Chapter 3
The Bus
Colin had seen a lot of things sell themselves over the years: Closing arguments that landed so perfectly that the jury was nodding before he finished. Plea deals that made defense attorneys sag with relief. Evidence that walked into the courtroom and did all the work.
This minibus was doing that now.
It sat in the back corner of the lot, yellow and boxy and exactly right. Not new—the odometer showed forty-seven thousand miles—but clean. Well-maintained. The kind of vehicle that had been driven by someone who gave a damn.
David stood beside him, hands in his pockets, studying it with the same careful attention he brought to university policy language.
“Twelve passengers,” he said. “Including the driver. Recent inspection sticker.” He walked around to the rear.
“Wheelchair accessible ramp in the back. Cargo space for supplies, sleeping bags, whatever you need.”
Colin pulled open the driver’s door and climbed in.
The seat was worn but comfortable. The dashboard was straightforward—no bells and whistles, just the basics.
He could picture Trent behind this wheel.
Could picture Joshua in the seat just behind the driver, reading through notes.
Could picture Alex sprawled across the back bench, earbuds in, pretending not to care where they were going.
“You’re already seeing it, aren’t you?” David said from the doorway.
Colin glanced back at him. “Seeing what?”
“The tour. The kids. All of it.” The corner of David’s mouth lifted. “You’ve got that look prosecutors get right before they address a jury.”
“I don’t have a look.”
“You absolutely have a look.”
Colin climbed back out and walked the perimeter again, running his hand along the side panel. The paint was good. No rust. Tires had decent tread. He crouched down to check the undercarriage.
“It’s solid,” the salesman said, appearing from nowhere, like they always did.
Mid-fifties, friendly but not pushy, the kind of guy who knew when to talk and when to shut up.
“We just had it in the shop last week. Full tune-up, new brakes, transmission fluid changed. It came from a church group in Roanoke—they upgraded to something bigger.”
“How much?” Colin asked, standing.
“$47,000.”
Colin felt his stomach drop. $47,000. Rainier had three. UVA might kick in ten, maybe twelve if he begged. That left... “Oh holy fu—”
David gave a low, internal rumble, then turned to the salesman and held out his hand. “Keys, please. We want to take it for a spin.”
“Davy, hang on a second,” Colin said, laying a hand on his arm. “Rainier has only kicked in $3,000.”
David clambered into the driver’s seat, the keys in hand. “Stingy bastards!” He shot a glance at Colin, then hooked a thumb toward the back. “Get in!”
Colin blew out a loud, frustrated breath. “Seriously?” But he took the seat behind David, who had turned to the salesman.
“We got a plate on this thing? I don’t want to joyride my way into a police record.”
“All set, Mr. Gardener.” He tapped a side window. The temp plate is right here.”
David grinned and started the bus, then wheeled it towards the exit.
“Hey!” Colin burst out from behind him. “You know how to drive one of these things?”
David shrugged and peered toward oncoming traffic. “Sure! It’s just a minibus. I’m not trying to land a 747.” He steered the bus down the street for a bit, then glanced up at Colin in the mirror. “Handles great.”
Colin shot him a half-annoyed glance. “I wouldn’t know. And where the hell are you going in this thing, and more to the point—why? David, we can’t afford this ride!”
“We’re going to see a mechanic that I know and trust. I don’t want to buy this thing and then have the goddamn transmission fall out onto the road halfway to bumfucked Virginia, or wherever you guys are going on this expedition.”
Colin grimaced and leaned against the pole next to David’s seat. “Good thinking as always, professor, but I say again… we can’t afford this ride. Or did you manage to squeeze some bucks out of UVA? Enough to actually make a difference?”
“I managed to coerce them into a $14,000 donation.” He shot another look at Colin. “There is a string attached that we’ll talk about later.” He wheeled the bus into a well-appointed garage. “Here we are.”
Colin clambered out of the bus. “$14K,” he mumbled. “That’s a lot. But, Jesus, David, that still leaves us with…” He began to subtract in his head as he followed David to where a mechanic stood waiting.
The mechanic—Lou, apparently, because David knew everyone—disappeared under the bus on a rolling creeper holding a flashlight. David and Colin stood in the waiting area, which smelled like old coffee and tire rubber.
Colin stopped and looked at him. “We can’t afford this.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you?” Colin looked up. “Because you just test-drove a bus we can’t afford, like you were picking out a new tie.”
David leaned against the vending machine, arms crossed. “We can afford it.”
“We can’t—”
“I can.”
Colin stopped. Stared at him.
David’s expression didn’t change. “I’m covering the rest. $30,000. Done.”
“Jesus Christ, David—”
“It’s not charity,” David said, cutting him off. “First off, it’s tax-deductible. Second, I want co-ownership. My name and Rainier’s go on the title. Who’s signing for them, by the way?”
“Miranda,” Colin said, referring to Joshua’s boss and Director of Rainier Clinic. “She said to give her a call if we found anything, and she’d meet us.”
David nodded. “Good enough. And when you’re not using it for the tour, I use it for UVA outreach.
Student groups, pride events, wherever there’s a need.
Hell, even for Camp Pride if Josh needs it.
” He pushed off the vending machine. “It’s an investment.
In infrastructure. In the work.” He nudged Colin’s arm. “In the future.”
Colin opened his mouth. Closed it. “$30,000.”
“I understand the number, Colin. I did go to college.”
“That’s…” Colin ran a hand through his hair. “That’s a lot of money.”
“It is,” David agreed. “And you know I have it. It’s old money, Colin.
The kind that comes with a trust fund and a guilt complex.
” He met Colin’s eyes. “I can write a check for $30,000 and never miss it. So, the question isn’t whether I can afford it.
The question is whether you’ll let me be part of this in the only way I can. ”
Colin stared at him for a long moment. “The strings UVA attached?”
“They want the bus available for university functions twice a year. Community outreach events, that sort of thing. I already told them yes.” David’s mouth quirked. “Seemed like a small price for fourteen grand.”
“And your strings?”
“No strings.” David shrugged. “Just—use it. Go find those kids. Build something that lasts.” He paused. “And when you do, remember that some of us who can’t be on the road still want to be part of it.”
Colin felt something tighten in his chest. “David—”
“Don’t get maudlin on me, Irish. I’m a rich academic with more money than sense. Let me do something useful.”
From under the bus, Lou’s voice called out: “Y’all are good! This thing’s solid. Somebody took real good care of her.”
David looked at Colin. “So? Are we buying a bus today or what?”
Colin took a breath. Let it out. “Co-ownership. Both names on the title.”
“Both names on the title,” David confirmed.
“And you’re not doing this because you feel sorry for us, or because you think we can’t handle it ourselves—”
“I’m doing this because I believe in what you’re building and because I trust in you,” David said. “And because $30,000 sitting in my account does nothing! You showing up does!”
Colin nodded slowly. Then held out his hand.
David shook it. “Besides,” he added. “My husband’s riding in this vehicle. I wanted him in something safe.”
“All right then,” Colin said. “Let’s go buy a bus. I’ll call Miranda at Rainier and have her meet us.”
Two hours later, Colin stood in front of the dealership with a folder full of paperwork under his arm. Title, registration, insurance forms—all of it listing both David Gardener-Reese and Rainier Clinic as co-owners.
David handed Colin the keys. “Go find the ones who think they’re alone.”
Colin’s throat tightened. “Jesus, Davy.”
David elbowed his arm and grinned. “Now let’s go surprise Josh.”
“How?”
“I’ll drive the bus. You take your car.” David was already heading toward the driver’s seat. “I’ll wait around the corner. You bring Joshua outside—eyes closed—and I’ll pull up.”
Colin laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve been planning this.”
“Damn right I have.” David climbed in and started the engine. “Now go. And make sure he doesn’t peek.”
Fifteen minutes later, Colin pulled into the driveway. Joshua came out onto the porch, looking curious.
“Hey. Where’s David?”
“He’ll be here in a minute.” Colin got out, grinning. “Come here. I need you to do something.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes.”
Joshua’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“Just—trust me. Close your eyes.”
Joshua gave him a suspicious look, but did it. Colin took his hand and led him down the driveway to the street, positioning him carefully. Then he pulled out his phone and texted David: Ready.
“Colin, what are you—”
“Sh. Wait.”
The rumble of an engine in the distance. Getting closer.
“Okay,” Colin said. “Open.”
Joshua opened his eyes.
A yellow bus was rumbling towards them, David behind the wheel, sunlight glinting off the windshield, a huge grin plastered on his face. He slowed to a stop directly in front of them, then killed the engine.
For a long moment, Joshua just stared.
“We don’t have the money for—” he started.
“We do now,” Colin said. “Rainier kicked in $3,000. UVA put up fourteen. And David,” He glanced toward the bus as David climbed out. “David covered the rest. Thirty thousand. Co-ownership. His name and Rainier’s on the title.”
Joshua’s mouth opened. “Wow! Miranda signed?”
Colin laughed. “She took one look at this bus and couldn’t wait to sign.”
Joshua nodded. “Fantastic!” He walked slowly toward the bus, one hand reaching out to touch the side panel as if to confirm it was real.
“It’s ours?” he whispered.
“It’s ours,” Colin confirmed.
Joshua turned back to David, eyes bright with unshed tears. “David, that’s—I don’t even know what to—”
“It’s an investment,” David said quickly, cutting him off before the emotions could spill over. “In infrastructure. In the works. And when you’re not using it, I get to loan it out for UVA events twice a year, student groups, sporting events, whatever needs it.” He shrugged. “Fair trade.”
“Still,” Joshua said, his voice thick. “Thank you doesn’t even come close to what this means.”
David patted Joshua’s arm and managed a small smile. “Just use it. Make it count.”
Joshua nodded, then turned back to the bus. He ran his hand along the length of it, taking in the clean yellow paint, the wheelchair ramp in back, the windows that would soon frame the faces of kids who needed to know they weren’t alone.
“Where Pride finds them,” he whispered.
Colin stepped up beside him and squeezed his shoulder. “And it will,” he murmured into Joshua’s ear.
For a moment, the three of them just stood there in the street—Joshua with his hand still on the bus, Colin beside him, David a few steps back with his hands in his pockets.
A blank canvas on wheels.
“So,” David said finally. “Who wants to take her for a spin?”
Joshua turned, grinning through the tears he wasn’t quite managing to hide. “Can I?”
David pulled the keys from his pocket and tossed them over. “She’s yours as much as mine.”
Joshua caught them, stared at them for a second, then looked up at Colin with an expression that was equal parts disbelief and pure joy. “We have a bus.”
“We have a bus,” Colin agreed.
They climbed in—Joshua in the driver’s seat, Colin just behind him, David sprawling across one of the back benches like he owned the place.
Joshua started the engine, and it rumbled to life, smooth and steady.
“Here we go,” he said quietly.
Colin reached over and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Here we go.”
Joshua eased away from the curb, then drove slowly down West River Road, following the meandering path of their beloved Rivanna River, David calling out directions from the back, Joshua grinning like a kid, Colin watching his husband and feeling something settle in his chest that he had been restless about for weeks.
This was real now.
Not just a plan whispered between them in the dark.
Not just words typed and sent, hoping they’d be enough.
This was a bus. Yellow and bright and clean. Ready to carry them into small towns where kids were standing, waiting, wondering if anyone would ever come.
We’re coming! Colin thought.
In fact, they were already on their way.