Hardwood Creek 🏨 | Part 12: Not Ready To Let This Go (Finale) (Patreon)

All characters are 18+ and this story is entirely fictional.Everything that happens is safe, sane, and consensual.

The screen was still glowing when I realized I had stopped breathing. My words were out there, hanging between us, and Simon just stared at me through the little rectangle of video. His hair was damp, like he had showered after work. His eyes looked tired, warm, a little overwhelmed.

But he did not say anything.

All I could hear was his breath. Slow. Unsteady. It made my chest tighten.

“Simon,” I whispered, unsure if I should repeat anything, unsure if I had ruined something.

He blinked, a quiet inhale filling the pause.

“I am still here,” he said softly.

Relief flooded through me, but before I could say anything, he rubbed the back of his neck and looked away for a moment like he was trying to steady himself.

“I have been thinking about you ever since I came here,” he admitted. “About that night. About the sex. About everything. I could not get it out of my head.” His voice dropped a little. “I did not know if I was allowed to say that.”

My stomach flipped in a slow, hot way I was not expecting. Seeing him say it while looking a little shy made something inside me melt.

“Why would you not be allowed?” I asked.

He gave a helpless little shrug. “I did not want to make things harder for you. You are still settling into Hardwood Creek. You have the motel. You have a whole new life to figure out. I did not want to confuse you or add something complicated on top of that.”

I shook my head without hesitating. “I am already confused. But it is not bad. Not even close.”

His eyes came back to mine, and there was something open in them. Like he was letting himself believe me.

He exhaled, long and unguarded. “I am still trying to understand what any of this means.”

“So am I,” I said.

He gave a small smile. Barely there. Almost sad.

Then the truth settled between us again, heavier this time. He sat a little straighter and took in a slow breath.

“My job is demanding,” he said. “I never know when I will be pulled into something. My days are long. My travel schedule gets messy. It is not the kind of life that leaves space for a proper relationship.” He swallowed. “I do not want to start something I cannot sustain.”

His honesty did not sting as much as I expected. It felt like he was trying to protect both of us.

“I know,” I said quietly. “I get it. I am trying to rebuild everything here. My life is still upside down. I do not even know what my days will look like in a month or six months.” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “And I think I am scared of wanting someone again. In any way.”

His face softened. Really softened.

“Julian,” he murmured, like my name itself was something he needed to hold gently.

The air between us eased then, the tension bending into something honest rather than tight.

He looked like he was thinking hard, eyes shifting to something quieter and more vulnerable.

“What if we do not label it,” he said finally. “Not yet. Not now.”

My heart picked up.

“What if,” he continued, “we just let it be what it is and figure it out as we go. I can visit. Not often. Not perfectly. But I can make space for you..I’d love to spend more time with you”

I stared at him, breath caught somewhere in my throat. I did not expect anything that clear. That steady. That quietly brave.

“And we can have facetime dates,” he added. “Whenever iit feels right. No pressure. No expectations. Just… letting it grow. Naturally.”

It felt real. Practical. Grounded. Something adults chose because it mattered enough to try without pretending it was simple.

I nodded slowly, feeling something warm bloom inside me.

“That sounds like something we could do,” I said.

He studied my face gently, like he needed to be absolutely sure before taking another step.

“Is that something you want?” he asked.

The question did not scare me. It did not feel like a trap. It felt like a door.

“Yes,” I said. Quiet. True.

His shoulders loosened, like he had been holding something tight inside him and finally let it go.

“Then let us try,” he said in a low voice. “Slow. Honest. One day at a time.”

His face shifted into the softest smile I had ever seen from him. One that reached his eyes, tired and warm and full of something I did not dare name yet.

I smiled back before I could stop myself.

“Okay,” I whispered.

The call stayed open as I stood from my desk. I felt strangely light, steady in a way I had not felt in weeks. I carried the phone with me down the hallway of the motel, the familiar creak of the old floorboards soft under my feet. The night was quiet. Warm. It felt like something inside me had unclenched.

I pushed open my bedroom door, dropped onto the bed, and lay on my back with a breath that eased all the way to the base of my spine.

“You are done with work?” Simon asked softly, the camera shifting as he adjusted.

“Yeah well,” I said. “I own the motel, so I am done when I want it to be done.”

He laughed and placed his own phone down at an angle. I saw him ease back against a stack of pillows on the hotel bed. He looked more relaxed than before. Maybe more relaxed than I had ever seen him.

His voice dropped into a warm murmur. “This feels better.”

“Yeah. It does.”

He settled in, his hair slightly mussed from moving the pillow. He exhaled with a gentle sound that made my stomach tighten in a soft, stupid way.

Then he smirked.

“You know,” he said slowly, “we could have made this call a little more interesting.”

I raised a brow. “Interesting how?”

He tugged on the collar of his shirt, teasing, and then dragged it up just enough to show the sharp lines of his lower stomach, the defined curve of his hip. The screen tilted a little, showing a glimpse of him stretched out in bed.

“We can always have phone sex,” he said with playful seriousness.

I pressed my hand over my face and laughed. “You are impossible.”

“You are the one who said you wanted to try things slow,” he teased. “I am just offering options.”

“Right,” I said, still laughing. “Trust me, if I am doing anything with you, I want you in front of me. Close. Real.”

His eyes softened in a different way this time. He let go of the shirt, relaxed again, and watched me with a quiet kind of warmth.

“I want that too,” he said.

The silence that followed was not awkward. It was full. Comfortable. We kept the cameras on, both of us lying back, two people in two different rooms breathing into the same space.

I found myself asking, “How is New York? Really.”

He hummed. “Loud. Fast. Too many sirens sometimes. I walk to the office and by the time I reach the building I feel like I have already done half a day of work.”

“Sounds intense.”

“It is. But it is also everything I have been working toward.” His voice dropped softer. “The meetings. The numbers. The deadlines. It is exhausting. But it feels worth it.”

I nodded. “Do you sleep enough?”

He smirked faintly. “No. Not even close.”

“Figures.”

“And you?” he asked. “How is the motel tonight?”

“Quiet,” I said. “The good kind.”

He listened. Really listened. And I kept talking. About the rooms I still needed to renovate. About learning the rhythm of the town. About missing certain parts of the life I used to have without wanting to return to it.

He told me about the view from his office window. The way the lights glittered on the river after sunset. The coffee shop he found on his second week that already knew his order. The long nights staring at spreadsheets until his eyes hurt.

The rhythm between us softened with each sentence. His voice grew lower as he grew sleepier. Mine did too.

“Does the city sound different at night?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “Quieter than you would expect. Kind of like it remembers everyone is tired.”

I smiled. “That sounds nice.”

He tilted his camera slightly as he settled deeper into the pillows, the sheets pulling up near his shoulder. “Tell me something else,” he murmured.

“What?”

“Anything. I just want to hear you.”

So I did. I talked. About nothing and everything. About how strange it was to feel connected to someone through a screen. About how my chest felt lighter. About how tired and warm I suddenly was.

His eyes softened the longer I spoke, like my voice was soothing something in him too.

At some point, I heard him murmur, “Julian…”

“Yeah?”

But he did not finish the thought.

His eyes were half closed now. His voice was slow.

I felt my own breathing start to match his.

Minutes passed like that, quiet and steady, neither of us ending the call.

My eyelids grew heavier and heavier until the screen blurred.

The last thing I heard was his voice, low and warm.

“Julian.”

And then I drifted into sleep with the phone beside me, the soft glow fading, his breathing gentle in my ear, like he was right there in the bed with me.

I never thought a spoiled rich guy like me would fall for a quiet town boy who smelled like pine and wore glasses. But somehow this place softened me, shaped me, pulled me into a version of myself I did not know I could become.

He became part of that change, steady and warm, patient with the parts of me that still cracked in strange places.

Hardwood Creek stopped being a temporary escape and turned into something that felt like home.

Something real.────────────────

Four Months Later

Four months passed quietly, folding themselves into a rhythm neither of them had expected. They never sat down and defined what they were to each other, yet something warm and steady took shape anyway. Simon began visiting Hardwood Creek every couple of weeks, slipping back into Julian’s life like he belonged there. Sometimes they hiked under tall pines, sometimes they caught a late movie in the tiny downtown theater, sometimes they drove to the next town for couples massages that left them loose and laughing. And every visit ended the same way, with the two of them tangled in bed long after the lights were off, kissing slow and deep, touching with a closeness that felt sweeter each time.

Now Julian stood outside the Hardwood Creek Motel with a small bag over his shoulder. The air was cool, the morning sky soft, the town humming with its usual quiet charm. He looked around at the place that had changed him more than he ever planned. Today he was heading to New York. Simon had surprised him with a Valentine’s Day plane ticket to NYC and told him he wanted their first one together to feel special. Julian still smiled whenever he thought about it.

Milo had become his closest friend in the months since. They were inseparable, loud together, always finding trouble or laughter somewhere. Milo had somehow managed to hook up with Noah, Ethan, and a few other handsome men from town, leaving a trail of grins wherever he went. Ethan often dropped by the motel for supplies and stayed longer than necessary just to chat. Noah stopped in when something needed fixing and lingered a little too long by the front desk.

Julian glanced back at the motel door, then toward the road leading out of Hardwood Creek. He felt a small rush of nerves mixed with something hopeful. He was on his way to see Simon, to spend Valentine’s weekend with a man who had slipped past every one of his defenses.

He took a slow breath, shouldered his bag, and started walking. Hardwood Creek had changed him, softened him, given him ties he never expected. And now it was sending him toward someone who felt worth the distance.

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Author’s Note

Hardwood Creek officially ends here.Like I mentioned last month, this is not the direction I originally planned for the story. When I started drafting the early parts, Ethan was supposed to be the main love interest. The idea was to build a slow burn triangle between Julian, Simon, and Ethan. But after I published Part 8, something shifted. The moment Julian and Simon finally crossed that line, it felt too genuine to pull Julian away from him just for the sake of the original plan. Their chemistry took over in a way I didn’t expect, and trying to force a second romance would have made everything feel unnatural.Also Ethan’s full name is Ethan Cole (he’s the mayor’s son). I planned earlier to do something with it, but like I said, I had to change directions.

I know the ending might feel a little incomplete. I know some threads stayed softer than intended. But I still wanted to give you an ending that felt warm and hopeful instead of rushed or twisted for drama. I tried my best to close the story in a way that honored Julian’s growth and the soft, unexpected love that grew between him and Simon.

Thank you for reading Hardwood Creek, for all your reactions and messages, and for trusting me even when the story veered off its original path. Your support means everything, and I hope this ending leaves you with a little glow.

Troy <3