, and I feel it, like the space between us is narrowing, inch by inch.

I want to pull away, to hold back, to stay safe in the familiar distance we’ve kept for so long.

But something inside me, something deep and undeniable, pushes me forward .

“I do trust you,” I whisper. I do. And when I say it, I know it’s true.

Van’s breath hitches slightly, and for a brief second, I wonder if he’s going to close the gap between us. But he doesn’t. Instead, he nods, his gaze never leaving mine.

“I’m not asking you to rush into anything,” he murmurs.

“I just want to stop pretending like we don’t both know what’s been simmering between us.

” Van swallows, his eyes searching my face, like he’s desperately looking for a sign of hope.

“It’s exhausting, and it feels lonely, living with all these feelings I can’t express. ”

I exhale a shaky breath, my chest tight, and I know— I know —that we’re standing on the edge of something huge. Something that could change everything. But I’m still unsure of what comes next.

Because hell can freeze over before I give in to his terribly reckless suggestion.