Page 12

Chapter twelve

Clayton

Clayton nudged Sawyer toward the mess hall, the evening sun painting the sky in oranges and pinks. Inside, the long wooden tables were draped with rainbow colors, with wildflower jam jars scattered between plates of roasted chicken and buttery corn. The air smelled like gravy and pine. He slid onto a bench beside Mark and Rowan, who were already ribbing each other over who’d eaten the last biscuit.

Clearing his throat, Clayton tapped his fork against his tin cup. “Heads up, everyone. Owen’s banned. Camp and the Timberline. If you spot him lurking, come straight to me. Extra security’s coming in, and no one wanders alone—buddy system’s non-negotiable.” He paused, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry it came to this, but better safe, right?”

Mark dropped his fork with a clatter. “Now you ban him? After all the crap he’s pulled?” His voice was sharp, but quiet enough that the other tables didn’t glance over.

Clayton tensed. They’d had this fight before—Mark’s “I-told-you-so” had been simmering for months. “I gave him chances. Thought he’d cool off.”

“Cool off?” Mark snorted. “Dude nearly broke Eli’s nose at the pub last winter. You called it a ‘misunderstanding.’”

Rowan, ever the peacemaker, passed the cornbread. “Cut Clayton some slack. Owen’s all talk most days.”

“Until he’s not,” Mark shot back.

Jeff, the broad-shouldered bouncer from the Timberline, leaned in, his tattooed arms crossed. “Look, any drunk idiot can spiral. That’s why I’m here—to chuck ’em out before they fuck up. But hey, lesson learned. He’s banned. Done.” He shrugged, tearing into a chicken leg.

Clayton exhaled. “Mark’s right. I waited too long.” He met Mark’s glare. “But I’m fixing it. No more chances.”

Mark held his stare a beat, then grunted, stabbing a potato. “Better late than never, I guess.”

Two of the men delivered the beautiful rainbow cupcakes to the tables on large trays, which they passed around so everyone could choose one. The cupcakes were topped with swirls of rainbow frosting, either as multicolored layers or a blended tie-dye effect. Some had edible glitter, rainbow sprinkles, or small flags representing different Pride identities. Everyone mentioned the cupcakes tasted delicious and they carried a message of diversity and inclusion.

Each year, Clayton made it a point to go over the colors of the rainbow after their first shared dinner. He stood up holding a cupcake.

“Thanks to the young men who baked and decorated our dessert this evening.” He paused when everyone clapped.

“Every year, we gather here, not just to celebrate but to remember the meaning behind the colors that fly so boldly on our Pride flag. This flag—this symbol—represents more than just a rainbow. It stands for the diversity, strength, and unity of the LGBTQ+ community. Each color tells a story, a reminder of the values we hold dear.”

“Can you do me a favor, Sawyer?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I need you to read a few sentences about the color red in the rainbow flag and hold a poster for me.”

“I can do that.”

Clayton twisted around in his seat, picked up the red poster leaning on the wall, then handed it to Sawyer. He leaned over and kissed Sawyer on the cheek then nudged him to stand.

Sawyer stood and held the large red poster between his hands. “Red stands for life. It’s like the heartbeat of this flag, alive with the boldness to be true to yourself.” He sat down and handed the poster back to Clayton who placed it behind his chair.

“Rowan.”

Rowan stood and held an orange poster. “Orange is all about healing—proof of how strong we are, fixing the pieces the world tried to tear apart.”

He handed Clayton the poster back as Sawyer had.

“Malik!”

Malik stood with a yellow poster and said, “Yellow shines as sunlight, a beacon of hope, of better days that glimmer on the horizon.” He passed the poster to Rowan who gave it to Clayton.

“James, it’s your turn,” Clayton said.

James got up from his chair and held his green poster. “Green is nature, grounding us, reminding us of the beauty in growth and connection.” He passed the poster around until it reached Clayton who handed it to Mark who stood behind him waiting. Mark then placed it on a banner behind them along with the others Clayton had been handed.

“Jeff, it’s your time to shine.”

Jeff smiled then stood with a blue poster in his hand. “Blue stands for peace and harmony, something we fight for in every corner of the world.” He walked his poster to Mark, then returned to his seat beside James.

“Mark.” Clayton turned around to face him.

Mark grabbed the violet poster. “It embodies spirit—the unshakable soul of this community.” He put his poster on the wall with the others.

Clayton took the mic again. “But that’s not all. Around us today are other flags, each carrying the stories of unique identities and experiences within our community. I invite you all to walk around. Take a moment to learn what they represent. Pride is not just one voice—it’s a chorus. Let’s celebrate that harmony together.”

When he was done, the others walked around the room and looked at the posters and flags. Afterwards, the first stars blinked awake as they left the building and Clayton announced the post-dinner hike to the river for the campfire. As the group dispersed, Mark lingered, his jaw tight. “You really didn’t see this thing with Owen coming?”

Clayton rubbed his temples. “Saw it. Didn’t wanna believe it.”

“What really happened?” Mark asked, Rowan standing beside him.

“He cornered Sawyer when he was alone. I caught him before he…” He couldn’t finish the statement. The thought of anyone hurting Sawyer made his insides curl.

Rowan gasped, eyes wide with shock as he saw Sawyer’s distraught face, his shoulders slumped, and his hands trembling. He moved closer and gave him a hug, then whispered something to him. Whatever he said brought a half smile to Sawyer’s face.

“Fuck! No fucking way! He tried to hit on Sawyer?” Mark turned to Rowan. “I thought you, Sawyer, and Malik were all together at the lake.”

“It’s not their fault,” Sawyer said. “They wanted to walk me to the tent, but I didn’t see any reason. I guess I was wrong. But I’m okay now. We don’t need to talk about it anymore.”

“Glad to hear that, Sawyer. Remember, you guys stay together. Crazy times,” Mark said.

Malik walked over to Sawyer and gave him a hug. James and Brody showed up together and Clayton introduced Sawyer to them. Brody Carter stood six foot two with a lean, muscular build. His short brown hair was neat and his piercing hazel eyes sparkled. He watched Sayer looking at his arms covered in tattoos—tribal designs, gears, and a few nods to his love of motorcycles.

“If your bike needs fixin’, I’m the man for that with my sidekick James.”

Sawyer’s attention turned to James. He had a boy-next-door charm, with long sandy blond hair always tousled. His brown eyes had a quiet intensity, but he gave Sawyer a kind smile. He was around the same height and build as Sawyer. And dressed like him too—after Clayton’s gift of a flannel shirt, jeans, and hiking boots. His hands were calloused from years of hard work with Brody.

Mark whispered into Rowan’s ear.

Jeff clapped Clayton’s shoulder as he passed. “Relax, boss. Camp’s safe now. Let’s go burn marshmallows.”

Clayton nodded, forcing a smile. For a moment, he wondered if Owen was out there, watching. Clayton’s fingers laced gently with Sawyer’s as they ambled along the starlit path toward the lake, the air thick with the scent of pine and distant campfire smoke. The weight of the day’s chaos lingered, but here, in the quiet between them, it felt manageable. He glanced at Sawyer, whose jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the ground. Clayton squeezed his hand, prompting Sawyer to meet his gaze.

“You did the right thing,” Clayton said, his voice steady but soft. “Clearing your friends’ names…that’s difficult. I’m proud of you for standing up for them and yourself.” He needed Sawyer to know he wasn’t alone.

Pausing beneath the gnarled branches of an old oak, Clayton pulled out his phone. Sawyer’s breath hitched beside him, but Clayton offered a reassuring glance before dialing his head of security. “Double the patrols during Pride Week,” he instructed, tone firm. “Coordinate with the event leads. I want visibility, not intimidation.” Hanging up, he caught Sawyer’s wince.

“This is my fault,” Sawyer muttered, kicking a pebble. “Now there’s going to be guards everywhere. I ruined—”

“No.” Clayton cupped Sawyer’s face, thumb brushing the apple of his cheek. “The guards were always part of the plan. You didn’t ruin anything.”

Sawyer’s eyes glistened, but his features softened. Clayton tugged him close, wrapping him in an embrace that melted the tension from Sawyer’s shoulders. When Clayton leaned down to kiss him, it was slow, grounding—a silent promise that pride and protection weren’t fleeting things. Beneath the oak Clayton held onto the moment, determined to be the anchor Sawyer needed.