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Chapter twenty-eight

Sawyer

Sawyer shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his palms damp against his jeans. His heart thudded, and he wondered if everyone could hear it echoing through the mess hall. The room was waiting, expectant eyes all trained on him. Sharing his story wasn’t something he did lightly—hell, it wasn’t something he did at all. But as he looked around at the faces of people who had shared their truths over the week, who had trusted this group with their deepest vulnerabilities, he figured it was time.

He swallowed hard, then offered a small, nervous smile. “Alright,” he began, his voice shaky but determined. “Guess it’s my turn to spill the beans, huh?”

A ripple of encouraging murmurs and a few soft chuckles eased some of the tension in his chest. He exhaled slowly, grounding himself.

“I grew up on a farm in Eugene, Oregon,” Sawyer started, his voice gaining a steadier rhythm. “Youngest of three boys. Picture it: wide-open fields, barns filled with hay bales, chickens running everywhere…the total package. My mom homeschooled us in the barn, which, honestly, was a kind of cool. We’d have math lessons while the horses stuck their noses over the stall doors, begging for treats.” He smiled faintly at the memory, but the warmth didn’t last long. His expression dimmed as he glanced down at his hands.

“My family was…loving, in their own way. Traditional, though. Like, really traditional.” He hesitated, his chest tightening at the flood of memories. “When I came out as gay at fifteen, things got…complicated.”

Sawyer paused, feeling the heaviness of those words. The room was still, and he could feel the concern radiating from the group, but he pushed on.

“My parents didn’t make me leave or anything,” he said, his tone softening. “But they didn’t exactly know how to handle it, either. They acted…strange. Like, they said little, but you could feel it, you know? The disappointment, the uncertainty. It was like this invisible wall went up between us.”

His fingers curled into his palms. “My brothers? They just stopped talking to me. No arguments, no insults. Just…silence. Like I didn’t exist anymore.”

Sawyer’s voice wavered, and he took a moment to steady himself. The memories felt intense, even after all these years. “I tried to pretend it didn’t bother me,” he admitted. “But it did. God, it did. It felt like I was screaming into a void, trying to reach them, but they just…weren’t there anymore.”

He glanced up, meeting the quiet understanding in the room. He didn’t want pity—just to be heard. And the way they listened gave him the strength to keep going.

“And then,” he continued, “things got even weirder. I was never allowed to leave the farm or have friends. Like, ever. I just thought they were being overprotective, but it always felt…off. And then one day—” His throat tightened, and he had to steady himself. “One day, I found out why.”

Sawyer’s fingers trembled as he ran them through his hair, the memory clawing at his chest. “I wasn’t their son,” he said, the words heavy and bitter in his mouth. “They’d…kidnapped me when I was just a baby. I didn’t even know who I really was.”

The room was silent, the credence of his revelation settling over everyone like a heavy blanket. Sawyer felt exposed—but also lighter, like he’d finally set down a burden he’d been carrying for years.

“That,” he said, his voice firmer now, “was what finally pushed me to leave. I couldn’t stay there, knowing everything had been a lie. I wasn’t strong enough to confront them, so I left. Packed what little I had and hit the road.”

He sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “I ended up in Stockton. Got a job as a barista for a while. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Then…I got fired. And, uh, I didn’t really have a backup plan.”

Sawyer glanced over at Clayton, a small, grateful smile tugging at his lips. “That’s when Clayton found me,” he said, his voice softening. “Took me in, gave me a place to stay, and brought me here. I didn’t know people like him—or people like all of you—existed. But now I do, and I’m…I’m so damn grateful.”

His eyes swept the room, taking in the faces of his friends—his family. “So, yeah. That’s my story,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for letting me share it. And…thank you for being here. For being you. I don’t know where I’d be without this.”

The room erupted into warm applause, but Sawyer barely heard it. He felt lighter, freer, as if he’d shed a weight he hadn’t realized he was still carrying. This was his family now, and for the first time in a long time, he felt whole.

Sawyer paused, his throat tightening as he glanced over at Clayton. The surrounding applause softened, and the mess hall settled once more into a quiet expectancy. He fiddled nervously with the hem of his shirt, the words he wanted to say lodged firmly in his chest. But as he met Clayton’s steady gaze, the warmth and familiarity in those eyes gave him courage.

“I—I need to say something,” Sawyer started, his voice trembling. “To Clayton.”

Clayton tilted his head slightly, his expression softening in surprise, but he didn’t say anything. He just waited, like he always did—patient and steady, the anchor Sawyer never knew he’d needed.

Sawyer exhaled deeply, letting the knot in his chest loosen just enough to speak. “Clayton…when you showed up at my work, I was lost. I didn’t know who I was, where I belonged, or even if I belonged anywhere. But you…you saw something in me. I don’t know what it was, but you did.”

He swallowed hard, emotions rising like a tide. “You opened a door to a world I didn’t even know existed—a world where people like me could be themselves, where love doesn’t have to come with conditions. You taught me what it means to really live, to be part of something bigger than just surviving.”

Sawyer’s voice faltered slightly as his eyes grew glassy, but he pushed through. “You didn’t just help me, Clayton. You gave me a home. You gave me hope. And most of all…you gave me love. Love that was patient and kind. The kind of love I didn’t think I deserved.”

Clayton shifted in his seat, his expression a mix of pride and humility, but he didn’t interrupt. Sawyer wasn’t finished.

“I’m grateful for you,” Sawyer said, his voice steady now despite the tears glimmering in his eyes. “For everything you’ve done for me, for believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself. I wouldn’t be standing here, saying all of this, if it weren’t for you. Thank you.”

The room was silent for a moment, the power of Sawyer’s words hanging in the air like a tangible presence. Then the applause started, slow and soft at first, before swelling into a warm, collective affirmation. Sawyer felt the warmth of it wash over him, but it was the proud, genuine smile on Clayton’s face that anchored him. That smile said everything.

Clayton leaned back in his chair, his hands resting on the table as the applause for Sawyer’s heartfelt story slowly faded. The room was still buzzing with emotion. Everyone was moved by the vulnerability Sawyer had shared. Clayton waited until the noise settled down before he spoke.

“Sawyer,” he began, his voice steady but filled with warmth, “that was…incredible. Brave. Honest. You’ve got a hell of a lot of strength, my love, and I think I speak for all of us when I say that hearing your story tonight was a gift. Thank you for trusting us with it, for letting us be part of it.”

Sawyer looked down at his lap, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. Clayton smiled, shaking his head slightly. “Don’t shy away now. You’ve got nothing but love in this room—remember that.”

With that, Clayton cleared his throat and adjusted his camp hoodie, his gaze sweeping across the mess hall. “Now, I guess it’s my turn,” he said, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Fair’s fair, right?”

The group chuckled lightly, easing some of the tension as Clayton settled into his chair and began his story.

“I grew up in San Diego,” he started, his voice calm but reflective. “Beautiful city, sure. But for me, it always felt suffocating. Too much noise, too much hustle. I was this kid with dreams that didn’t fit the mold, and that made everything harder.”

Clayton leaned forward slightly; his hands clasped together. “My mom, she was amazing. When I came out to her, she didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. She just hugged me and told me she loved me, told me I was still her son. That was enough for her.” He paused, his eyes softening at the memory. “But my dad…my dad was a different story.”

His voice dipped, and his words hung heavy in the air. “He was disappointed. He didn’t yell, didn’t rage, but the look on his face…man, it cut deep. And things didn’t get better after my parents adopted Mark—my brother.” Clayton’s jaw tightened for a moment. “Mark came out as gay too, and somehow, my dad blamed me for it. Like I’d influenced him or something. It made things hard for both of us.”

Clayton sighed, running a hand through his hair. “My dad…he didn’t outright reject me, but the distance between us grew. He ignored me more than he didn’t. It wasn’t hatred—it was just…indifference. And you know what? That hurt more. I wanted him to care, even if it was anger, even if it was incorrect. But he didn’t.”

He paused. “By the time I finished high school, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had this old Triumph motorcycle I’d restored myself—something I was damn proud of—and I took off. I didn’t know where I was headed, but the open road felt better than staying in a place where I was invisible.”

Clayton’s voice softened as he continued. “That bike took me all across the country. I slept in motels, couch-surfed, picked up odd jobs. Every place I stopped, I met people—fascinating people who opened my eyes to different ways of living, thinking, and loving. Each encounter added a little something to my life, like stitching together a patchwork quilt.”

He smiled faintly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “After a while, I found my way back to California. But instead of returning to the noise and grind of San Diego, I ended up in this little town called Lodi. It wasn’t flashy, it wasn’t bustling, but something about it clicked. The landscapes were quiet, the people were real—it felt like home in a way San Diego never did.”

Clayton gestured lightly, as if to encompass the room and the surrounding camp. “Settling down here, buying the pub, taking up bartending…it fit me. I love people. I love hearing their stories, sharing mine, and building connections. This place? It gave me a purpose, a community.”

He leaned back, his smile growing. “And tonight, looking around this room, hearing your stories…it reminds me of why I stayed. Why I built this. You all are part of something special, and I couldn’t be prouder to have been part of your journeys.”

Clayton’s gaze drifted back to Sawyer, a gentle warmth in his expression. “And, Sawyer…you were one of those people who walked into my life and reminded me why I do what I do. You’ve got a big heart, love. Bigger than you probably realize. So, thank you for being you.”

The mess hall erupted in thunderous applause as Clayton sat back down, and the cheers faded as he leaned in to kiss Sawyer.