“There’s a history in my family of alcohol and drug abuse.” He leaned closer to his husband and half-snarled. “I’ve got the fuckinggene!” For a long, long time, there was silence. “So, don’t push me to take those goddamn things! I’ll take what I absolutelyhaveto. But other than that …no!”
“I—I didn’t know,” Joshua stammered out.
“I didn’twantyou to know!”
Joshua sucked in a long breath, then nodded, searching his husband’s face. He placed a firm hand on Colin’s shoulder. “Understood. I swear … I won’t ever again push you to take them. You use them as you feel is best.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pill bottle. “Here’s your Tylenol.” He leaned close, his arm winding around Colin’s neck. “And I’m so sorry, my darling love. I’m so sorry for pushing you. I didn’t know.”
Colin’s arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him close. “Well, you know howeasyit is for me to admit weakness. And this one’s a doozy!”
“It’s no more of aweaknessthan your green eyes or sandy hair,” Joshua insisted. “It’s a genetic predisposition. It’s part of your DNA.” He drew back just enough to cup Colin’s face in his palm. “I’m so fucking proud of the strength you’ve shown, though I’m certainly not surprised.”
Colin huffed out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. That’s me. Stubborn as fuck, allergic to admitting weakness, and apparently, now the camp legend for being well-endowed. What aweek.”
Joshua let out a breathless laugh, pressing his forehead against Colin’s. His hand slid down, fingers tracing the length of Colin’s arm before gripping his hand. “You are so much more than that, and you damned well know it.”
Later that morning,Nate’s writing class gathered in the shaded pavilion, the warm scent of pine needles and distant campfire smoke hanging in the air. The campers sat cross-legged on benches, their notebooks open, pens poised. Excitement buzzed between them, but an air of seriousness settled in as Nate leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
“So,” he said, “when we think about weddings, what do we think about?”
“Love,” Jasper offered immediately.
“Commitment,” another added.
“A really big cake,” someone muttered, earning a ripple of laughter.
Nate grinned. “All true. But a wedding isn’t just about two people saying ‘I love you’. It’s about a promise—one they make to each other in front of the people who love them.” He let that sink in before continuing. “And we get to help put that promise into words. So, let’s talk about love. What have you learned about love while being here at camp?”
Silence fell, but it wasn’t empty. It was the kind of silence where thoughts were forming, where ideas were just waiting to be spoken.
Jasper, still clutching his notebook, was the first to speak. “That love isn’t just big, romantic stuff. It’s … little things, too.”
Nate tilted his head, encouraging him. “Like what?”
Jasper hesitated, then said, “Like when Josh makes Colin take his pills, even when Colin gets grumpy about it.” A few snickers followed, and Jasper ducked his head.
“Or when Jeff helped Trent put that brace on his wrist after baseball practice. He didn’t make a big deal about it, he just … did it.”
Rowan nodded. “Or when Trent brought Jeff that cup of coffee after our hike because he could see that Jeff was really tired.”
Caleb lifted his hand. “I think love is choosing someone every day. Even when they’re being a dick.”
Nate felt something tighten in his throat. He glanced down at his own notebook. He’d jotted down a few ideas but it was clear now that he wouldn’t need them.
“Those are beautiful thoughts,” he said. “And I think that’s exactly what Trent and Jeff would want to hear at their wedding. So, let’s take those ideas and shape them into something special.”
For the next hour, they worked together, refining words and rearranging sentences, finding just the right way to grab the heart of what they’d learned and form it into words. Nate didnot add or suggest content; he merely corrected word usage when needed and suggested changes that altered the pacing. And when they finally read it back, he knew: They had written something real. Something beautiful. Something unforgettable.
Chapter 19
The Campfire Wish
Thursday
In the writer’s pavilion, five campers and Nate sat around a large table. Nate was typing on a computer, his fingers flying on the keyboard. Around him, the campers were scribbling on legal pads, filling pages, then tearing them off and handing them to Nate before beginning again.
After typing in the contents of several sheets, Nate paused. “OK. Let’s stop and see where we are.” He leaned back in his chair. “Everyone was told to provide me with a title, theme, and brief plotline. Elliot, your play’s title isThe Closet Doorand your theme is, the experience of coming out and its emotional meaning.”
Elliot nodded. “Because it was hard for me.”
