The cabin sat deep in the woods, tucked between pine trees that swayed lazily in the breeze. The sun had dipped behind the hills, casting long shadows through the single-paned windows. Inside, the air smelled of cedar and worn flannel, the kind of quiet comfort that made the world feel far away.

Colt sat in the clawfoot tub, one arm draped over the edge, fingers tracing lazy circles in the water. His blond hair, damp and unruly, clung to his forehead, and a light scruff dusted his jaw—more from forgetting to shave than trying to look rugged. The soft light from a single lantern flickered against his skin, catching the blue of his eyes as they stared out the window at nothing in particular.

It had been a long day. Fence posts set, hay stacked, boots muddied from the creek down by the lower pasture. His shoulders ached, but it was a good kind of tired—the kind that made a hot bath feel like heaven. The water had gone lukewarm, but he didn’t move. The cabin was quiet except for the occasional crackle from the fireplace in the next room and the soft rustle of leaves outside.

But the quiet wasn’t always peaceful. Lately, it had felt heavier, like the weight of something he couldn’t name. It settled in his chest, tight and restless, leaving him more drained than any day’s work ever could.

Colt sighed, head tipping back against the worn porcelain rim. In the dim light, the freckles across his nose stood out more, remnants of summer days spent shirtless under the sun. The scruff along his jawline caught the glow, giving him that effortless country-boy charm—like he belonged here, surrounded by pine and solitude. But belonging wasn’t something he felt much these days.

The thoughts came easier when he was alone. Out in the fields, there was always something to do—fences to mend, animals to feed, ground to till. Work kept his hands busy and his mind quiet. But here, stripped down to nothing but tired skin and circling water, the questions he avoided during the day crept in.

Why do you feel different? Why does it matter if your eyes lingered too long on Jesse’s smile at the feed store? Or how your heart beat just a little faster when your buddy Wyatt threw an arm around your shoulder, laughing like nothing in the world could break him?

Colt rubbed a hand down his face, the scruff rasping against his palm. He hated how the thoughts made him feel—like he didn’t quite fit in his own skin. Out here, country boys were supposed to be simple. Work hard, be tough, find a girl, settle down. No one talked about anything outside that narrow path. And he sure as hell didn’t know how to step off it without falling into something lonelier than this bathtub in the middle of nowhere.

The water sloshed as he shifted, restless. A half-empty bottle of beer sat on the wooden stool beside the tub, condensation slipping down its sides. He reached for it, took a slow sip, and let his eyes drift shut.

Outside, the moon climbed higher, silvering the trees and the cabin’s tin roof. Colt sat there, caught between the comfort of the life he’d always known and the ache of a truth he wasn’t ready to face. For now, the water held him, quiet and forgiving, and that was enough. At least until morning.