Spring Thaw (chapter)

The thaw came slow that year.

Winter hadn’t bowed out so much as lingered, leaving behind half-frozen puddles and sullen banks of gray snow. But the sun was out today, and the breeze, while cool, no longer bit. It was the kind of day that hinted—just hinted—that spring wasn’t far off.

It had been a few months since the cabin trip. Enough time for the heat of that night to fade into something quieter. Not forgotten. Just settled—like ash after flame.

Clyde sat on the bench outside the hardware store, thermos resting on the space between them. His boots were planted wide, hands folded, eyes half-focused on the traffic crawling through town. The kind of watching that wasn’t about what passed by, but what stirred underneath.

Tyler showed up without ceremony—coffee in one hand, other tucked into the pocket of his flannel. He dropped into the seat beside Clyde like it wasn’t a decision at all. Just where he belonged.

For a while, they didn’t say much. Cars passed. A breeze stirred wrappers along the sidewalk. Across the street, someone stepped out of the bakery with a bag of rolls and a cigarette already lit.

“You ever notice,” Clyde muttered, “how things look softer once the snow starts pulling back? Like the ground’s rememberin’ how to breathe.”

Tyler nodded, eyes on the slush-glazed curb. “Yeah. It’s messy, but… honest. Like nothin’s pretendin’ anymore.”

Clyde made a low sound of agreement and reached for the thermos, taking a long sip before passing it over. Tyler drank and didn’t offer it back right away. His shoulder bumped Clyde’s, barely.

He let it stay.

“It’s been quiet,” Tyler said finally. “Not in a bad way. Just… quieter since we got back.”

Clyde nodded once. “Different kind of quiet.”

“You good with it?” Tyler asked.

A beat passed.

“I am,” Clyde said. “Not sure I know what to call it yet. But I’m at peace.”

Tyler gave a soft hum of agreement. “I don’t regret it. That night. Not even the part that maybe shouldn’t’ve happened.”

Clyde didn’t look over. Just let out a long, slow breath. “Me neither.”

They lapsed into silence again, but this one felt full—like the space between them had grown wide enough to hold what they weren’t saying out loud.

“You ever think,” Tyler said, “that peace don’t always come clean? Sometimes it just shows up in the not-runnin’.”

Clyde smiled faintly, almost to himself. “Feels like that now.”

Tyler leaned back slightly, his shoulder easing against Clyde’s again. Not heavy. Not meant to test anything. Just… there.

And Clyde stayed where he was.

Overhead, water dripped from the awning, landing with a soft tap between their boots. Down the street, a bell jingled as someone stepped out of the diner. Life kept moving, slow and ordinary.

But for the first time in weeks, it felt like they weren’t chasing clarity. Just resting in the middle of it.

The thaw had started.

And neither of them moved to hurry it.

(Chapter from Held Fast, from the Tyler and Clyde series. Contact me if you want to read the whole story!)