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Chapter twenty-nine

Clayton

Lodi Pride Camp was winding down. It was that bittersweet moment Clayton both loved and hated. He stood on the makeshift stage—nothing fancy, just a flatbed truck they’d cleared off—and smiled at the sea of tired but happy faces staring back at him. It had been a week full of laughter, games, shared meals, and even a few tear-jerking stories. He felt a little sunburned and more than a little exhausted, but his heart was full.

He tapped the microphone, which let out the faintest screech. “Sorry about that,” he chuckled. “Guess even the mic is worn out from the week.” A ripple of laughter ran through the crowd. “Alright, everyone, I just wanted to take a moment before we all scatter back to our corners of the world to say…thank you. Really. Thank you for showing up, for bringing your stories, your energy, your unapologetic selves. This camp wouldn’t be what it is without every one of you.”

Clayton glanced over at Sawyer, who was leaning casually against a nearby tree, clipboard in hand. “Now, I know some of you are already thinking, ‘Can we do this again?’ And the answer is yes. We’re doing this again next year, at the same time, same place. But next time, we’re leveling up.” He paused for dramatic effect, grinning. “We’re getting an in-ground pool! None of those cheap inflatable ones we tried this year. A real, honest-to-goodness pool. So, start working on those synchronized swimming routines!”

The crowd cheered, a few people whistling and clapping. Clayton waited for the noise to die down before gesturing toward Sawyer. “Sawyer here’s got the ‘clipboard of destiny,’ so if you want to be the first to secure your spot for next year, find him before you head out. Trust me, spots will fill up faster than free pizza at a college party.”

With that, he stepped back and waved as the crowd applauded one last time. He could see some people already making a beeline for Sawyer, who was rolling his eyes but grinning all the same.

After the crowd had thinned out and most of the campers had left, Clayton rolled up his sleeves and joined the cleanup crew. He didn’t even have to look around to know the usual suspects were still there—Sawyer, Mark, Rowan, Jeff, Malik, Brody, and James. They were his ride-or-die crew, the ones who stuck around after everyone else was gone.

Mark and Rowan were busy folding up chairs and stacking them into neat piles, while Jeff and Malik were wrangling the world’s longest string of fairy lights. Brody and James had taken it upon themselves to sweep the pavilion, even though they were probably spending more time dancing with the brooms than actually cleaning.

“Alright, team,” Clayton called out, lugging a giant trash bag toward the dumpster. “Let’s see if we can beat our record for the fastest cleanup. Loser buys dinner next time we meet.”

“Define ‘dinner,’” Sawyer shot back, dumping a box of leftover pamphlets into a recycling bin. “Because if you’re thinking pizza, I’m not losing.”

“Challenge accepted,” Rowan chimed in, laughing as he balanced an entire stack of chairs on his shoulders.

Despite the exhaustion, the cleanup felt more like a party. Jokes flew back and forth, music played quietly in the background, and every so often someone found leftover glitter scattered on a bench and tried to weaponize it.

When the last chair was folded and the last trash bag tied up, they all stood in a loose circle near the parking lot, the evening sky turning a soft shade of purple above them.

“Well,” Clayton said, clapping his hands together, “we did it. Another camp in the books. Thanks for sticking it out, guys. Couldn’t do it without you.”

There were murmurs of agreement, a few shoulder claps and bro hugs exchanged. One by one, they all loaded into their vehicles or onto bikes, waving as they left. Clayton stood for a moment, watching the taillights disappear down the road, and smiled to himself. Next year was already shaping up to be even better.

The ride back on the motorcycle was quiet, but in the best kind of way. Sawyer held on tight from behind, the warmth of his grip steady and grounding as they wove down the familiar roads.

By the time they rolled up at home, both of them were too exhausted to do much but kick off their boots and crash. Clayton turned on the TV, found his usual spot on the couch and let sleep take over. Sawyer had muttered something about setting an alarm before collapsing in the recliner, but knowing him, he’d probably sleep through it, anyway.

Late afternoon came faster than either of them expected. Clayton stretched out the stiffness in his shoulders and shot a quick glance at Sawyer, who looked just as bleary-eyed but was already pulling on his boots. “Come on,” Clayton said, grabbing his keys. “Pub’s not going to run itself.”

The Timberline was buzzing by the time they got there—regulars at the bar, a couple of tables already full, and the familiar hum of background music that made the place feel alive. Clayton stepped inside and immediately fell into a familiar rhythm, greeting a few customers with a nod while scanning the room to make sure everything was in order.

“Malik!” Clayton called out, spotting him near the kitchen. “Show Sawyer the ropes today. Start him on serving and clean-up.”

Malik grinned, waving Sawyer over. “You’re in excellent hands,” Clayton said with a smirk. “Malik’s been here long enough to know every trick in the book. Just try not to spill anything, alright?”

As Sawyer headed off to shadow Malik, Clayton made his way over to the corner booth where Jeff was waiting. The two of them wasted no time diving into plans for the pool—what kind of materials they’d need, where it could go on the campgrounds, and how much it would cost. Jeff had a knack for spotting details Clayton would’ve overlooked, and together they started sketching out a rough timeline.

Halfway through the conversation, Clayton noticed someone lingering by the bar looking hesitant. It took him a moment to recognize the guy as a Pride camper. His name was Toby Lane. Clayton excused himself and walked over, nodding in greeting. “Hey. Everything alright?”

Toby glanced around before leaning in, keeping his voice low. “I need to talk to you about Sawyer.”

Clayton’s chest tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “Go ahead,” he said, gesturing toward the back hallway for a bit more privacy.

Toby hesitated, then said, “I know his family. Back in Oregon. Word is, they’re looking for him.” He paused, swallowing hard. “And not for a reunion. They want to shut him up—for good.”

Clayton’s jaw clenched, but he nodded for Toby to continue.

“They’re bad people,” the man added. “The kind that don’t play by any rules. Everyone in town knew they had three boys, but no one ever saw them. Just…thought you should know. I didn’t want to upset Sawyer by saying anything directly.”

Clayton crossed his arms, letting the words settle. “Thanks for telling me,” he said finally, his tone firm but calm. “I’ll handle it.”

“I notified the Lodi Police Department.”

“Thanks.”

Toby looked relieved as he nodded and headed out. Clayton stayed in the hallway for a moment, letting the conversation replay in his mind. The pit in his stomach was undeniable, but so was his resolve. Whatever it took, he’d keep Sawyer safe.

Taking a deep breath, Clayton pushed off the wall and headed back to the booth. He would not let this derail the plans—not the pool, not the pub, and definitely not Sawyer’s shot at a fresh start. One thing was certain: if Sawyer’s past was coming for him, it was going to have to go through Clayton first.