Travis (Pelion Lake 1)

He leaned forward just a bit, his gaze unfocused, as if staring into the past. I had this vision of what a future with her might look like . . . He paused, his hands hanging in the air for a moment. Kids. A family. Things I’d never dared dream of before. His eyes met mine. It was so clear in my head, but the reality . . . well . . . I had no idea how we might get there, but I knew I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. And I’d spent my life wanting.

I swallowed, looking away. I’d spent my life wanting.

When I saw Archer raising his hands in my peripheral vision, I looked back at him. He had a teasing glint in his eye. And then there was the sex—

“Don’t tell me about the sex.”

His grin was slow. It was a Hale grin. I saw our father in it. I laughed, the awkward, overly emotional moment ending, something for which we were both—I could tell—grateful.

His smile dwindled, expression going thoughtful. Uncle Nathan told me once that when Hale men fall in love, it’s quick and it’s forever. It was true for me.

It’d been true for our father and uncles too.

And because of it, things had gone so terribly wrong.

The weight of that thought hung heavy inside me.

“Uncle Nate was kind of a nut, though,” I reminded.

Yes. He absolutely was. Archer smiled, but there was deep affection in his eyes.

I chuckled softly. We sat in silence, but it was comfortable.

I should go see what’s taking Bree so long, Archer said after a moment, standing. Do you want anything while I’m up at the house?

“No, I’m good. Thanks. And, Archer . . . thanks.”

He nodded once, turned, and headed toward the cottage where I could hear the distant rise and fall of the boys’ exuberant and constant commentary as Bree did whatever Bree was doing.

The fire had died down a bit. I picked up one of the logs sitting next to the fire pit and added it gingerly, watching as the flame leapt and licked at the new piece of wood, the kindling having no choice but to let itself be consumed.

Things had gone so terribly wrong for our father and uncles.

My brother had offered me insight I hardly deserved from the generosity of his heart. And what I was considering doing would deftly lodge a wedge between us again, reversing any sense of brotherhood we’d gained over these last eight years.

You either lose it all, or lose it all.

Maybe there were many different sorts of losing.

And we each had to weigh our choices.

Choose which hand to discard so that we might win the bigger pot.

Something stirred inside me, a feeling of rightness that I had no way of describing other than that.

Before I could overthink it, or talk myself out of it, I leaned back in my chair and grabbed the file containing the original copy of the amendment to the town bylaws that might have resulted in Archer and me facing each other down in a courtroom. I dropped it on the fire and watched as it curled and blackened and moments later, turned to nothing but ash. Gone forever. Lost.

I swallowed, sensing some form of breakthrough, but feeling the familiar hopelessness too. The feeling that meant I’d given up control, that I might fall—hard—and no one was going to be there to catch me when I did.

A light caught my eye and I tipped my head, watching as a shooting star moved swiftly across the darkening sky.

“Uncle Travis! We got peanut butter cups!” Charlie yelled, running toward me, his hand proudly outstretched, holding forth the candy. If I’d only heard his tone, and not his words, I’d have thought he was rushing forth with the keys to some magical kingdom.

“Let’s make the best s’mores ever!” Connor declared, right behind his brother.

“Ever?” I asked. “In the history of the world?”

“Ever! In the history of the world,” he confirmed, proving that he’d inherited his mother’s enthusiasm for pleasures of the palate.

Bree and Archer were only a few steps behind them, Bree holding Averie, Archer carrying the cooler and a paper bag.

“Sorry we took so long,” Bree said, huffing out a breath. “There was a catering emergency,” she said, drawing out the word in a way that told me the emergency was less than dire, but still needed to be addressed.

Next to me, the boys were busy skewering marshmallows, spilling graham crackers on the sand and generally making a holy mess. Per usual.

“It’s no problem,” I said, turning my attention back to Bree. “From what I hear, these s’mores are going to be amazing.”

She looked over, raising a brow. “And sandy,” she mouthed.

Archer intervened with the boys, rescuing most of the graham crackers and setting things up on a towel near the fire.