“Christ, Trent,” Colin blurted, turning to greet his physical therapist. “Look at this, would you?” He held the notebook outto Trent, who scanned it, nodding. “I damn near putyouin left field!”
“Colin, this looks great. Why are you agonizing over this? It’s just a friendly softball game between rival campgrounds.”
Colin leaned back and gave Trent a look of shocked disbelief. “Trent, there is no such thing asjusta baseball game. It matters! They’ve trained hard for this. Theydeserveto win!”
Trent’s strong hand landed on Colin’s shoulder and squeezed. “Look, buddy, Rocky lost his first fight, remember? Didn’t make him any less of what he already was—awinner.”
Colin husked out a sigh and nodded. “I get it, Trent. I do. But, being content with losing is not in my DNA.”
Trent leaned toward him with a low chuckle. “Suck it up and cope. Now, c’mon, let’s go. It’s nearly noon, and we have to be there for the opening ceremonies.”
At exactly ten minutes before noon, the bus from Timber Ridge rumbled to a stop, kicking up dust as the campers inside pressed against the windows. In the parking lot, Camp Pride’s staff and campers stood waiting, some shifting excitedly, others watching their soon-to-be rivals with careful curiosity.
At the front of the line, Colin maneuvered his knee scooter into position, arms crossed, surveying the scene like a general preparing for battle. Beside him, Joshua blew out a slow breath, his hands clasped in front of him, reminding himself again and again that this was Colin’s show and that, even injured, he could handle any contingency.
The bus door hissed open, and the Timber Ridge campers spilled out, followed by their coach. Joshua stepped forward, offering a warm smile. “Welcome to Camp Pride! We’re glad to have you here today for some friendly competition, good food, and an exciting game of baseball.” He shook the coach’s hand. “I’m Joshua Campbell-Abrams, Camp Pride Coordinator.” He turned to Colin, who had moved to his side with Trentat his elbow. “These are our two Thunder Bat coaches, Colin Campbell-Abrams and Trent Peterson.”
Timber Ridge’s coach, a sturdy man with a no-nonsense stance, gave a friendly nod as he shook each man’s hand. “Coach Tate, Marshall Tate. Thanks for having us. We’re looking forward to a great game.” There was some low growling from the Timber Ridge group as they surveyed their opponents, and one whispered something that drew a snicker from his teammates but was lost under the general shuffling of feet and low conversation from the assembled campers and staff.
Coach Tate turned to Joshua. “Who’s calling the game?”
“A neutral ump from Verdun.”
Tate nodded and moved to stand with his team.
Colin nudged Joshua’s shoulder as they stepped back and groused: “You should’ve just let David do it.”
“Oh Lord God,” Joshua muttered. “He’d have turned it into Shakespeare in the Park.”
“Who’spayingthis neutral ump?”
Joshua shot him ado-you-have-to-asklook.
“Peachy!”
Joshua gestured toward David, who lifted a box of prizes high above his head. “Thanks to our very own David Gardener-Reese, we have prizes for today’s standout players—not just to salute their baseball skills, but also to honor their teamwork and good sportsmanship.” A few of the players exchanged glances, eyeing the prize box with both curiosity and excitement.
Colin nudged his knee scooter forward and turned to face his squad. “Alright, Thunder Bats, before we hit the field, I want each of you to pair off with someone from the Timber Ridge squad. You’ve got sixty seconds to learn their name and the last show they binge-watched.Go.”
A brief shuffle mingled the two teams. Some players immediately started chatting. Others, clearly not happy about the forced icebreaker, mumbled out one-word answers.
One Timber Ridge player smirked. “Name’s Eric. And I just binge-watchedBreaking Bad.” His Camp Pride counterpart, Lucas, hesitated, then mumbled, “I’m Lucas, and I just watchedHeartstopper.” There was a brief pause. Then … a low snicker and a snide, “Figures.”
Colin’s forehead furrowed. He didn’t comment or react; he simply watched. A few of the Timber Ridge kids exchanged looks. One nudged another with an elbow, but when Colin’s sharp eyes scanned the group, their amusement faded. He filed the moment away.Noted.
For the most part, the mingled name and TV show exchange went off without a hitch, and after allowing another minute or so for their meet and greet, Joshua clapped his hands. “All right, let’s head for the field! And remember this—you’re all winners.”
As the teams started filing toward the field, Colin tossed his notepad into the knee scooter basket, already mentally lost in lineup strategy. Joshua, walking beside him, murmured, “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
Colin snorted. “Give it ten minutes.”
“What’s wrong?”
“We’ve got a couple homophobes on that team.”
“Oh god.”
“I’m on it.”
