Page 13 of Rhett & Moses
By the time we reached the falls, we were both trembling with need. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting silver ripples across the pool at the base of the falls. Moses had never looked more beautiful, his dark curls wild, his eyes reflecting the starlight, and his smile was full of promise and want.
“Are you sure?” I whispered, even as my hands had already begun tugging at his shirt.
His answer was to pull me closer, his lips finding mine with a certainty that banished all doubt.
I shook my head, clearing away the memory before it could lead to the inevitable physical reaction. These woods had witnessed our most intimate moments, our rawest confessions. Coming here was both a pilgrimage and punishment, a return to the site of profound joy and subsequent heartbreak.
The gentle roar of the falls grew louder as I approached, and then I emerged into the clearing. Yellow Branch Falls cascaded down a series of rock shelves, white water catching the first rays of dawn light. The pool at its base was calm despite the constant flow, deep and clear and inviting.
This was where it had all begun for us. And where it had ended, too, in its own way where our last meeting took place before everything fell apart.
The sound of footsteps on the trail behind me made me turn. Moses stood at the edge of the clearing, slightly out of breath, his expression a complex mixture of wariness and something softer, more vulnerable.
“You came,” I said, unable to keep the surprise from my voice.
He offered a half-smile. “I said I would.”
“You’ve said that before,” I reminded him gently.
Pain flashed across his face. “Fair enough.”
He moved forward, stopping at the edge of the pool, his eyes taking in the falls with a kind of reverent nostalgia, just like I had. In the soft morning light, with mist swirling around his ankles, he looked like something from a dream, my dream, specifically, one I’d had countless variations of over the past twenty years.
“It hasn’t changed,” he observed quietly.
“Some things don’t,” I replied, moving to stand beside him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body but not close enough to touch.
We stood in silence for a long moment, watching the water tumble down the rocks, each lost in our own memories. Finally, Moses sighed, running a hand through his curls in that familiar gesture that told me he was wrestling with difficult thoughts.
“I don’t know where to start,” he admitted, still facing the falls rather than me.
“The beginning would be nice,” I suggested. “Or the end. Or anywhere in between. I just want the truth, Moses.”
He nodded slowly, then surprised me by lowering himself to sit on a large, flat rock at the pool’s edge. I joined him, maintaining that careful distance that felt both necessary and torturous.
“Do you remember the night of the statue?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the sound of the falls.
“Hard to forget,” I replied dryly. “The night you vanished from my life without explanation.”
He winced. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice,” I countered, an edge creeping into my voice despite my best efforts. The hurt was still there, just beneath the surface, ready to rise at the slightest provocation.
“Not always,” Moses said, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. “Not when someone has leverage over you that could destroy everything you care about.”
I frowned, trying to make sense of his words. “What are you saying?”
Moses took a deep breath, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small object that glinted in the morning light. Soren Hayes’s school pin. He held it out to me, and I took it, feeling its weight in my palm.
“I found this the night of the statue incident,” he explained. “Near the broken pieces. At first, I didn’t think much of it, just a lost pin. But then I realized whose it was.”
“Soren Hayes,” I said slowly, the pieces beginning to click into place. “The mayor’s son.”
Moses nodded. “I confronted him just before I left. Told him I knew he was behind the vandalism, that I had proof. I thought he’d confess, make things right.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “I was naive.”
“What happened?” I asked, though I was beginning to see the outline of the story.
“He threatened me,” Moses said simply. “Said if I told anyone, he’d make sure everyone in town knew about us. About me. He had photos, Rhett. Of us. At the falls.”
