“You came at him as Joshua Campbell-Abrams, Camp Pride Coordinator. That didn’t work.” Colin’s arms tightened around him. “Let’s try again. But this time, I’ll make first contact”
Joshua frowned. “How would that?—”
“Let me try to talk to him,” Colin said, drawing Joshua closer. “I spent a decade as a campus cop talking to young people every single day, often in the midst of some tough situations. If I can get him to warm up tome, we may have another shot at getting him to trustyou. This time, as my husband—not as someone trying too hard to help.”
Joshua stared at him. “You really think that could work?”
“I don’t know.” Colin held his gaze. “What Idoknow is this: I trust you with my life, Joshua. If you tell me this kid is worth fighting for, then wefightfor him.”
Joshua nodded, his throat aching, and reached to caress Colin’s cheek. “God, I love you.”
Colin smiled and pulled him close in his arms, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “C’mon, bud. Have you ever knownanyonethat I couldn’t charm? We’ve got this.”
Joshua sighed against him, feeling the heavy weight in his chest start to lighten.
The next day,Joshua stood at an open window in Rainier Clinic’s group therapy room. He watched his husband outside on the lawn toss a softball into the air and catch it. Colin seemed totally preoccupied with his solo game of catch, not even glancing at the young man who sat on the clinic steps watching him intently.
Colin flipped the ball into the air once again, but this time, the baseball went just out of his reach and rolled nearly to the young man’s feet. He grinned at the youth and moved a half step closer to where Alex sat. “Hey buddy, could you do a guy a favor?” He held up his glove, eyebrows raised in question.
Alex glanced down at the ball, then up at Colin, then back to the ball. He hesitated, then stood, moved an inch closer to the ball, then hesitated again.
Colin didn’t push. He simply waited, his stance easy, glove still raised, expression expectant but patient.
After a long pause, Alex reached down and picked up the ball. He turned it over in his hands, running his fingers along the seams, his gaze darting between the ball and Colin’s face.
From his place at the window, Joshua held his breath.
Then, finally, Alex tossed the ball—an underhanded, cautious throw, but a throw nonetheless. Colin caught it without breaking eye contact, giving the kid an approving nod.
“Nice one,” Colin said, and lobbed the ball again—this time, right to Alex.
The young man flinched, startled, but his hands came up instinctively, catching the ball against his chest. For a second, he just stared at it, then at Colin, as if trying to decide whether he’d just been tricked or if this was a genuine offer of …what? Something Alex could not yet define.
Colin only grinned. “Think you can get it past me?” he challenged, smacking his glove. “C’mon, kid. Give it your best shot.”
Alex’s fingers clenched around the baseball. His shoulders tensed, then without another word, he drew back his arm and let it fly.
Joshua’s heart slammed against his chest as Colin caught it easily.
“Wow!” Colin said, a warm laugh spilling from his lips. “That’s some arm you’ve got there! Do you play on a team?”
Alex swallowed hard. For a moment, he stood in silence, staring at the man who stood ten feet away. He glanced behind himself to the nearby door as if gauging his ability to escape, then turned back to Colin. “No,” he said. “I don’t play on a team.”
“Too damned bad,” Colin told him. “You’re good! I’d have you on my team in a hot second.” He held up the softball. “So, what’d you say? Have a catch with me?”
Joshua watched Alex, unaware that his own fists were clenched so tightly that his nails dug into his palms. The boy took a tentative step towards Colin. “I—I don’t have a glove,” he stammered out.
“Here!” Colin said, moving slowly to where Alex stood. “Take mine.” He offered the glove, his face alight with his usual engaging grin.
Alex hesitated again, his gaze moving between Colin’s face and the glove. Joshua could see the war waging inside him—the part of him that wanted to take the offering, to trust, warring against the part that had spent too long learning not to.
Colin didn’t push. He simply held the glove out, easy and patient, as if he had all the time in the world.
After another long beat, Alex reached out and took it. The leather looked a little too big on his hand and the glove was stiff from disuse, but he flexed his fingers inside it, testing the feel.
Colin took a slow step back, then lobbed the ball underhand, a soft, easy throw.
Alex caught it. A little clumsy, but he caught it.
