Page 38 of Breaking Through

"They say the ring leader is this one-eyed squirrel with a notched ear." Holden continued his story while he unpacked the grocery bag—bread, sliced turkey, cheese, and chips. By the time he finished unpacking his supplies, I'd forgotten the untouched drink. Some kinds of comfort worked better than others.

His voice filled the hollow spaces in my cabin. "Parker swears he saw it wearing a tiny fedora, but I think that was after he'd had too much espresso."

"Holden, why are you really here?"

I watched as he pulled two mugs from a cabinet in my kitchen. He poured hot chocolate for each of us. His expression was warm when he looked up and offered me a mug.

"Because you're trying to protect me by pushing me away, and I'm trying to show you that I don't need that kind of protection. I need you."

The simple honesty in his voice made unshed tears burn at the corners of my eyes. I accepted the mug, careful not to let our fingers brush.

He started assembling sandwiches from the turkey and cheese he'd brought, his hands moving with casual purpose. "I figured you've probably not been eating well, and brooding on an empty stomach never helps."

Holden fixed the food like he'd been doing it every day.. How long had it been since anyone had cared enough to feed me? The sandwich he passed me was simple—turkey, cheese, a touch of mustard—but it was more than just food.

Between bites, I tried to offer part of an explanation. "The memorial service—"

"I know." He settled onto my couch, half of a sandwich in his right hand, tucking his left leg under him. "Tom told me. That's why the nightmares are getting worse, isn't it?"

I sank into my chair, the leather creaking beneath me. The hot chocolate was rich and dark, with a hint of something spicy."They want me to speak. It's supposed to be about courage and sacrifice and moving forward." A bitter laugh escaped. "As if I'm some kind of example."

"You are." Holden's voice was soft but sure. "Just not the way they think."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You didn't merely survive, Wade. You rebuilt. You found new ways to help people and protect them." He gestured at my ranger uniform, draped over a kitchen chair. "Every time you guide lost hikers home or teach kids about trail safety or build safer paths—that's using your bottomless well of courage."

"It's not enough." I spit the words out into the air between us. " Jenkins had three kids. Martinez was getting married that spring. They had futures. They had families with people who needed them—"

"And you think you don't?" Holden set his mug down. "You think there aren't people who need you now?"

The intensity in Holden's voice made me look up. Moonlight streamed through my window, creating silver highlights in Holden's hair. He'd never looked less like the carefree kid I expected him to be.

"I'm not—" I swallowed hard. "I'm not good for you, Holden. These nightmares, the memorial, all of it—you deserve better than someone who's still fighting old ghosts."

"Maybe I want to fight them with you." He moved closer. "Maybe I'm stronger than you think."

"I know you're strong." My voice cracked. "That's not—"

"Then stop treating me like I'm some fragile glass figurine." His hand found mine, warm and sure. "I've watched my grandfather struggle for every breath, and I've helped him fight his way back—multiple times. I've held him through panic attacks when he forgets where he is. I can handle your ghosts, Wade. If you let me."

"I'm terrified." It was a stunning admission, spoken in a whisper.

"Good." His thumb brushed my cheek. "That means you're finally letting yourself feel something."

"I'll be an old geezer by the time you're in your prime," I muttered, tension returning to my shoulders.

"Good thing I'm getting practice living with one now," Holden shot back with a teasing smile. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

When his lips found mine, they tasted like the hot chocolate. The kiss differed from our others—slower, deeper, weighted with everything we hadn't said. For the first time, I began to undress Holden.

His body was young, softer around the edges, but still strong with firm muscle beneath the smooth skin. I needed to show him that I didn't think he was fragile. He made a slight sound in the back of his throat that undid the last of my restraint.

I pulled him closer, my rough, calloused hands kneading his exposed flesh. Holden moaned louder when one of my hands slid downward. I cupped his cock and balls, weighing them, rubbing my thumb along the stiff outline. I always believed it was how men would greet each other if the gesture weren't considered socially inappropriate.

Somehow, we ended up on my couch, Holden lay on top of me with his weight pressing my body into the cushions. His fingers worked at my shirt buttons, and I didn't stop him. When the fabric parted, his hands traced each scar with reverent care. He lowered his head and followed with light flicks of his tongue.

He whispered, "The stories these tell."

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