Page 4 of Beyond the Rainbow (Pride Camp 2025 #11)

David set his hamburger on the table. “Kids? Outdoors ? In the woods? Are you sure you’re in the right house? My idea of camping is a well-turned-out Airbnb, complete with concierge.”

“Or the biggest glam tent on planet Earth,” Nate added, grinning.

“What exactly do you want us to do there?” David asked. “Got any kind of plan in mind?”

“Well,” Joshua told him. “We were hoping you’d do cooking classes. You know, beginner’s stuff. Give them some survival skills in the kitchen.”

“How many kids?” David queried.

“Our limit is fifty.”

David leaned back, clearly horrified. “I’d be teaching fifty kids to cook? Do they all eat like Colin?”

“Lord god, I hope not,” Joshua muttered.

“No, David,” Colin reassured him, laughing at Joshua’s reaction. “We’ll limit the number of kids per class.” He shrugged. “Maybe you could teach a beginner’s class and a more advanced class.”

David nodded. “Actually, I could see it being fun. I love cooking, and it would be wonderful to pass that love along to these kids.” He leaned toward Colin, “Are there any other assigned duties?”

“Well, we’ll all be serving as counselors,” Joshua told him. “Listening to their problems, giving advice—just being there for what they need, keeping things peaceful.”

“And safe,” Colin added.

“We haven’t actually mapped out any policies yet.”

David nodded. “It would be wonderful to make a difference in these kids’ lives before they get to university.”

“What about me, Josh?” Nate asked, leaning forward with a curious smile. “What role do you see me playing?”

Josh didn’t miss a beat. “Since you’re our resident playwright, I thought you could teach a writing class. The kids could write their own play and perform it for everyone on the last day. What do you think?”

Nate’s expression softened, a glimmer of nostalgia in his eyes.

“You know, that’s an interesting idea. When I was a kid, I took a writing class—not at a camp, but in school.

I still remember my teacher praising my story and reading it aloud to the class.

She told me I had a gift and should keep writing.

That was the first time I ever thought of myself as …

talented . It changed something inside me. ”

Joshua’s smile widened. “Then maybe you can be that person for these kids—the one who gives them the very first glimmer of their true potential.”

Nate nodded. “Yeah. I’d like that,” he murmured, his voice hushed.

Colin’s smile was filled with affection as he reached to pat Nate’s shoulder. “You’ll be great, buddy.” He turned back to Joshua. “But I think we need to check out the campground before we go any further. Talk to the people at Verdun to see what they suggest. They’ve got the experience in this.”

“That sounds fantastic!” Nate said, swirling his French fry in the plastic container, struggling to scoop out the last remnants of sauce. “Let’s go!”

“Nate, it’s six o’clock at night!” Colin blurted, then lifted his eyes to heaven and pointed to Nate’s empty sauce container. “You could always just stick your tongue in there, you know.”

“Smart-ass!” Nate shot back, then tossed the empty container in his friend’s direction. Colin caught it with one hand, then wrapped his arm around Nate’s neck. “We really appreciate you for helping us out on this. Especially since no one from the other therapy centers has signed on yet.”

“Really?” David asked in surprise.

“Yeah,” Joshua muttered. “Pisses me off.” He got to his feet and laid a hand on David’s arm. “We’ll pick you guys up tomorrow around 9:00 a.m. if that’s OK.” He shot a glance at the remaining food. “And the leftovers are all yours.”

“You’re a prince ,” David teased, peering down at the pile of now-cold burgers and fries. “And take this to heart Colin Michael: If I end up with poison ivy on my dick, I’m coming for you!”

“With his dick in his hand,” Nate added, giggling.

Colin snickered and led Joshua toward the door. “9:00 a.m.!” he told his friends. “Be ready!”

“Come at eight!” David called after him. “And I’ll provide breakfast before we go.”

“You got it, Professor!”

The following morning, the four friends stood together at a high vantage point, gazing out over the Verdun campus.

It sprawled below them—lush campsites, towering pines, a shimmering lake—all nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Early sunlight bathed the scene in fiery warmth; golden rays pirouetted on the lake’s rippling surface and cast long, dappled shadows across the forest floor.

Birds darted between the trees, their melodies weaving with the gentle rustle of leaves in the cool, fragrant air.

The rich scent of earth and pine seemed to anchor them in this tranquil moment of discovery.

Colin glanced at Joshua, who stood close beside him, his face illuminated by quiet awe.

Behind them, David and Nate shared a laugh, their voices light and carefree, rising with the breeze.

A swell of pride and hope tightened Colin’s chest. This place, so alive with beauty, would soon become a sanctuary—a retreat—for LGBTQ+ youth in search of peace and belonging.

At that moment, the symmetry between the friendship of the four men, the splendor of their surroundings, and the nobility of their purpose felt almost sacred.

“This is the perfect spot,” Nate said, his voice hushed with reverence.

“It already has enormous heart,” Joshua murmured, slipping his hand into Colin’s.

“It does, my baby,” Colin replied, his voice soft with love. “It has your heart. And that makes it perfect.” He pressed Joshua’s hand to his lips, then turned to David and Nate. “OK. We’re due to meet with camp staff at the main lodge. They’ll fill us in on what we’ll have to work with.”

“And how much it’ll cost,” David added.

“Well, there is a fee for kids to participate,” Joshua told him. “Hopefully, that’ll cover some of the expenses.”

“And if they can’t afford it?”

“In that case, the centers will cover the cost. No kids will be refused because they can’t pay.”

Their meeting with campground staff confirmed their deepest fears.

The campground’s base price covered only twenty campers, with additional participants doubling the cost. Activities were expensive, and even self-run programs came with fees for space and equipment.

Joshua punched numbers into his calculator, shaking his head in frustration.

“Goddammit,” he groaned, showing Colin the rising costs.

“And that’s without food,” Colin added. “Or anything else we might need.”

“Without the UVA grant,” Joshua said. “We’ll be lucky to afford ten campers.”

David nudged his shoulder. “Send me the name of your contact at the university—I can help with that.”

“Thank you, David,” Joshua said, his voice flooded with relief.

“I don’t know if you guys noticed,” Nate added, nodding toward the lodge where they had met with camp personnel. “But a couple of them were noticeably squicked at the thought of being inundated by a mob of queer campers and counselors.”

“Are you serious ?” Joshua asked. “I didn’t notice that.”

“I could be wrong,” Nate told him. “But it’s something to bear in mind.”

“I doubt we’ll have much interaction with them, but I’m glad you spoke up,” Colin told him, his face twisted in a scowl.

“Believe me, I’ll be watching, and if I see any kind of homophobia, I’ll be all over it.

” He frowned at the papers he held in his hand, which listed the various prices and provided a map of the entire campground.

“ All-inclusive ,” he scoffed. “All it includes is a chance to empty your wallet.” He took Joshua’s arm and moved toward a nearby path.

“Let’s walk around a bit. Check out the campsites. ”

“Should we check out other campgrounds?” David asked.

“We’ve scoured the area, Davy,” Joshua said. “Unless you’re offering your backyard, this is it!”

Colin grinned. “Let’s keep exploring. This is still doable.”

They wandered down the path to the lake, where all rowing, swimming, and other water activities were to take place. Nate pointed to a rickety canoe, its hull riddled with holes. “Is this what Colin’s using for rowing lessons?”

“Only if we’re eager to experience lawsuits,” Colin quipped, giving it a push. “This relic’s just for show. The real boats are in the boathouse.”

“Thank goodness,” Nate muttered while Joshua eyed the water, clearly nervous.

“How deep is this thing?” he asked Colin.

“I’d bet I could walk across it without getting my hair wet.”

“You sure?”

“No, babe. But I’ll make sure before I take any of those kids out on that water.”

Joshua nodded and turned to start back down the path. “Please do. Child survival is my number one priority.”

Colin took his arm and walked beside him. “No one—child or staff—will get into any watercraft without a life jacket.”

“Good safety tip,” David agreed with a chuckle.

They strolled through various campsites, then wandered down a forested path, eventually finding their way to a large, open clearing adorned with vibrant wildflowers and framed by towering trees.

To the east, they could see the shimmering waters of the lake.

At this hour, the water reflected a clear blue sky and the majestic mountains that rose steeply in the distance, their peaks dusted with snow.

The nearby stream contributed its voice to the idyllic atmosphere, creating the perfect spot for the fire pit.

The four men took seats on the long, wide logs resting around the campfire area.

“I can just see all of us,” Nate said. “Sitting around this fire pit with the kids. Maybe telling stories or singing camp songs.”

“Telling ghost stories!” Colin said with a grin. “I’m great at that!”

“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall,” Nate sang, then giggled.

“Maybe drinking songs aren’t the best choice?” Joshua suggested.

“Oh, come on, Josh!” Nate shot back. “Don’t tell me you didn’t sing that song when you were a kid.”

“Singing songs wasn’t part of my childhood experience.”

“Nate’s right,” Colin said. He put Joshua into a gentle headlock, then kissed his hair. “Sorry, babe, but “Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer” is mandatory.”

“So is “Row, Row, Row Your Boat!” Nate chirped.

David shrugged. “I’m afraid I have to agree with Nate. This isn’t about age. It’s about camping tradition. And both those songs are required if you want to call yourself a camper.”

“I bow to the will of the majority,” Joshua said, reaching for Colin’s hand. “We’re making this up as we go. There are more questions than answers—and that scares me. But this feels right. Helping these kids—it feels like something we’re supposed to do.”

Colin captured Joshua’s hand in both of his, his voice steady and sure. “And I can’t imagine four people better equipped to do that than the four men sitting here. We’ve got the heart and the vision, and that’s more than half the battle. We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”

“We also have the commitment,” David added.

“And not just for the sake of these kids, but also for ourselves.” Nate linked their arms, and David rested his cheek against Nate’s soft brown hair.

“I know from years of experience that helping young people avoid the pain and heartache that we went through is a deeply healing experience. It’s like we’re rewriting our own stories by giving theirs a better start.

” His voice softened, heavy with emotion. “That’s something worth fighting for.”

Nate smiled, his fingers drifting to David’s hand. “And who knows? Maybe they’ll teach us as much as we teach them. Kids have a way of surprising you.”

Colin nodded, his gaze moving between the others.

“We’ve all been through our share of struggles, and that’s exactly what makes us the right people for this.

We know what it’s like to feel lost, and we know what it’s like to find our way back—with help.

” He nuzzled against Joshua’s cheek and whispered, “ And love .”

Joshua tightened his grip on Colin’s hand. “You’re right. We’ve been through the fire, and we’ve come out stronger. That’s something these kids need to see—that it’s possible not only to survive but to thrive.”

David leaned forward, his eyes glinting with determination. “Then let’s make it happen. Whatever it takes, we’ll give these kids the camp experience they deserve.”

“Agreed,” Colin said. He glanced at each of them in turn, his handsome Irish face glowing with pride. “One step at a time, just like we said. Together.”

“Which is how we do everything,” Nate added, smiling as he reached to pat Joshua’s shoulder.

They fell into a comfortable silence broken only by the music of the nearby stream. The weight of their shared purpose settled over them like a warm blanket. For the first time, the problems felt manageable, and the vision for Camp Pride felt less like a dream and more like an attainable reality.