Page 51 of Breaking Through

Wade squeezed my hand once before duty called him away. I watched him go, remembering all the times he'd had to balance his past and present.

Alone in the shelter, I studied Gran's sketches—all those careful studies of light and shadow, moments caught in the process of transformation. The Polaroid in my hands showed similar patterns: illumination and darkness, clarity and uncertainty.

My phone chimed. It was thePhotogenesiseditor:

Looking forward to discussing your unique perspective on wild areas. Your work captures something raw and immediate that our readers crave.

Outside, the wind picked up, announcing that rain was on its way. Somewhere in Blue Harbor, my parents unpacked Gran's old albums while Grandpa probably critiqued the latest baked goods from the coffee shop.

Wade was heading up to Eagle Point, strong and steadier than he'd been in years. And I stood in the shelter, surrounded by various kinds of light, unsure which beams to follow.

I slipped the photo into my journal, between pages of half-formed thoughts about art, home, and choice. The future stretched out like one of Gran's endless horizons, full of possibilities I hadn't even known were options.

Everything was changing. I just wasn't sure I was ready to change with it.

Chapter sixteen

Wade

The park service paperwork fanned across my kitchen table in orderly rows, each sheet aligned with military precision. Even the pencils I'd laid out formed a perfect column, points freshly sharpened, waiting for routine data entry. But my hand kept drifting to Holden's latest Polaroid, tucked between trail maintenance reports.

He'd captured me knee-deep in late autumn grasses, teaching Maya's school group about watershed conservation. The kids were out of frame, but their awe colored every pixel. I appeared patient, engaged, and competent through Holden's lens—everything I'd never seen in myself until he started documenting my daily work.

Wade -

You need to see these numbers. Holden's Polaroid series is exploding. The Sunset Ranger series alone (yes, that's what followers are calling your trail maintenance photos) has close to 100,000 views.Photogenesismagazine reached out about featuring his work.

I know you hate surprises, but there are plans in the works to celebrate Holden and his contributions to Blue Harbor. Of course, we'd all want you to be part of it. I'll keep you in the loop.

The real news, though? There's talk of a gallery show in Portland.

Thought you should hear it from me first. Call if you need to process.

-P

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, not knowing how to respond. Of course, Holden was getting noticed. How could he not? He saw beauty where others saw banality, found stories in silence, and turned ordinary moments into art. The question had never been if he'd be discovered, but when.

And now "when" had arrived, bringing with it the weight of possibilities I'd been trying to ignore. Portland. Galleries. A world of artistic connections waited to recognize what I'd seen that first morning on the beach.

The pencil in my other hand snapped, splintering across the pristine paperwork.

"Shit." I brushed graphite dust from the forms, but my hands weren't steady.

The cabin's walls pressed closer, heavy with three years of carefully constructed solitude. I needed air. Movement. Something to ground me in the physical world where problems had clear solutions.

I was halfway to the door when it swung open. Holden stood there, silhouetted against the sunset, cheeks flushed from the cold. He wore his camera around his neck, as usual.

"Hey. Got your message about the trail reports, but then Sarah said—"

I crossed the space between us in three strides and kissed him. Not our usual gentle exploration, but something desperate and hungry. I needed to taste him and have him before the rest of the world stole him away. He made a surprised sound against my mouth before melting into it, his camera bag thumping to the floor.

"Wade?" He pulled back just enough to see my face. "What's—"

"I need—" The words stuck, but my hands spoke for me, sliding under his jacket, seeking skin. "Please."

Understanding dawned in his eyes. He shrugged off his coat and then helped me with his flannel shirt's buttons while I walked us backward toward my bedroom. We'd done this dance before, but never with such urgency.

Within minutes, we were buck naked. Shock still entered my system every time I witnessed the youthfulness of Holden's body. The only way I could be with someone like him was to recognize that his soul was so much older.

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