Press Conferences and Pine Trees

The aftermath was a blur of flashing sirens, paramedics, and the sterile, blinding lights of a local county hospital.

The stalker—a disgraced former tech developer with a dangerous obsession—was in federal custody. The nightmare was over.

Roman sat in a hard plastic chair beside Elias’s hospital bed. Elias was heavily bandaged, his shoulder stitched and immobilized, but he was awake and lucid.

The door to the private room burst open. Roman’s PR manager, a sharp-suited woman named Claire, marched in, looking horrified by the provincial surroundings.

"Roman, thank God," Claire gasped, pulling out a tablet. "We've got an exclusive lined up with Vanity Fair. We're spinning this as a harrowing survival story. We can gloss over the stalker details and focus on your heroic resilience—"

"Claire," Roman interrupted. His voice wasn't the melodic, charming tone she was used to. It was quiet, firm, and carrying the exact same unyielding authority Elias used.

Claire stopped talking.

"You're fired," Roman said simply.

Claire blinked. "Roman, you're in shock."

"I have never been clearer," Roman replied, standing up. "I'm firing the agency. I'm dropping the playboy persona. I am going to walk out to those local news cameras in the lobby, and I am going to tell the exact, terrifying truth about digital stalking, the failure of my security, and the reality of what fame actually costs. And then, I'm taking a very, very long hiatus."

Claire opened her mouth to argue, saw the absolute steel in Roman's eyes, and wisely turned on her heel and left the room.

Roman turned back to the bed. Elias was watching him, a look of profound, quiet awe in his dark eyes.

"You don't have to burn your whole life down for me," Elias said softly.

"I'm not doing it for you," Roman said, stepping closer to take Elias’s uninjured hand. "I'm doing it for me. I can't survive in that world anymore, Elias. I don't want to. I want the quiet. I want the woods."

Three weeks later.

The winter snow had just begun to dust the tops of the pines in the Pacific Northwest. Elias stood on the porch of his cabin, his left arm in a sling, holding a mug of black coffee.

The sound of an engine broke the quiet of the mountain. It wasn't a vintage Porsche. It was a sturdy, practical four-wheel-drive SUV.

The vehicle parked near the woodpile. Roman stepped out. He was wearing heavy boots, a thick wool sweater, and a smile that reached all the way to his bright, unburdened eyes. There were no cameras. No security details. Just a man coming home.

Roman walked up the wooden steps, stopping on the porch in front of Elias.

"I brought groceries," Roman said, his breath pluming in the cold air. He looked at Elias, the fierce, unconditional love between them a palpable force. "And my bags. I fired everyone. I'm unemployed, I'm officially boring, and I make a terrible cup of coffee."

Elias looked at the man who had run into the line of fire to save him. The rigid, guarded ex-security expert let the final piece of his armor fall away entirely.

Elias reached out with his good arm, pulling Roman flush against his chest, burying his face in Roman’s hair, breathing in the scent of cedar and cold air.

"I think," Elias murmured, pressing a kiss to the crown of Roman’s head, "I have room for one more full-time resident."

Roman closed his eyes, wrapping his arms around Elias’s waist, listening to the steady, unbothered rhythm of the forest around them. For the first time in his life, Roman didn't need an escape route. He was exactly where he was meant to be.