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AIDEN
Aiden plunged his hands into the kitchen sink, hissing as the hot iodine bath seeped into the cracks of his abused hands. He stared down, flexing his fingers beneath the water, fascinated by the way his magnified fingers looked like raw sausages in the dimly lit bunkhouse.
A single bulb hung from the exposed beams of the ceiling, flickering every now and then as if it might give out at any moment. The bunkhouse wasn't much more than a glorified shed, sparsely furnished, and the melting thaw of spring filled the place with the heavy scent of damp wood.
"What happened to your gloves?" Josh asked, leaning against a doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. At least, he thought the kid's name was Josh. Aiden had only been at the Idaho ranch for seven weeks, but turnover was so quick that he was already one of the veterans in the bunkhouse, and he'd stopped paying much attention to the flow of cowboys around him.
"Lost, I guess," Aiden muttered.
Josh shook his head, pushing off from the doorframe and strolling over to peer down at Aiden's chapped hands. "I wouldn't have done a lick of work until I found a new pair," he said smugly. "This outfit doesn't pay us enough to sacrifice our own well-being."
Aiden's lips twitched in a humorless smile. "Yeah, well, logs don't split themselves."
Josh snorted, grabbing a clean towel from the spindly kitchen table and tossing it to him. "You've got to take better care of yourself, man. Ain't nobody else gonna do it for you."
Aiden caught the towel and carefully dried his hands. The soft cotton fibers stuck to his tender palms, and he winced. Josh wasn't wrong; Seth would have said the same thing. Only he'd have added a crooked smile, the one that set a warm glow in Aiden's belly and made him feel like he was being looked after, even when he didn't want to be.
Seth wouldn't have just scolded him, though. He'd have taken Aiden's hands in his own, rubbed salve into the cracks, and lent Aiden his own gloves before heading back out. That was just the type of man Seth was, looking out for everyone around him and taking on their burdens as if they were his own. He needed someone by his side to ensure he cared for himself, too.
Aiden's chest tightened with longing.
Two months had passed since the day he walked away from Sweetwater, and it never got easier. He missed Seth more with each passing day. The ache was constant now, a dull throb beneath his sternum that he couldn't shake, no matter how hard he worked. Bone-deep exhaustion had settled in every corner of his body, the kind of tiredness that sleep couldn't touch, but he couldn't quit. Physical labor was the only thing that switched off his brain and kept him from thinking too much—or worse, feeling too much. Emotions had never been a problem before. They'd flowed through Aiden like water, readily embraced, and never any reason for shame. Now, it felt like every scrap of joy had drained from his life, leaving nothing but shame and regret. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt genuinely happy.
The only thing that kept him going was relentless, punishing work. He pushed his body to the limit every day, hoping that physical pain would help him forget what he'd thrown away.
It wasn't just the warmth of Seth's lingering hands that he missed, or the way he'd catch Seth watching him from across a room with such quiet intensity that it seemed like Aiden must be his whole world. It wasn't the scent of hay and leather that clung to Seth's clothes, or the way he'd let Aiden nuzzle into the hollow of his throat for warmth. He missed the sense of belonging, of being wanted and needed by someone who didn't expect him to be anything other than who he was. Seth had seen through all his bullshit, never buying into the bravado, and he'd loved him anyway. Loved him fiercely, without reservation.
Aiden truly believed Seth was better off without him, but that didn't make it any easier to live with his decision. The thought of Seth was always there, lurking in the back of his mind, a constant reminder of what he'd lost—and the knowledge that he'd never find anything like it again. Every day, his decision weighed on him more. He'd been forced to block Seth's number for his sanity, but he lay in his bunk every night scrolling through their old conversations like an old man flipping through a photo album.
The boys from the Triple M texted occasionally, but Aiden was always cautious when he responded. Word spread fast in a small town. All it took was one pair of loose lips, and even an introvert like Seth would find out where he was. He likely wouldn't care—he was probably furious—but Aiden couldn't risk it, so he kept his replies to his friends vague.
His mother had been radio silent ever since he left town. She'd made it clear that his leaving was just another in a long line of disappointments. He'd expected her silence, and for a while, he'd welcomed it. But when her name flashed across his phone screen a few days ago, his armor broke, and the homesickness he'd ruthlessly ignored began to leak through the cracks.
The message was clipped and to the point—just like her. No questions about how he was doing or mention of their last brutal argument. Just a question: Did you hear about the celebration of life for David McCall?
She'd attached a link to an article in the Gazette's online newspaper. The town had done little when Seth's father died. The loss was overshadowed by the scandal that nearly destroyed the Double Jay—the scandal Aiden had caused—and even David's longtime friends had distanced themselves. Aiden didn't blame them. He'd been one of them, after all. Seth had already cut ties between them by then, and Aiden had been smarting too badly from the loss to sack up and face him. He'd skipped the graveside service and snuck back later that night to pay his respects to the only father figure he'd ever known, however fleeting their time together had been.
It took years, but the town finally seemed ready to make amends. Aiden had no doubt Gus Awbry was behind it. Maybe it was his way of apologizing for how he'd treated Seth, or maybe he was just trying to ease his conscience now that the truth of that night had come out. He’d even been quoted in the article.
Sweetwater loved a shindig, and it had been months since Winterfest ended. About time for a new excuse to celebrate. Aiden could picture it now: the town square festooned with ribbons while people gathered around tables filled with pies and barbeque, sharing stories of a man who’d epitomized their dying way of life. Seth would be there, proud and stoic, accepting their belated apologies with a quiet grace no one deserved.
And Aiden…Aiden would be miles away, alone on this godforsaken ranch, nursing his wounds in solitude. But not if his mother had anything to say about it.
You should be there, she'd texted when he didn't reply. That man did a lot for you, whether I approved or not. It will look bad for us if you aren’t there.
She was right. He should be there, offering his support, standing by Seth's side like he'd wanted to all those years ago. The idea of Seth surrounded by the people who'd once turned their backs on him made Aiden's stomach lurch. But he couldn't face him. Not now. He wasn't strong enough. The distance he'd put between them hadn't lessened the pain; if anything, it was sharper and deadlier now. The longing was unbearable, but the knowledge that he was the cause of so much of Seth's suffering was worse.
So, he'd do what he'd always done—the bare minimum to assuage his conscience. He'd lurk on the edges of the crowd, pay his respects, and stop to see Bandit on his way out of town. If he was lucky, Seth would never know he was even there.
Aiden had still never asked Roberta for his things, so everything he owned fit neatly in a duffel with room to spare. He filled the rest of the bag with snacks and hit the road at four in the morning for the long, ten-hour drive through rolling hills and snow-capped mountains.
He pulled into the familiar gas station on the outskirts of Sweetwater by mid-afternoon, and as he climbed out of his truck, he could already hear the faint strains of music piping from the town square. He took a deep breath, and for the first time in weeks, his churning stomach settled. There was something special about hometown air.
He kept his ball cap low and avoided eye contact as he filled his tank, but people recognized him anyway.
"Aiden! You're back!"
"Long time no see, boy."
