Eric hesitated, gripping the bat tightly. His expression changed—disbelief filling his eyes. “I—I don’t—” he choked out, then simply stared at Alex, his eyes welling with tears.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t make it weird,” Alex cut in, grinning as he nudged Eric’s elbow with his own.
For a moment, Eric stared down at the bat; then he lifted his eyes to Alex’s face. “Thank you,” he whispered. “This means a lot, man.”
Alex nodded, and the two players bumped fists.
Near the edge of the group, Colin watched in silence. His lips formed a soft smile, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.
Joshua, standing beside him, leaned in. “Did you see that?”
Colin turned toward him, then bent and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Sure did.”
Joshua huffed out a laugh and nudged his husband. “That kid must have agreatcoach!”
Colin smirked. “No coaching to it. That was allhim.”
As the campfire crackled, the night settled in, and the revelry continued. No longer rivals, Timber Ridge and Thunder Bats had become something different, something better. They’d become teammates and hopefully friends.
After an hourof eating s’mores around the campfire, playing catch in the moonlight, and gazing in awe through Trent’s telescope, the campers began to gather up their belongings. The day was winding down. It was time for the Timber Ridge team to return to their camp.
Colin and Joshua sat in front of the campfire, Joshua on the ground, leaning back against his husband, both of Colin’s arms around him. Colin’s fingers traced gentle circles on Joshua’s forehead, bending now and then to press a soft kiss to his hair.
Alex and Eric had volunteered for clean-up duty and were meandering around, filling a plastic trash bag with the litter scattered around the campfire area. They had moved past this afternoon’s incident and were chatting about baseball, comparing their coaches’ strategies and teaching techniques. Eric reached for a discarded glow stick, then paused to watch as Joshua smiled up at Colin, reaching to caress his sandy hair while Colin smiled back, his eyes radiant with love.
“Man,” Eric said, pausing with the gleaming stick in his hand. “No offense, Alex, but I’dturngayif it would get me what they’ve got.”
Alex scoffed out a soft laugh. “Trust me. Not manygayguys have what they’ve got.”
Eric nodded. “He’s pretty cool, your coach.”
“The coolest.”
Notably missingfrom that late afternoon campfire gathering were David and his cooking class. Tomorrow was the mostsignificant event to be held at Camp Pride, an event in which they played a pivotal role: Trent and Jeff’s wedding. They had created the wedding cake itself that morning, and it now stood proudly on a preparation table in the campground kitchen, a three-tiered masterpiece covered with white buttercream icing. To everyone’s shock, the cake layers were the same height and absolutely level. But now came the hard part: It had to be decorated.
David clapped his hands together, drawing the attention of the eager group gathered around the table. “All right, gentlemen,” he said, with a soft smile, “this is where we turn a plain old white cake into a wedding masterpiece. And by ‘masterpiece,’ I mean something that won’t look like it’s been attacked by a sugar tornado.”
A few snickers echoed through the kitchen, but the boys quickly got to work. Tristan took his time piping small heart shapes around the middle tier, his tongue sticking out in concentration. “This is harder than I thought,” he muttered, pausing to examine his slightly wobbly attempt.
“Keep going,” David encouraged. “Weddings are about love, not perfection. Besides, fondant covers a multitude of sins.”
Meanwhile, Damian had been entrusted with placing the tiny groom figurines on top. He hesitated, squinting at the small figures, resplendent in their black suits. “Do they need to face forward?”
“Not necessarily,” David said, setting down his piping bag. “How do you think Jeff and Trent would stand if this were real?”
Damian thought for a moment, then turned the figures slightly toward each other so that they almost seemed to be exchanging a quiet, happy glance. “There. That looks better.”
David smiled. “Perfect.”
At the other end of the table, Bryce and Sean, chosen because they had the best ‘icing handwriting,’ worked on piping thewedding phrases inside the large hearts. Bryce finished “Two Haerts, One Love” with a flourish before leaning back with a grin. “There. Nailed it.”
Sean peered at it, then pointed. “Uh … you spelled ‘hearts’ wrong.”
“Oh,fuck,” Bryce squeaked, then shot a sheepish glance at David, who laughed and waved away his concern.
“Don’t worry.” He handed Bryce a sharp, pointed knife. “Gently scrape it off and try again. The great thing about icing is that it’s as forgiving as I am.”
By the time they finished, the cake looked beautiful—not flawless, but filled with charm and love, every heart and letter a reflection of the hands that had created it. The campers stepped back, admiring their work, and walked around the table to view the cake from every possible angle.
