The Ascent

The trail was half mud, half rock—steep enough that Jake’s thighs burned, but not steep enough to shut him up.

“You ever think we weren’t built for this?” he asked, swiping sweat from his brow.

Ben, five steps ahead, glanced back. “You saying that ‘cause of your legs or your life?”

Jake huffed, adjusting his pack. “Both.”

They’d started before dawn, boots crunching against damp earth, the Tennessee hills rolling out like a promise. A hike to clear the head—that’s what Ben had called it. But Jake knew better. Ben didn’t do anything without a reason.

They’d met two years ago, both fresh out of wreckage—Ben from a ten-year lie of a relationship, Jake from a life chasing empty highs. Different roads, same pit. It was a men’s retreat that put them on the same path, same late-night talks, same heavy confessions.

Ben was the first man Jake ever admitted it to—the pull, the not-straight but not-gay, the loneliness that no one could name. And Ben hadn’t flinched.

That’s what scared Jake most.

The trail curved sharply upward, and Jake planted his hands on his thighs, pushing through the incline. “You ever get tired of fighting it?”

Ben didn’t slow. “Fighting what?”

Jake gestured vaguely. “All of it. The tension. The feeling like you don’t belong anywhere.”

Ben paused at the ridge, looking out over the mist-drenched valley. His voice was quiet when he answered. “Yeah.” He turned, locking eyes with Jake. “But that’s why I don’t do it alone.”

Jake reached the top, breath ragged. Ben clapped him on the back, firm and steady.

They stood there, the wind biting, the world stretching wide. Jake swallowed hard.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

Ben nodded. “Neither do I.”

A long silence stretched, thick with things unsaid.

Finally, Jake sat on a rock, rubbing his hands together. “So what, man? We just keep hiking? Keep holding each other up ‘til we make it to heaven?”

Ben smirked, lowering himself onto a nearby log. “Pretty much.”

Jake let out a short laugh—sharp, almost bitter. “I spent years looking for this, you know? Just didn’t know what ‘this’ was.” He shook his head. “The world told me I had two options—deny everything or embrace everything. No one told me there was a third way.”

Ben pulled something from his pack—a length of cord, knotted and worn. He wrapped it once around his wrist before tossing it to Jake.

“It’s not about getting it perfect. It’s about standing together.”

Jake turned the cord over in his hands.

A covenant. That’s what Ben was offering—not some vague friendship, not some half-spoken loyalty. A bond, chosen and real, built to last.

Jake exhaled, tying the cord around his wrist.

“Alright,” he said, voice rough. “Let’s do this.”

Ben grinned, standing and offering his hand. Jake took it, clasping tight.

The wind howled, the valley stretched below, and together, they started the climb down—side by side, step by step, a path not many walked.

But they walked it anyway.