The Weight and the Wonder (chapter)

The morning light slanted through the cabin windows soft and slow, catching motes of dust in its beams. A faint breeze stirred the curtains. The fire had long since gone out, leaving only a few glowing coals beneath the ash.

Clyde sat at the table, mug in hand, elbows resting heavy on the wood. His flannel shirt hung unbuttoned over a clean tee, sleeves rolled up. He wasn’t moving much—just watching steam curl from his coffee like it had something to say he didn’t know how to hear.

Behind him, the floor creaked. Tyler emerged from the back room, barefoot, hair still mussed from sleep, hoodie half-zipped over his bare chest. He didn’t say anything at first. Just padded into the kitchen and poured himself a cup.

He didn’t ask how Clyde slept.

Clyde didn’t ask him to sit.

But Tyler did, folding into the chair across from him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The silence wasn’t awkward. It was warm. Full.

Like they’d both remembered something in the night they’d never known before.

Clyde finally cleared his throat. “I, uh… put a fresh pot on. Thought you’d want some.”

Tyler nodded, taking a sip. “Thanks.”

They sat like that for a long stretch, mugs in hand, the weight of what had passed between them settling like morning dew.

“I figured I’d go clear the brush behind the toolshed today,” Clyde said eventually, not looking up. “Been meanin’ to get to it.”

Tyler smiled softly. “Want a hand?”

Clyde nodded once. “If you’re offerin’.”

“I am.”

It wasn’t avoidance. It was agreement—unspoken but understood. They’d talk. But not yet. Not with words.

By midday, they were back in the rhythm of work. The sun was warm, filtering down through the pines as they cleared branches and hauled broken limbs to the burn pile. Sweat ran down their backs, shirts stuck to skin. They didn’t say much, but every so often their eyes met—and held, just for a second.

Not afraid.

Not ashamed.

Just… searching. Remembering.

When they took a break, Clyde handed Tyler a bottle of water and sat down hard on a split log, wiping his brow. Tyler sat beside him, close but not touching.

Clyde let out a breath, rough around the edges. “I don’t know what to say about last night.”

Tyler took a drink, then leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “Me neither. But I don’t think we have to explain it all today.”

Clyde nodded, jaw tightening. “It felt… real. I ain’t gonna pretend it didn’t.”

Tyler turned to look at him. “Same.”

They were quiet again, the breeze rustling through the trees like it was listening in.

“I spent most my life thinkin’ if I ever crossed that line, it’d ruin me,” Clyde said slowly. “But I don’t feel ruined.”

Tyler’s voice was low. “You’re not. Neither of us are.”

Clyde looked down at his hands.“It wasn’t right—not in the way the world measures it. But there was a kind of… reverence in it. I can’t tell you if it was holy or not. But it didn’t feel dirty. It felt… honest.”

Tyler nodded, watching him. “It wasn’t just a thing that happened. It was a moment. And yeah, we’ll have to walk through it. But I think God’s not afraid of what’s real. I think He meets us there.”

Clyde looked up then, eyes steady. “You believe that?”

“I do.”

Another long pause. Then Clyde let out a breath that seemed to shake something loose in his chest. “I ain’t sure what comes next.”

Tyler reached over, laid a hand gently on Clyde’s arm. “Then we walk it out. One step at a time. No shame. No hiding.”

Clyde looked at the hand, then up at Tyler. “I’m still scared.”

“Me too,” Tyler said. “But I’d rather be scared and honest than safe and alone.”

The words settled between them like an anchor.

And for the rest of the afternoon, they worked side by side again—brush and sweat, sun and stillness—less like men who’d messed up and more like men learning what grace really meant.

Something had shifted.

Not broken.

Not lost.

Just changed.

And neither of them ran from it.

(Chapter from Still With You in the Tyler and Clyde series. Contact me if you’d like to read the full story!)