Chapter 14
Wise
The road narrowed as they approached Wise, the mountains closing in—not threateningly, but with a kind of watchful patience.
June had settled in, the hills thick with green, the trees heavy with leaves, the air holding that early-summer warmth that hadn’t quite turned to heat.
Houses appeared in careful clusters, older and sturdy, built to last rather than impress.
Colin’s breathing slowed without him realizing it.
Wise didn’t announce itself the way some towns did. There was no moment of arrival, no sudden shift. It simply… existed.
Joshua leaned forward, resting his forearms on the back of Colin’s seat, his gaze moving from storefront to hillside to the modest sprawl of the town itself. “It feels… cautious,” he said after a moment.
Colin nodded. His eyes tracked the town sign as they passed it. “Yeah. Like it’s been burned.”
They rolled past a closed diner, a pharmacy that looked older than both of them combined, a community center with a banner still hanging from the previous summer. Nothing flashy. Nothing pretending to be more than it was.
Joshua exhaled slowly. “This is going to matter,” he said.
Colin turned slightly in his seat and caught the quiet resolve on his husband’s face. “That’s usually how it starts,” he replied, then rested his arm over Joshua’s. “You scared, mo chroí?” he murmured.
Joshua met his gaze, deep brown eyes steady against sparkling honeyed green. “Hell, no,” he said at last. “Don’t you know? I’ve got a dragon on my team.”
Colin smiled at his reference to the fantasy persona Alex had once bestowed upon him.
The library sat just off the main road, a low brick building tucked against the hillside as if it had settled there years ago and decided not to move.
Trent eased the bus into the narrow parking lot while David’s car slid in behind them, the two vehicles looking oddly out of place together—one practical, one polished.
Patricia Hendricks was waiting by the entrance.
She was smaller than Colin had expected, her smile quick and genuine as she stepped forward. Relief flickered across her face when she saw the size of the group—not nerves, exactly, but hope.
“You made it,” she said, shaking hands all around. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Joshua felt it immediately—the careful optimism, the effort it took to hold onto it.
Inside, the library was warm and quietly busy, the muted sounds of pages turning and a copier humming somewhere in the back. Patricia led them down a short hallway toward the community rooms.
“We’ve had a good response so far,” she said. “Not huge numbers, but… steady.” She hesitated only briefly. “And I’m hoping for a quiet day tomorrow. Earl Dalton hasn’t shown his face around here in weeks.”
Her tone was calm. Confident.
Colin exchanged a glance with Trent. Neither man said anything.
The first room was open and flexible—folding chairs stacked neatly against one wall, tables pushed together near the windows. Colin’s eyes automatically mapped exits, sight lines, blind corners. Trent paced the perimeter once, subtle and thorough, noting doorways and the angle of the hall beyond.
“This one will work,” Trent said quietly.
Joshua moved to the window, looking out at the parking lot at David and Nate speaking softly beside the car. “It feels safe,” he said.
Patricia nodded, visibly reassured. “I told the board the same thing.”
The second room was smaller, more private. Colin tested the lock, checked the hinge, then stepped back. “Good separation,” he murmured. “Gives you options.”
David drifted in behind Nate, his hand resting lightly at the small of Nate’s back. “This is perfect,” Nate said, still sounding faintly stunned that this—all of this—was actually happening.
Patricia clasped her hands together. “Tomorrow’s opening session should be quiet,” she said. “I really believe that.”
Joshua met her eyes and smiled. “Quiet is exactly what we want,” he said. “Quiet is how you build trust.”
She lingered at the doorway a moment. “If you need anything tonight, I live just up the hill. Yellow porch light.”
“Patricia,” Joshua said, just before she stepped fully into the hallway.
She turned back.
He reached into his leather satchel and withdrew one of the binders. The cover was simple. Clean block lettering. No flourishes.
He held it with both hands for just a second longer than necessary.
“I brought something for you,” he said.
Patricia stepped closer, curiosity softening her expression. He offered it to her—not casually, not like a spare copy. Like something… sacred.
She read the title silently: The Outreach Playbook.
“What is this?” she asked.
“It’s a suggested structure,” Joshua said. “One that we’ve found works. Conversation outlines. Crisis protocols. Parent communication templates. Follow-up models. How to build continuity after we leave.” He paused. “It’s yours now. Adapt it. Change it. Make it Wise.”
Patricia’s fingers tightened slightly along the spine. “You’re giving this to me?”
Joshua nodded. “If this is going to work, it can’t depend on us being present.” He gave her a shy smile. “Though in a way, it’s my way of staying, it’s my way of offering our support even if we’re not here.”
For a moment, she didn’t speak. The hum of the overhead lights seemed louder.
“This is”—she swallowed, leafing through the many pages—“incredible, Josh. Thank you.”
“You’re entirely welcome,” Joshua said quietly.
Behind him, Colin watched without interrupting. He understood what that binder represented—late nights at the kitchen table, drafts revised, language softened, resources verified twice—and then twice more.
Patricia pressed the binder lightly to her chest. “Believe me, it will be used at every meeting.”
“I know it will,” Joshua replied. And something in his voice carried both hope and trust.
She nodded. “Thank you again, and good night.”
As Patricia left them to their preparations, the room settled into a quieter rhythm. Chairs were unstacked and nudged into a loose circle—nothing rigid, nothing that felt like an institution telling people where to sit.
Colin watched Joshua adjust small things—turning a chair so it didn’t face the door head-on, sliding another away from the window glare.
“This place has a memory,” Joshua said softly.
Colin looked up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Not bad. Just… long.” Joshua rested a hand on the back of a chair. “It remembers being overlooked.”
Colin nodded once.
Outside, a truck rumbled past on the main road, the sound fading quickly into the hills. The town exhaled again, unbothered by their arrival. Not welcoming. Not hostile. Waiting.
Colin checked his watch. “We’ve got an hour before dinner.”
Joshua smiled faintly. “You want to see how the town breathes.”
“Always,” Colin said.
As they stepped back into the clear June air, Colin felt it again—that watchful patience. Wise wasn’t fragile. But it was careful.
Tomorrow would matter.
Dinner ended up being simple, filling, and unbothered by anyone’s expectations.
They found the restaurant Patricia recommended, the kind of diner that didn’t need a sign to tell you what it was. The menu was laminated. The coffee was hot. The booths had been repaired enough times to feel like they’d earned their creaks.
Trent sat with his back to the wall without thinking about it, scanning the room the way he’d scanned the library. Colin did the same, his gaze moving almost absently, cataloging exits and angles.
David and Nate slid into the booth next to theirs, both of them still carrying that strange mix of pride and disbelief, as if they couldn’t quite accept that this tour—this whole idea—had become real.
Joshua, for his part, seemed quieter than usual. Not withdrawn—tuned in. Listening. Watching the people. Filing away tiny moments that Colin didn’t always notice until Joshua named them.
They talked about practicalities—start time, room layout, where the coffee would go, and how long each segment should run if the group stayed small.
“Small isn’t bad,” Joshua said at one point, stirring his tea. “Small lets people breathe. I like small.”
“Small is how you learn names,” Nate added, and then smiled as if the thought itself made his burden lighter.
Colin watched him for a moment. Nate was nervous. Not about trouble—about his part being meaningful.
It made Colin soften, just a little.
After dinner, they drove back to the motel—nothing fancy, just clean and functional, the kind of place that had hosted traveling nurses and construction crews for decades. Trent checked the hallway. Colin didn’t comment, and Joshua pretended not to notice.
Later, after showers that helped release the last of the day’s tension, Colin and Joshua sat on the edge of the bed with the TV on low and the curtains drawn.
“You okay?” Colin asked.
Joshua leaned his head lightly against Colin’s shoulder. “I am.” A pause. “More than that… I’m ready.”
Colin threaded their fingers together. “Tomorrow’s easy,” he said, more promise than prediction.
Joshua’s mouth curved. “Famous last words.”
Colin huffed a quiet laugh. “Now don’t go jinxing me.”
Joshua lifted his head, met his eyes. “Never happen.”
Morning arrived crisp and clear, the sky a pale wash over the mountains.
At the library, Patricia was already there again, moving with the brisk purpose of someone who’d spent half the night worrying and still showed up anyway.
Her copy of the Outreach Playbook lay on the desk beside her purse.
Colored tabs fanned from the edges, marking sections she’d already flagged.
She had a box of pastries on one hip and a thermos of coffee in the other hand.
“Good morning,” she said, bright enough to be convincing.
Joshua took the pastries and smiled. “You didn’t have to do this.”
Patricia waved it off. “We’re not letting anybody come to Wise and go hungry,” she said, and there was a stubborn pride in it that made Colin smile.