Page 15

Chapter fifteen

Clayton

Clayton slid into his seat at the head table, Sawyer dropping into the chair beside him with a lazy grin. The mess hall buzzed with energy, the air thick with laughter and the clatter of dishes as servers weaved between tables, setting down plates of food. At his place, a cordless microphone waited—small but unmistakable. Right. He was on.

Leaning back, he took in the room. The guys had gone all out—neon Hawaiian shirts, striped overalls, even a few bedazzled cowboy hats. It looked like a rainbow had exploded in a locker room. Sawyer nudged him with an elbow. “You’re pretty important at this camp, aren’t you?”

“Damn right,” Clayton muttered, then grabbed the mic and stood. A few whistles cut through the noise as heads turned his way. He cleared his throat, grinning. “All right, listen up, fashion disasters. We got a full day, so eat fast.”

A ripple of laughter rolled through the room. He held up a hand, ticking off the plans. “First up—an hour after breakfast, we’re hitting the trails. Scavenger hunt. Grab a partner, You’re going to find ten items listed on the scavenger hunt sheet you’ll receive at the lake, and the winning team gets an amazing trip to a destination which will be revealed later. So, you know, don’t half-ass it.”

A cheer went up, followed by a flurry of movement as guys twisted in their seats, slapping buddies on the back or hollering across tables to claim partners.

“Second,” Clayton continued, raising his voice over the noise, “after lunch, we’re back at the lake again. Rowboat race, two to a boat. If you’re partner-less, come find me. I’ll hook you up.” He shot a look at Sawyer, who smirked like he already knew who’d be stuck with the stragglers.

“Then dinner, share time—yeah, yeah, get your sob stories ready—and after that, music. Dancing. Try not to step on each other’s feet.” He dropped back into his seat to a round of applause and a few exaggerated whoops.

Sawyer leaned over, snagging a piece of bacon off Clayton’s plate. “A trip, huh? You just want an excuse to go yourself.”

Clayton swiped the bacon back. “Winning’s more fun when the prize’s good.”

Around them, the mess hall erupted into chatter, forks scraping plates as the guys dug in, already strategizing. Clayton took a bite, watching the chaos. Today was going to be interesting.

“What will everyone share?” Sawyer asked.

“Each year, we ask three people to tell their coming out story. Would you like to tell yours?”

“Me? No. But I want to tell you more about my leaving home when you have time to listen.”

“We’ll have time after breakfast and before the hunt. We’ll go to my special quiet spot, okay?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Rowan tapped Sawyer. “Hey, are you going to go to the dance?”

“You know I don’t dance.”

“Right before dinner, you can stop by our tent, and I’ll teach you.”

Sawyer looked at Clayton for an answer.

“I’ll walk him over there and pick him up,” Clayton said.

“Thanks.”

After breakfast, Clayton and Sawyer left the building. The woods were quiet except for the crunch of leaves under their boots. Clayton walked beside Sawyer, matching his pace as they wound their way through the trees. Camp was far behind them now, and Clayton knew Sawyer needed this—needed a place to talk with no one else listening. They said little at first, just the occasional comment about the sound of an owl or how the air smelled like pine and earth.

Clayton glanced over at Sawyer, who was staring straight ahead, his hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets. There was something heavy about the way Sawyer moved, like he was carrying more than just his own weight. When they reached a small clearing, the one Clayton had found weeks ago and kept to himself, Sawyer stopped and looked around.

“This is nice,” Sawyer said in a low voice, breaking the silence. He looked up at the sliver of sky visible through the trees, his shoulders relaxing a little.

Clayton nodded and sat on a fallen log, brushing off the damp moss. “I thought you’d like it. Figured you could use some quiet.” He didn’t push for anything more, just waited. He’d learned that with Sawyer, you had to let him come to things in his own time.

After a long pause, Sawyer sat down next to him. He picked up a stick and started poking at the dirt. “You ever wonder what your life would’ve been like if you’d been dealt a different hand?”

Clayton frowned, not sure where Sawyer was going with this. “I guess. Sometimes. But I figure we just make do with what we’ve got. Why?”

Sawyer let out a shaky breath, the kind that felt more like a sigh weighed down by memories. “I didn’t leave home because I was restless or anything like that,” he started, his voice low. “I left because I found out it wasn’t really my home.”

Clayton’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Sawyer twirled the stick in his hands, his knuckles turning white. “I grew up on this farm, right? Middle of nowhere in Oregon. There was this fence around the entire property. Never really thought much about it—just figured it was there to keep animals in. Turns out, it was more about keeping me in.”

Clayton’s stomach tightened, but he stayed quiet, letting Sawyer continue.

“One day, I was dusting my father’s desk. And then I started snooping,” Sawyer said, his voice hollow. “I found this old box of papers in a drawer that was normally locked. That day, it wasn’t locked. There was a photo of me when I was a kid, maybe three years old. Only—it wasn’t just any photo. It was one of those missing kid pictures, like the ones they put on milk cartons.” He paused, his grip on the stick tightening. “And there was a check in there, Clayton. A copy of a check made out to my…well, the people I thought were my parents.”

Clayton’s breath caught in his throat. “A check? For you?” His voice cracked slightly.

Sawyer nodded, his jaw clenched. “Yeah. They bought me. Paid for me like I was…like I was livestock or something. And then they kept me locked up, made me work the farm. I never got to go to school, only homeschooled, never got to see what was out there beyond that damn fence. I was just…a tool to them.”

Clayton felt his chest ache, the weight of Sawyer’s words sinking in. He couldn’t imagine what it must’ve been like to find something like that, to have your whole world turned upside down in an instant. “Sawyer…” he started, but he didn’t know what to say. What could he say?

Sawyer looked up at him, his eyes glassy but holding back tears. “I was so mad, Clayton. Mad at them, mad at myself for not realizing sooner. I packed a bag that night and left. I didn’t even know where I was going, just that I couldn’t stay there.”

Clayton swallowed hard, feeling his throat tighten. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “No one should have to go through that. It’s—God, Sawyer, that’s…it’s awful.”

Sawyer shrugged, like he was trying to brush it off, but the pain in his eyes was undeniable. “It is what it is. I’m out now, and that’s what matters.”

Clayton reached out and put a hand on Sawyer’s shoulder, his grip firm but gentle. “You didn’t deserve any of that,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m glad you’re here, with us. With me.”

Sawyer managed a small, sad smile. “Thanks, Clayton. That means a lot.”

They sat there a while longer, the silence between them filled with an unspoken understanding. Clayton didn’t know how to fix what had happened to Sawyer, but he knew one thing: he’d be there for him from now on, no matter what.