Camp Pride–Outreach Tour (Pride Road Trip 2026 #6)

Chapter 1

Where the Rainbow Doesn’t Reach

Colin wandered into the kitchen, stretching, still half asleep.

He bent to where Joshua sat at the table, already focused in that quiet, attentive way that made him such a damn good psychologist, and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

“Mornin’, sunshine.” He peered down at the paper in front of Josh and snorted when he recognized the Verdun Adventures logo.

“You getting us lined up for year two of Campers: How They Drive Colin Nuts and Break His Bones?”

Joshua didn’t smile. He folded the paper carefully and pushed it aside.

“Uh-oh,” Colin muttered, filling his mug, his instincts as a prosecutor already kicking in. “I see storm clouds.” He sat down beside Joshua, close enough that their knees brushed. “OK. What’s going on, bud?”

Joshua exhaled slowly. “I love Verdun,” he said, then shot Colin a wry look. “In spite of the fact that they picked our pockets every chance they got.”

“No argument there.”

“And Rainier,” Joshua continued, meaning the clinic where he ran trauma recovery, “has a good working relationship with them. But I don’t think we should go to Verdun this year.”

Colin leaned back, both hands folded around his mug. “Why not?”

Joshua hesitated, thumb tracing the folded edge of the paper. “I can’t stop thinking about the kids Camp Pride doesn’t reach. The ones who can’t get there.”

Colin nodded slowly. “You have something in mind?”

“A hope,” Joshua said quietly. “A traveling version of what we did last summer. Camp Pride in a minibus, where we go to the kids instead of hoping they come to us.”

Colin gave a low whistle. “Wow. That’s… ambitious.”

“But needed,” Joshua countered.

“A bus? Do we really need that?”

“When you see the list of supplies we’d need, you won’t ask that question. Besides, I’m talking about a minibus, not a Greyhound.”

“Mmmm…” Colin rumbled, then stared at Joshua for a moment, recognizing the determination in his eyes.

He sighed and set his mug down with a decisive clink.

“OK. Walk me through it. Because right now, all I’m seeing is a logistical nightmare.

Places to sleep. Liability. Security. All the details that turn my hair gray. ”

Joshua snickered and nudged him. “Your hair’s been prematurely gray since the day I met you.”

“Just a touch at the temples, thank you. And only because of Joshua-induced stress.”

That earned a small laugh—but worry still lingered behind Joshua’s eyes.

Colin leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I’m not trying to be a dick. I just need”—he coughed out a rough sigh—“I need to know we’re not walking into something we can’t handle.”

“We’re not,” Joshua said quietly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook, setting it between them. “Look, Colin,” he said, pointing to the notebook. “These are real people. Real counselors. Real towns.”

Colin opened it. Names. Emails. Notes written in Joshua’s careful hand. He lowered his head and sighed.

Joshua swallowed and met his husband’s eyes, his own filled with a quiet desperation.

“We know how much hope can change a life. Just look at what it did for Alex—this kid who came to Camp Pride carrying more hurt than anyone his age should have to bear, and who somehow found his footing with us. He’s become part of our lives now.

I don’t want to ignore kids who need that same chance just because they were born in the wrong zip code. That just seems… wrong.”

Colin felt his chest tighten. He understood that pull—the need to do something when you knew kids were hurting. But understanding didn’t mean agreeing. Not yet.

“Josh,” he said carefully. “Last summer nearly killed us both. Do you remember it? The exhaustion? The constant demands, not to mention the broken bones? And that was with a fixed location, professional staff backup, and kids whose parents signed off on everything months in advance.” He leaned forward.

“What you’re talking about is taking that chaos on the road.

No home base. No backup. Just us, a bus, and a prayer that the next town won’t run us out on a rail. ”

Joshua’s jaw tightened. “So you’re saying no.”

“I’m saying I need you to convince me this isn’t just good intentions with no plan.” Colin held his gaze. “Where would we go? How long would we be gone? Who’s driving? Where are we sleeping? What happens when we show up in some small town and the parents don’t want us anywhere near their kids?”

“I don’t have all the answers yet—”

“I’m not asking for all the answers,” Colin interrupted. “I’m asking for some. Because if we do this, we do it right. And ‘right’ means I can look you in the eye at the end of every day and know we didn’t put anyone—including us and especially you—in unnecessary danger.”

Joshua pulled his hand back, frustration flashing across his face. “So… what? We just stay comfortable in Charlottesville and pretend those kids don’t exist? That this problem doesn’t exist?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Neither is asking me to justify caring about them!”

The words hung between them, sharp and unexpected.

Colin exhaled slowly, forcing himself to unclench his jaw. “Joshua,” he said quietly. “Please tell me you know that’s not what I meant. Because I’d hate to think…”

Joshua’s shoulders sagged, and he reached to grab Colin’s hand.

“Oh, my love, of course I know that’s not what you meant.

I apologize. I just”—he rubbed his face—“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks, and I keep coming back to the same thing.

We have the skills. We have the experience.

And we have people in these communities who are asking for help.

” He tapped the open notebook. “These are real emails. Real counselors in real towns who don’t have the resources we had at Verdun. ”

Colin glanced at the top page. Farmville—Kyle Mendoza. Wise—still waiting for contact info. Emporia—rec center, limited budget.

“Who’s Kyle Mendoza?” Colin asked.

“School counselor. I met him when I was the keynote speaker at the Frontline Wellness Conference—you remember, Virginia City, about a year ago?”

Colin nodded.

Joshua’s voice went quieter. “He told me one of his students died last year. And he never wants to have to bury another.”

“Jesus,” Colin whispered, his voice suddenly choked. “What hap—I mean—how did they die?”

“They—they committed suicide,” Joshua murmured. He reached for Colin’s hand. “Honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Colin shook his head. For a long moment, he stared past Joshua to the far wall, his gaze distant.

Then he turned to face his husband. “Don’t apologize.

” His voice was rough. “My sister is exactly why Kyle’s email matters.

Why that kid in Farmville matters.” He looked down at his coffee, jaw working.

“I forget sometimes what the price can be for the kids who don’t have a ‘Kyle’ in their life.

Who don’t have a place to go where they can be heard—and seen.

I couldn’t save my sister, and you know what it did to my family.

But maybe we can save some of them, hell, even one of them. ”

“We can plant the seeds, my beautiful love,” Joshua told him, gently carding his fingers through Colin’s sandy hair. “We can try to guide the folks like Kyle who are willing to be there for these youngsters.” He tightened his fingers on Colin’s. “We can help them build a foundation.”

“And hope that it stands after we leave.” He lifted Joshua’s hand to his lips. “Tell me about Kyle. What’s his story?”

Joshua nodded once, swallowing hard. “Kyle’s gay, but he wasn’t out in high school.

Said he spent years feeling like a ghost in his own life.

So now he tries to make sure his own students don’t feel the same way.

” His voice softened. “We’ve been emailing back and forth for a while now, trying to figure out if there’s a way to bring something like Camp Pride to Farmville.

Not a full week—just a night or two. Something to show the kids they’re not alone and to help Kyle get organized.

Colin stared at Joshua, the weight of his words settling over him like a stone. A kid who’d been too afraid to ask for help. A counselor who had to live with the consequences of that silence. Colin knew that kind of guilt—the kind that didn’t fade, just burrowed deeper.

He looked down at the notebook again, at the careful list of towns and names. This wasn’t some half-baked fantasy. Joshua had been planning this. Quietly. Methodically. Waiting for the right moment to bring it up.

“You’ve really thought this through,” Colin said.

“I’ve tried.”

“This isn’t you throwing darts at a map,” Colin said.

“No.”

Colin closed the notebook and exhaled slowly. “OK. Then we do this smart. Realistic timelines. Backup plans. And no cutting corners on safety.”

Hope lit Joshua’s face. “Agreed.”

Colin reached behind him to the counter and grabbed a legal pad, then clicked his pen. “Two weeks. That’s all I can manage.”

“Same,” Joshua said. “Enough time to reach a handful of places without burning out.”

“Good. And we’re not doing this alone.” Colin started writing. “Trent. Nate. We’ll ask David,” he muttered, referring to three of their closest friends.

Joshua nodded. “Alex too—maybe. Carefully. Only if Sharon and Paul are on board. We’d have to have his foster parents’ agreement.”

Colin didn’t argue. “We’ll talk to them together.”

“And the bus?” Joshua asked.

Colin grimaced. “UVA’s probably a no. Rainier might be willing to invest if this isn’t a one-off. Worst case, we rent.” He sighed, and Joshua saw him scrawl “Call about bus rentals.”

“Or pray,” Joshua added.

“Plan C,” Colin muttered.

He tapped the pad once, scribbled another note, then looked up. “Last thing. What are we actually doing in each town?”

“Listening first,” Joshua said immediately. “Then workshops. Writing. Journaling. One-on-one counseling if needed. We adapt to what each place needs—but we don’t wing it.”