“Good morning,” Vinnie mumbled into his pillow. It was 8:24, and Gabriel was supposed to be meeting his parents and the other administrative staff of Orion’s Belt Hockey Camp at 8:30 for coffee and official business.
Gabriel fell out of bed. “I’m late,” he said.
“I thought gay guys didn’t have to worry about being late after sex,” Vinnie said.
It took Gabriel a moment to catch Vinnie’s meaning, and then he rolled his eyes. “Nice one,” he said, his voice dry. “Where’s my underwear?”
Vinnie searched under the covers for a moment and then handed Gabriel a discarded jockstrap. “This yours?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Gabriel said, taking the offered underwear. These, paired with his tank top and running shorts, weren’t what he wanted to wear to a meeting with his parents and their staff. The outfit didn’t exactly scream “competent assistant director,” but that was his own fault for sleeping in.
Gabriel struggled into the, pausing to look in the mirror and make sure that he didn’t look too disheveled. He was tall and long-limbed, with sculpted muscles, an angular face, and a square chin. He was twenty-three years old, had thick brown hair, full lips, and light blue eyes. His skin had already acquired a rich summer tan, and blonde highlights were coming into his hair.
“So, no morning sex?” Vinnie was saying, smiling at Gabriel from bed.
“No morning sex,” Gabriel confirmed. “But last night was fun. I’d be down to do this again sometime, if you wanted to.”
“I want to,” Vinnie said. He waved Gabriel over for a kiss. Gabriel pecked Vinnie on the lips, grabbed his keys and wallet from beside the bed, snagged a cheese danish from a box on the kitchen counter, and hurried from the house.
He called his parents on the drive, said he’d spent the night at a friend’s, and would be to the meeting late, but would get there as soon as possible.
He took the scenic M-22 highway up the coast. The green forests of Michigan were on his right, the blue waters of Lake Michigan on his left. When he entered Leelanau County, he turned west off M-22, taking a two-lane paved road towards the small town of Orion.
Normally, when passing through town, he would stop at his favorite coffee shop, Dune Grass Roasters, but this time, he went straight through town and onto a tree-lined road that led past several campgrounds until he reached a turnoff with a large painted wood sign that showed a deer wearing hockey skates, advertising Orion’s Belt Hockey Camp. He still remembered his mother repainting that sign when he was twelve. It could probably do with another coat, but the chipped nature made it look adorably vintage.
He drove down a bumpy dirt road. The forest here was mostly pine trees, the sort that Michigan was known for. He rolled his windows down, drinking in the rich smell of the forest.
The road split after a half mile, and he turned right. The dirt became gravel, and he started to pass cabins on his right and his left. He smiled as he passed each cabin. Each was named after an NHL legend. There were twenty cabins in total: twelve for boys, eight for girls. When Gabriel was growing up, he had stayed in all twelve of the boys’ cabins in different years as a camper. In the summer right after high school, and the summer after his freshman year, he had stayed in the coaching staff’s cabins, closer to Three Star Lake, on which the camp sat.
Those fourteen summers were full of fond memories. After his last summer working on the coaching staff, he had thought his time with Orion's Belt Hockey Camp was over. Maybe, someday, he’d send his kids there, if he ever had kids, and if they wanted to play hockey. He’d been gently forced into the sport as a kid. He wouldn’t do the same with his hypothetical children. They could play (or not play) whatever sports they wanted.
The main building on the camp’s property was a massive log cabin that long ago had been dubbed “the Citadel.” No one knew where the name came from, though there were plenty of ideas and legends. Three cars were already parked in the gravel parking lot: his parents’ dusty Subaru Forester, and two other SUVs, which belonged to Hank the Crank, the head of maintenance, and Danielle VanDykstra, the operations manager.
Gabriel parked beside his parents’ car and hurried into the Citadel. The main entrance opened into a lobby with a defunct fireplace on one side and glass doors to an office space on the other side. A large deer head hung over the fireplace, its glassy eyes following Gabriel wherever he went. Back when he was a camper here, he and his friends would try to sneak into the Citadel at night and hang their hockey skates on the deer’s antlers.
He opened the glass doors to the office. Danielle was sitting at her desk behind an ancient computer, her glasses on the end of her nose. Danielle had looked the same Gabriel’s entire life: petite, smooth face with two sharp lines on either side of her mouth, and gray-blonde hair in a tight bun. Today, she wore an Orion's Belt T-shirt and a cardigan.
“Good morning, Gabe,” she said, without looking up. “You’re late. Everyone’s in the mess.”
“Good morning, gorgeous,” Gabriel replied. He dropped the cheese danish he’d lifted from Vinnie’s place on her desk. “For you.”
Danielle looked at him skeptically.
“Are you trying to bribe me for something?” she asked.
“I would never.” He absolutely would.
“Hmph. If you say so.”
“Maybe just forgive me for being late.”
She frowned. “I’ll think about it.”
He knew she’d enjoy the pastry, and hopefully wouldn’t get after him for being late. His parents might be the owners of Orion’s Belt, but Danielle had most of the power.
Gabriel waved goodbye to Danielle and left the offices, cutting across the lobby, past the bathrooms, and to the swinging doors that led to the mess.
He pushed the doors open and found the administrative team of the camp gathered around a round plastic table, drinking coffee out of sturdy ceramic mugs. There were his parents, Don and Laurel Ackermann, fit fifty-nine-year-olds with matching short gray-blonde hair. They both wore khaki shorts and gray Orion’s Belt T-shirts and had concerned expressions on their faces.
