Chapter 1 #2
Colin nodded. “Baseline structure. Flexible execution.”
“Exactly. And I have more ideas in that regard. I’ll fill you in after we get the basics nailed down.”
Colin leaned back, studying his notes. It was a lot. Too much, maybe. But when he looked at Joshua—at the quiet urgency behind his hope—he knew there was no talking him out of this. And he wasn’t sure he would if he could.
“OK,” he said. “Let’s do it.”
Joshua let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like relief. “Really?”
“Really.” A small smile tugged at Colin’s mouth. “But I get final say on safety. If a town feels wrong, we skip it. No arguments. And I will be looking into crime rates.”
“Deal.”
Colin reached for his phone, checking the time. “OK. First things first: we need to talk to David and Nate. See if they’re even available for this insanity.”
Joshua grinned. “You think they’ll say yes?”
“David? Depends on his UVA teaching schedule. Nate...” Colin shrugged. “Fifty-fifty. He’s got his own summer classes, and you know how he gets about his students. If they’ve got a play in production, it might be hard for him to get away.”
“We’ll make it work,” Joshua said, standing and moving behind Colin’s chair. He wrapped his arms around Colin’s shoulders, pressing his cheek against his husband’s hair. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For not shutting this down. For hearing me out.”
Colin laced their fingers together. “You’re the one who always knows where hope’s needed most.”
“And you’re the one who makes it happen.”
Colin’s chest tightened—that familiar ache of gratitude he never saw coming. “We’ll make it happen together.”
Joshua kissed the top of his head, then grabbed both their mugs. “More coffee?”
“Always.”
As Joshua moved to the counter, Colin stared down at the legal pad—at the half-formed plans and unanswered questions. This was going to be harder than Camp Pride. Messier. More uncertain.
But if it meant one kid in Farmville didn’t have to stare into the dark and wonder if their life was worth living—yeah. It was worth it. He glanced up at Joshua, watching him fill their mugs. “Should we call our partners in crime?”
“Now?”
Colin shrugged. “Why not?” and Joshua gently waved him forward.
Colin set his phone on the table and pressed David’s number. He shot a final glance at Joshua, who was leaning back against the counter, then hit the speaker.
“Hey, Irish,” David’s voice floated through the kitchen. “What’s up?”
“Hey, Professor,” Colin said. “You got a minute? There’s something we’d like to discuss with you.”
“Hi, Davy!” Joshua called.
“Discuss away. And hi, Josh. And before you start, Colin, did you get that draft policy language I sent over yesterday? I need your legal eyes on the nondiscrimination section before we take it to the Faculty Senate next week.”
Colin winced. “Shit. Sorry, Davy. It’s been sitting in my inbox. I’ll get to it this weekend, I promise.”
“No rush—well, moderate rush. We’ve got until Wednesday.” David’s tone shifted, curious. “So, what’s up? You two sound like you’re plotting something.”
Colin glanced at Joshua, who pushed off the counter and came to stand beside him, one hand resting on his shoulder. “We are, actually. How locked down is your summer schedule?”
There was a pause. “Pretty locked down. Why?”
“We’re planning a traveling version of Camp Pride,” Joshua said. “Hitting underserved communities across Virginia for about two weeks in June. We were hoping you could come with us.”
The silence on the other end stretched long enough that Colin checked to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.
“David?” he prompted.
“I’m here. I’m just…” David exhaled slowly.
“Jesus, guys. That sounds incredible. But June is the worst possible timing for me this year and I…” he paused and in the background, they heard Nate’s excited voice, chattering something indecipherable.
“Hang on a second,” David muttered, then: “Jesus, Nate, do you see the phone in my hand?” After a moment, he returned.
“Sorry, Colin. The Raccoon Tamer is throwing a fit because we’re late to a meeting at the Culberth.
Listen! Can you guys come for dinner tonight?
Around six? I’ll make one of Aunt Nora’s recipes, and we can chat about this in peace. ”
“Sounds great, Davy,” Colin said. “We’ll see you then. “And tell the Raccoon Tamer to settle down. He’s the big pooh-bah Broadway producer down there. They’ll wait for him.”
David scoffed out a laugh. “Riiight. See you tonight.” And the phone went dead.
“Well, that didn’t take long,” Joshua muttered.
Colin sat, silently spinning the phone in aimless circles on the table. Joshua watched him for a moment, then took the seat next to him. “Something on your mind, my love?”
Colin’s brows furrowed as he shook his head. “I—I’m just thinking about that kid. Kyle’s kid.”
Joshua’s hand tightened on his arm. “I understand.” He drew in a deep breath. “We’re not taking that on. And neither is he. We’re going to do what we can. The best we can.”
“I know, babe. I’m not taking responsibility for every gay kid in Virginia. I’m not”—he shot a quick glance at Joshua—“I’m not playing god. I’m just saying there’s more to this than playing Simon Says and making s’mores.”
“There always is,” Joshua said, his voice soft. “We never know how what we do affects these kids in the long run. We hope for the best, but you’re right. Every game, every word, every song has the potential to have an effect we can’t have foreseen and may never even know about.”
Colin nodded, staring at the wall.
“But there is one thing I do know for sure,” Joshua said. He turned Colin’s head until their eyes met. “We do more good by being there than we do by ignoring the problem. Even if all we do is show up! Someone benefits.”
Six hours later, Colin stood on David and Nate’s front porch, hand raised to knock, but not knocking.
Behind him, Joshua shifted. “Second thoughts?”
“Seventh or eighth, actually.” Colin lowered his hand. “I’ve been running numbers all afternoon. Liability waivers. Insurance coverage. What happens if some parent decides we’re corrupting their kid and sues Rainier into Chapter Eleven. ”
“Colin—”
“And that’s just the legal shit.” He turned to face Joshua. “I keep thinking about Kyle’s student. About what happens if we show up in one of these towns and some kid comes to us—really comes to us—and then we leave, and two months later...” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
Joshua took his hand. “Then we’ve given them two days they didn’t have before. Two days where they knew someone saw them—heard them—accepted them. That matters.”
“Does it?” Colin’s voice cracked. “Did it matter––for Kathy?”
Joshua squeezed his fingers. “Yes. It did. You mattered to her, Colin. She knew you loved her. That she wasn’t alone. Sometimes that’s not enough to change the outcome, but it’s never without value.”
Colin stared at their joined hands, jaw working.
“We don’t have to do this,” Joshua said quietly. “If it’s too much—”
“No.” Colin looked up, eyes red but determined. “No, we’re doing it. I just needed a minute to...” He exhaled shakily. “To remember why.”
The front door swung open. Nate stood there in an apron dusted with flour, grinning. “Are you two going to stand out there all night, or are you coming in for dinner?”
After a fabulous dinner of Irish lamb stew, brown Guinness soda bread, colcannon potatoes, and apple tart with custard, they settled onto one of David and Nate’s couches, a snifter of cognac warming in Colin’s palm.
“Jesus, Davy,” Colin said, lifting his glass. “Aunt Nora would be proud. That was Irish heaven.”
David smiled, leaning back against Nate. “High praise.”
Joshua set his glass aside. “I’m heartsick you can’t come with us this year.”
“It’s the timing,” David said immediately.
“The Board formed an emergency task force in February—strengthening protections for LGBTQ+ students before things get any worse politically. I’m chairing it, and June is when everything has to come together.
” He shook his head. “If this were late summer, I’d be there in an instant. ”
Nate glanced between them. “But I can go.”
Joshua smiled. “We’d love that. Your writing class was one of the best parts of Camp Pride.”
“I was thinking of doing creative journaling this time,” Nate added. “Something they can keep. A place to put the things they can’t say out loud yet.”
Colin looked up, something soft shifting in his expression. “That could really help.”
“And you can meet us when you can,” Colin added, turning to David. “Even for a day or two.”
“I will,” David said firmly. “And I’ll help however I can.”
“The bus is the biggest hurdle,” Joshua admitted. “Renting might work, but owning one would give us flexibility long-term.”
David nodded. “Talk to me before you spend a dime. I might be able to squeeze some funds out of UVA—and I can kick in myself if needed.”
Colin glanced down at his glass. “One of the counselors who contacted Josh—Kyle Mendoza, in Farmville—lost a student last year. Suicide. He doesn’t want to bury another kid.”
The room went quiet.
“Oh, Colin,” Nate said, reaching for his hand. “We’ll be there. Even if it’s just for a couple of days—that matters.”
David nodded. “It does. Showing up matters.”
Joshua leaned closer, his shoulder brushing Colin’s. “We’re not promising outcomes,” he said quietly. “We’re promising presence.”
“That’s enough to start with,” David said.
Nate lifted his glass. “Then here’s to terrible ideas worth doing.”
Colin huffed a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “I’ll drink to that.”
“Well, that’s three,” Joshua said, then polished off his brandy in one swallow.
“Three?” Colin repeated.
“Three staff. You, me, and Nate.”
“Three and a HALF,” David insisted.
“OK,” Colin said. “We’re on our way!”
Later that night, Colin lay in bed staring at the ceiling, Joshua’s breathing slow and steady beside him. He should have been asleep an hour ago. Should have been dreaming of church basements and minibusses and Kyle Mendoza’s hopeful emails.
Instead, he kept seeing the doorway to Kathy’s bedroom.
Not the memory of walking through it—his mind had learned long ago to skip that part to make it survivable. But the moment before. Standing in the hallway, fourteen years old, calling her name because dinner was ready. His hand on the doorknob.
Not knowing.
That’s what haunted him most. The not knowing. The three seconds between opening the door and understanding what he was seeing. The way his brain had tried to make it make sense—she’s just... she’s playing a game… she’s—before reality crashed in and he began to scream.
Twenty-three years later, and he could still feel the doorknob in his hand.
Colin’s chest tightened. He focused on breathing—in through his nose, out through his mouth, the way Joshua had taught him during the bad nights when the memories came back, sharp and unforgiving.
What if we show up in some town and a kid comes to us—really comes to us—and then we leave, and two months later...
What if he opened another door and was too late again?
He inhaled deeply, hearing the tremor in his breath, feeling his heart quake inside him. He felt the warmth of Joshua’s body next to his and leaned toward it, his forehead light against Joshua’s back. Barely touching. Not wanting to wake him.
But Joshua felt it anyway. Not his touch—his need. He turned in bed, easing closer to Colin until their bodies touched down their entire length. “Sweetie?” he whispered. “Talk to me.”
“Don’t want to start a 2:00 a.m. session,” Colin murmured, nuzzling against Joshua’s cheek. “I’m OK.”
“Just take a deep breath and tell me what you were thinking about ten seconds ago, and let the guy with two PhD’s in psychology tell you if you’re OK.”
Colin gave a deep sigh.
“Right. Now tell me.”
“About opening that fucking door. That’s what I always end up thinking about.”
Joshua nodded, his hand moving in a slow circle on Colin’s back.
“My darling, I wish to god there was something I could say or do to remove that horrid memory from your mind. But I promise you this: I will give everything I have to give to be sure no child we come into contact with ever makes that choice, or even thinks about it.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can’t promise the outcome. No. But I can promise you my whole heart and soul will go into the effort. That I can promise. That I do promise.”
Colin was quiet for a long moment, his face pressed against Joshua’s shoulder. Then he whispered, “I know you will.”
“We’ll do this together,” Joshua murmured. “Every step. Every town. Every kid who needs us. Together.”
“Together,” Colin echoed, and felt something in his chest loosen just slightly.
He couldn’t save Kathy. He’d opened that door twenty-three years too late, and nothing—not all the therapy in the world, not all of Joshua’s love, not all the kids they might help in Farmville or Wise or anywhere else—would ever change that.
But maybe that wasn’t the point.
Maybe the point was showing up anyway. Opening doors while there was still time. Being present for the kids who were still here, still fighting, still hoping someone would see them.
We can plant the seeds.
Colin pulled back just enough to meet Joshua’s eyes in the darkness. “Two weeks,” he said quietly. “Mid-June ’til July.”
Joshua’s hand came up to cup his face. “Two weeks.”
“And then we come home and figure out what comes next.”
“And then we come home,” Joshua agreed.
Colin nodded once, then settled against his husband’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The fear was still there—probably always would be—but so was something else now. Something that felt almost like peace.
They couldn’t save everyone. But they could show up. They could try. They could make a beginning.
For Kathy. For Kyle’s student. For all the kids still standing in hallways, still trying to decide if anyone would care if they opened that door.
We’re coming, Colin thought as sleep finally began to pull him under. Just hold on. We’re coming.