A New Kind of Fire (chapter)

The fire was already going when Tyler showed up—low and steady, crackling in the pit behind Ted’s place. It was dusk, the sky dimming slow, bruised purple at the edges. The air smelled like pine smoke and damp leaves, like the woods were remembering something.

Clyde was sitting on one of the big split logs circling the fire, shoulders hunched, arms resting on his knees. He looked up when Tyler approached but didn’t say anything at first.

Tyler gave a soft, familiar nod. “Figured you might be out here.”

“Didn’t feel like bein’ inside,” Clyde said. His voice was low, steady. “Didn’t want to be around folks who expect me to smile and nod like I ain’t still workin’ this out.”

Tyler sat on the log beside him—not too close, not distant. Just near enough to be known.

For a while, they didn’t talk. Just watched the flames rise and settle. Sparks danced up into the darkening sky like prayers they didn’t have words for yet.

After a while, Clyde cleared his throat. “You ever wish it had turned out different?” he asked. “That night in the cabin. Or the one after the storm.”

Tyler didn’t answer right away. He looked into the fire like it was telling the story for them.

“I used to,” he said finally. “Used to think maybe if we hadn’t pulled back, it’d feel more certain now. More defined.”

Clyde nodded slowly, eyes on the flames. “But it wouldn’t’ve been clean.”

“No,” Tyler said. “It wouldn’t’ve been holy either.”

They sat with that.

“I still feel it,” Clyde admitted, barely audible. “That ache. That pull. It don’t own me like it did, but it ain’t gone.”

Tyler’s voice was soft. “I know.”

A long breath passed between them. The fire cracked. The trees swayed.

“I spent too long thinkin’ desire was the same as failure,” Clyde said. “But I don’t want to keep shovin’ it down like it’s poison. I want to name it. Lay it down. Not ‘cause I’m ashamed—but ‘cause I want somethin’ better.”

Tyler reached down and tossed another log on the fire. “We don’t need to burn it down.”

Clyde turned to him, eyes wet and bare in the firelight.

“No,” he said. “We just need to bring it to the altar.”

And there it was.

Tyler leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice thick. “You know I’ve loved you, right? In all kinds of ways.”

Clyde nodded. “Yeah. I’ve felt it. I’ve carried it.”

He paused, eyes locked on the fire. Then, softer:

“And I’ve loved you back. In ways I didn’t have words for ‘til now. But it’s been there. Still is.”

The fire crackled, filling the quiet that settled between them. Tyler looked over—not startled, not unsure—just moved. Like something in him had finally been met.

“But the only part I want to last,” Tyler said, “is the part that holds.”

Clyde looked away, jaw trembling. He scrubbed a hand across his face, then reached out—awkward at first, but sure—and gripped Tyler’s hand in both of his.

They stayed that way, hands clasped between them, firelight flickering across worn knuckles and calloused palms.

“I want to walk this out,” Clyde said. “Fully known. Fully brother.”

Tyler’s eyes shone. “Then let’s name it for what it is. Not what it could’ve been.”

A breeze stirred. A log popped.

Neither of them moved to let go.

After a while, Clyde whispered, “Would it be alright if I prayed?”

Tyler nodded. “Yeah. More than alright.”

Clyde didn’t bow his head. Didn’t close his eyes. He just looked up into the dark sky and spoke like he was talking to Someone who had seen the whole thing unfold and still chose to stay.

“Lord… You know what this is. What it’s been. What we’ve wrestled and hoped and feared. We’re layin’ it down. Not ‘cause we don’t care—but ‘cause we do. Help us guard what You’ve built. Keep it strong. Keep it pure. Help us hold each other the right way.”

His voice caught on that last line, and he didn’t try to push through it. Just let it hang there, trembling like an offering.

Tyler whispered, “Amen.”

They didn’t hug. Didn’t cry loud or fall into each other’s arms.

But when Clyde finally let go of Tyler’s hand, he leaned sideways—just enough that their shoulders touched.

And this time, the closeness didn’t need explaining.

The fire kept burning.

But it was a new kind of fire now.

(From Held Fast, from the Tyler and Clyde series. Contact me if you’d like to read the full story!)