The Diamond Lake Trail
The fluorescent lights of the REC hum overhead as I make my way to the gear storage room early Friday afternoon. I’ve booked tonight off, but a familiar sense of purpose settles over me as I scan the shelves, my mental checklist already engaged. Today is the day. The backpacking trip to Brainard Lake with Hayden and Brendan is finally here. The suspense has been building all week, a bright counterpoint to the unexpected message with the ghost from my past, Travis.
My priority is, of course, the sleeping bags. I want this trip to be comfortable for everyone, and The North Face Cat's Meow is the automatic choice for early fall. Reaching the shelf, I grab three long Cat's Meow sleeping bags. I smile to myself as I place them on the cart. Hayden might have experienced the more expensive down bags, but the Meow’s 20-degree rating should be sufficient for early October. The thought of all three of us nestled in the soft nylon under the Colorado stars after a long day in Indian Peaks feels surreal.
Next, I locate the lightweight two-person tent I’ve mentally earmarked for myself and Hayden, an orange one similar to the Mountain Hardware one I was inside at REI with Hayden. For Brendan, I grab a second two-person tent, going along with Hayden’s excuse that we’re going to share, and Brendan gets lots of space in his own. I then collect three Thermarest pads for insulation and comfort.
For carrying their gear, I grab Hayden and Brendan two 50L packs, while I will use my Osprey back from my Venturing days. Finally, for our meals, a small cooking stove and fuel with a basic cooking set.
As I load the gear onto a push cart, a fleeting image of Hayden in the dark thermal base layers at REI flashes through my mind. The memory sparks a fresh wave of anticipation for the weekend ahead; the thought of sharing the crisp mountain air and the cozy confines of our tents with him pushes the lingering unease from Travis’s messages into the background. I want this trip to be about forging new memories with Hayden, a chance to define the "something real" I feel blossoming between us.
With Ethan looking over my shoulder, I double-check the rental contract system, ensuring everything is properly checked out under my name, a habit ingrained after the incident with Hayden's sleeping bag. After Ethan tells me to enjoy the weekend off, I thank him and head towards the loading dock, the weight of all our gear feeling surprisingly light compared to the weight of my hopes for the weekend. I just need to wait back at my apartment for Hayden and Brendan to pick me up in 45 minutes.
Someone pulls up to my apartment in a sleek, black, newer-model Ford Bronco, the kind of vehicle that looks like it was built for weekends like this. I blink in surprise when I spot Brendan behind the wheel, with Hayden slouched comfortably in the passenger seat.
“You’re driving?” I ask, jogging down the steps with my pack slung over one shoulder, the rest of the rental gear stacked on the curb.
Brendan leans out the window, flashing a grin. “Yeah. My Bronco’s got the most room.”
Hayden pops open the passenger door and swings his legs out. “It just makes sense. Plus, we got plenty of space for all of the gear.” He flashes me a quick smile before stepping onto the sidewalk. As he moves past me toward the trunk, he bumps my knee lightly with his own, a casual touch that still manages to send a ripple of electricity up my leg.
“We should probably load up quickly,” I say, nodding toward the gear by my Camry.
“Sure thing,” Brendan says, already popping the back open, showing off his toned arm muscles in the black wifebeater he has on.
We quickly transfer the sleeping bags, tents, and packs into the back of the Bronco. Once everything’s stowed away, Hayden slams the trunk shut and turns back to me.
“Shotgun’s yours, Joey. You know how to get there better than I,” he says, tossing me a wink before hopping into the back seat.
I slide into the warm passenger seat he vacated, buckling in as Brendan fires up the engine. The Bronco rumbles to life, the low growl making me grin. This already feels like the start of something good.
As Brendan pulls away from the curb, I glance over at him. “Hey, do you guys want to stop in Nederland for beer before we hit the trail? You know, keep the tradition alive?”
Brendan cuts a quick look at me, one eyebrow raised. “Tradition?”
Hayden just laughs from the back seat. “Dude, he knows we got a little bit plastered up there.”
Brendan lets out a low chuckle. “How the hell do you know about that?”
I shrug, playing it casual, trying not to reveal the extent of my knowledge. “A little bird told me. But seriously, how’d you guys even get alcohol? I thought you’re both Freshmen?”
Brendan shakes his head, grinning. “Louis, one of my teammates, lent me some from his stash of Natty Ice. Real classy.”
I pull a face. “That’s disgusting.”
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Brendan says, turning onto Boulder Canyon Drive.
“Well,” I reply, pulling up a map on my phone, “we’ll do better this time. I’ll grab a six-pack of Outer Range IPA when we get to Ned.”
Hayden chuckles. “See, Brendan, Joey knows about a lot of stuff, not just camping!”
The road starts to narrow as we head west out of Boulder, the canyon rising around us in steep, rocky walls. A creek threads beside the road, low and clear this time of year, slipping quietly over smooth stones. Brendan shifts in his seat, leaning forward a little, like he’s eager to get out of town.
It doesn’t take long before we leave the last few houses and driveways behind. The curves tighten, trees thicken, and soon we’re winding up through Boulder Canyon. I crack the window open, letting the cool mountain air rush in. It smells like pine and river water, clean and wild.
“We’re not actually camping at Brainard Lake, right?” Brendan asks after a few minutes.
“Nah,” I say, glancing back at him. “We’ll hit Brainard on the way home Sunday. No backcountry camping there. It’s a day-use area only, except for the campground.”
“Got it.” Brendan taps the wheel. “So, Diamond Lake Trailhead?”
“Yup,” I confirm. “It’s about thirty minutes out of Nederland.”
Hayden leans forward between the seats. “As long as there’s a lake and a view, I’m good.”
“Trust me,” I say. “It’s gonna be epic.”
We wind higher into the mountains, the truck humming steadily beneath us. The afternoon sun slants through the trees, turning the world gold and green. Brendan taps the brakes as we roll into Nederland, a scrappy little mountain town that looks like it’s stuck somewhere between a ski bum's dream and a hippie’s last stand.
“There’s the liquor store,” I say, pointing.
Brendan pulls into the lot, gravel crunching under the tires. “Alright, Joey. Hook us up with the beer.” He grins.
I hop out of the Bronco, the dry mountain air hitting me the moment I shut the door. Jogging up the concrete steps, I enter and head straight for the craft beer fridge. My eyes scan the shelves until they land on a six-pack of Steep Hazy IPA. Perfect. I grab it, get ID’d at the register, tap my debit card, and hustle back outside.
Brendan’s got his sunglasses on now, one arm slung lazily over the steering wheel. Hayden’s scrolling on his phone in the back seat, but his head perks up when he sees the beer.
“Success!” I say, holding the six-pack up like a trophy.
“Hell yeah,” Brendan says, taking it from me and setting it carefully in the back. “Alright, now we’re ready.”
We pull back onto the county highway, and after another 10 minutes, just on the limits of Eldora, the pavement transitions into a narrow dirt path called 4th of July Road.
Brendan slows the Bronco, squinting up at the rough track. “This is it?”
“Yeah, it gets a little gnarly, but the trailhead’s just up there,” I say, feeling a thrill of anticipation. The bumps start almost immediately, the Bronco jostling and rattling up the old mining road.
“You weren’t kidding,” Hayden laughs, bracing a hand against the window as we bounce over a pothole.
The forest thickens around us, the pines crowding close, and the road narrows. After about ten slow, bumpy minutes, we finally roll into the dusty parking lot at the Diamond Lake Trailhead. A few other cars are scattered around, but it’s nowhere near crowded.
I step out and stretch, the cooler mountain air brushing against my skin. As Brendan and Hayden unload their gear from the back, I grab a scrap of paper from the glovebox and jot down a quick note: Hayden Latimer 18, Brendan Meyers 18, Joey Larusso 21— heading up Diamond Lake Trail at 1515 10/11/24 RETURN 1200 10/13/24
"Just letting someone know where we are," I say, placing the note on the dash. "I texted Aisha too, told her our route and when we should be back."
Hayden grins. “Wait, Alex’s Aisha?”
“Yeah,” I nod, putting back Brendan’s pen. “You could say she’s the most responsible one in our friend group. Did you want me to inform Alex, too?”
Hayden snorts. “No, I would have never thought to do any of that, but that’s why you’re here!”
Brendan has slipped on a black North Face fleece, while Hayden is now sporting a blue Eddie Bauer puffer jacket. I hand Brendan his pack first, along with a two-person tent. He slings it over one shoulder easily, his athletic frame making it look effortless.
“For you, sir,” I say, tossing him one of the Cat’s Meow sleeping bags, too.
He grins. “Feels lighter than last time.”
I turn to Hayden next, tightening the straps on the second rental pack before handing it to him. He swings it onto his back, adjusting it with a grunt.
“Looking good,” I say, maybe lingering a little too long on the way his shoulders flex under the weight. Brendan gives us a snort as he watches and adjusts the straps for his pack.
“And for you,” I add, passing Hayden his sleeping bag.
Finally, I try my Osprey pack, settling it against my back like an old friend. The familiar tug of the straps and the weight feel satisfying. I do a last-minute check before we head out, making sure the beer is secure in the bottom, the first aid kit accessible, and the food sealed in the bear canister.
Brendan slams the trunk closed with a satisfying thud. “Ready to do this?”
Hayden zips his jacket closed and flashes a grin. “Let’s go find that lake.”
The three of us start up the Diamond Lake Trail, and the smush of our boots on the gravel path is the most prominent sound after the initial excitement of starting the hike subsides. The air is crisp and cool, the early October sun filtering through the pines. After about fifteen minutes of walking, mostly uphill, Brendan pauses, taking a swig from his water bottle.
“Huh,” he says, looking around the quiet trail. “Kind of weird, right? We haven’t seen anyone else heading up or back.”
“It’s getting late in the season,” I offer, adjusting the straps of my pack. “Most of the summer crowds are gone. Plus, Diamond Lake isn’t exactly easy to get to.”
Hayden nods in agreement. “Yeah, perfect for us then. More wilderness to ourselves.”
Brendan shrugs and starts walking again. After a few more minutes of comfortable silence, he suddenly pipes up, a naughty grin on his face. “Alright, boys, let’s play a game. Smash or pass?”
Hayden chuckles. “Oh, God, you and your meme games.”
“Come on, it’ll make the climb go faster,” Brendan insists. “I’ll start. Charlie D’Amelio. Smash or Pass?”
Hayden doesn’t hesitate. “Smash. Definitely smash.”
Brendan turns to me, still grinning. “Joey? Charlie D’Amelio. What’s your call?”
I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. This isn’t a game I usually play with my friends, and the casual objectification of someone, even a celebrity, makes me uneasy. Plus, the thought of expressing attraction to a woman in front of Hayden and Brendan feels wrong, given my actual orientation.
“Uh, pass, I guess,” I mumble, focusing on a particularly interesting patch of lichen on a nearby rock.
Brendan raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk still on his face. “Pass? Really? She’s got, like, a billion followers.”
“Yeah, well, not my type,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. I can feel Hayden’s gaze on me.
Brendan moves on quickly to Addison Rae. Hayden offers his opinion readily, but I keep my answers brief and noncommittal. With each female name Brendan throws out, my discomfort grows. I start to lag slightly behind, fiddling with my water bottle again to avoid eye contact.
Hayden, who has been walking beside Brendan, suddenly stops and turns back to me.
“Brendan,” Hayden says clearly, his voice cutting through Brendan’s latest “smash” declaration of Baby Ariel. “Joey’s gay, dude.”
Brendan stops mid-stride, turning to look at both of us, his earlier playful expression erased. A look of surprise, and perhaps a hint of awkwardness, washes over his face.
“Oh,” Brendan pauses, looking from Hayden to me and back again. He doesn’t say anything else for a long moment, but finally, he shrugs and asks me directly, “Uhm, what about Benji Kroll then?”
I barely chuckle before answering. “Smash. He’s fineeee and Bisexual.”
Brendan smirks at me from up the trail. “See? Knew I had one for you.”
I roll my eyes, adjusting my pack higher onto my shoulders as we keep climbing. The trail has steepened, the air thinning to a spruce-sharp chill, and my thighs burn with every step. Perhaps I should start using those free REC privileges after all.
For a fleeting second, Travis’s voice cuts through the wind: "Pain’s just weakness leaving the body, guys." Back then, I’d believed him. Now, I wonder if he meant emotional pain, too, if he knew how much weakness he’d left behind when he left for Basic.
But I look ahead to why I’m here.
Hayden’s a few steps ahead, his golden hair catching the late afternoon light as it filters through the thinning subalpine firs. Sun fractures around him, glinting off the silver bark of a lone aspen, and for the first time since we started hiking, I forget the hurt.
Around a bend, a group of four hikers appears, descending back toward the trailhead. They’re bundled up in jackets, chatting easily with each other. One of the girls waves as they pass.
“How’s it up there?” I ask, pausing to catch my breath.
“Cold,” one of the guys laughs, “but beautiful. A few sites are already taken around the lake, but there’s still plenty of room for you guys if you’re staying the night.”
“Sweet, thanks,” Hayden says appreciatively, giving them a friendly nod.
The group disappears down the trail, their voices fading behind us. Brendan wipes some sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Almost there?”
“Yeah,” I say. “We’re about to pass the last creek.”
Hayden grins, that mischievous spark lighting up his face. “Oh, heads up, boys, I’ve got a surprise to tell you guys once we make camp.”
Brendan perks up immediately. “What kind of surprise?”
Hayden just shakes his head, pushing forward. “Nope. You’re gonna have to wait.”
Brendan groans dramatically, trudging after him. “Dude, you can’t just say that and then not tell us. That’s illegal.”
Hayden just laughs, picking up the pace. “Too bad.”
We push on for another twenty minutes, the trail narrowing before opening up into a wide, rocky basin. Diamond Lake spreads out before us like a mirror, reflecting the craggy peaks hovering above. The wind bites a little sharper up here, and I’m glad I already have on a loose windbreaker.
“This is insane,” Brendan breathes, dropping his pack.
We find a free site just a little uphill from the shoreline. I drop my pack, rolling my shoulders to ease the familiar ache, and take in the view. Along the water, a couple of tents are already set up, their occupants moving around picnic tables and cooking stoves, laughter carried on the breeze.
Hayden unclips a tent from his pack just as Brendan is pulling out his tent.
I step closer, already knowing what I’m about to say but pretending to think it through. “Just a reminder, both of those are two-person tents,” I say, a little too casually. “We didn’t have any solo tents left when I checked them out from the Rec.”
Brendan looks back up at me. “So… what’s the plan?”
Before I can answer, Hayden grins and shrugs. “Easy. You get that one to yourself. I’ll share with Joey.”
I can feel Brendan watching us, but I keep my face neutral. I knew this was coming; we planned this, but hearing Hayden say it out loud still does something to my chest.
Brendan just gives a tiny smirk back. “Yeah, no complaints there.” He slings the tent bag over his shoulder and heads toward a spot a little closer to the trees.
I kneel to start unpacking our tent, hoping my excitement isn’t too noticeable.
Hayden crouches next to me, elbow bumping mine as he pulls out the poles. “You think he bought that?”
I glance at him, my heart hammering stupidly fast. He’s close enough that I catch a whiff of his sweaty body and can see his blue Nike t-shirt is matted with sweat around the collar.
“Yeah,” I say, giving him a soft smile.
By the time we get both tents up, the sun’s dipping low behind the ridgeline, setting the whole lake on fire with oranges and golds. A cold breeze is already coming from the mountains, making me glad I packed extra layers.
Hayden flops down inside the tent next to me, propping himself up on his elbows. “Alright,” he says, grinning. “Ready for your surprise soon?”
I shoot him a look, brushing dirt off my pants. “You’re really gonna drag it out, huh?”
He just laughs. “Trust me, you’ll both like it. After dinner.”
Brendan, already unrolling his Cat’s Meow in his tent, calls out, “It better be good, not like when you bought those stupid Crumbl cookies.”
Hayden snickers and shouts back. “Hey! I drove like 20 minutes to get those!”
“Well, cookies or not,” I say, getting up. “I'd better get dinner started.”
I dig around in my pack until I find the bear canister and Mountain House meal bags. Tonight’s menu: chicken and rice, beef stroganoff, and something that claims to be lasagna. Brendan comes to look over my shoulder and makes a face.
“Dibs on anything that’s not lasagna,” he says, wrinkling his nose dramatically.
I laugh and fire up the little camp stove I checked out from the Rec. It's barely big enough for the pot, but it gets the water boiling fast.
Hayden eases down next to me, tugging off his jacket and sitting back in his t-shirt and thermals like the cold doesn't even exist. It must be nice to keep in body heat like him.
“You’re like a gourmet chef out here,” Hayden teases, bumping his knee into mine.
I roll my eyes, pretending to be offended. “Hey, this is fine dining. Michelin star level hydration happening right now.”
Brendan snorts. “You mean Michelin tire level.”
I flip him off without looking and pour the boiling water into the bags, sealing them up and letting them rehydrate while we sit on the packed dirt around the stove. It’s starting to get dark, the sky fading into that deep purple-blue that always feels more alive up here in the mountains.
We eat straight from the bags, and I sit on a small log next to Hayden. It’s not fancy, but somehow the food tastes better, like everything does when you’ve hiked for miles.
It’s about halfway through dinner when Hayden leans back on his hands and clears his throat, like he’s about to say something he thinks is a big deal.
“So,” he says, that half-smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “I think you guys waited long enough for my surprise… I’ve been talking to them for a while, but now I have my first real brand sponsorship.”
Brendan’s eyes go wide. “No way. Who? Red Bull? Gymshark? Gillette?”
Hayden chuckles. “Nah. hello toothpaste.”
I blink, halfway through a bite of chicken and rice. “Wait, seriously?”
Hayden nods, grinning now. “Yeah. They’re sending me a bunch of PR kits, and I’m supposed to post some morning routine videos. It’s not a huge thing, but it’s legit, and maybe it’ll help me get into dental school, you know?”
I set my food down and grin at him. “Dude. That’s huge. Congratulations.”
Brendan whistles low, shaking his head. “Man, Running Boy’s going corporate.”
Hayden laughs, a little pink blooming across his cheeks that has nothing to do with the cold. “Hush. It’s just toothpaste.”
“Expensive toothpaste,” I point out. “And, like… that’s a huge brand. That’s awesome.”
He shrugs like he’s trying to play it cool, but I can tell he’s buzzing inside. He meets my eyes for a second, not the usual cocky glance he gives everyone else, but something quieter, almost vulnerable, and I hold it just long enough that I feel my own face warm.
After we finish packing up dinner and the stove cools down, the air dips even colder. I tug open the zipper of our tent just enough to reach inside and grab the packable throw blanket I stuffed in at the last minute. My fingers brush the soft fabric of the stuff sack and the six-pack of Steep Hazy IPA tucked in the corner.
Best decision ever to pack that blanket, I think to myself. I flick the blanket open and glance at Hayden as I sit back down. "You want in?"
Hayden doesn’t even hesitate. He scoots closer until our legs press together, and I throw half the blanket over his shoulders. It’s not huge, but it works. It’s cozy in a way that makes my skin buzz.
Before I settle down completely, I reach down and pop a can of beer loose from the six-pack. I hand one to Hayden, then toss another over the stove to Brendan, who catches it with one hand.
We all ease into a quiet moment, the hiss of cans opening blending with the distant rustle of wind through the trees. Brendan sits cross-legged on his jacket, sipping his beer and tossing a pinecone in the air like a basketball. After a few beats of silence, he glances my way and says, “Hey, uh, Joey... sorry about that game earlier.”
I blink. "The smash or pass thing?" I ask as the citrusy IPA taste lingers on my tongue, brighter than usual at this altitude.
Brendan nods, looking a little sheepish. "Yeah. I wasn’t trying to be a dick or anything."
I adjust the blanket around my shoulders, feeling Hayden’s arm still pressed against mine, and shrug. "You’re good. Honestly, it wasn’t that deep."
He shifts like he’s still not sure if he should leave it alone. Then he says, "You got a boyfriend, Joey?"
The question slaps deeper than I expected. Hayden’s shoulder brushes mine again under the blanket, and I can feel him go still. I keep my eyes locked on the ground in front of me, pretending to study the way my fingers tap against my beer can.
"I’m... talking to someone," I say, careful, like the words might break if I say them too fast. "I think there’s something there."
I can hear the weird edge in my voice, and I know Brendan picks up on it, but he just nods casually, taking a longer drink from his can.
"Cool. Hope it works out, man," he says, yawning halfway through. “How about you, bro? Now that you and Ava are on the rocks.”
The words land heavily in the quiet. I feel Hayden stiffen next to me again, like he wasn’t expecting Brendan to throw that out there as well.
For a second, Hayden doesn’t say anything. He just digs the toe of his boot into the dirt, slow and aimless, swirling his half-empty can in one hand.
Then he shrugs. "I’m not thinking about it right now," he says, voice low.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His jaw's tight, but his face stays relaxed, like he’s been practicing not giving away too much.
Brendan doesn’t push. He just lets out another yawn, bigger this time, and says, “I guess Joey is the luckiest guy here then. I keep asking that chick out who works at our dining hall in Dal Ward Athletic Center, but she just laughs me off.”
Hayden chuckles and sits up straighter, the blanket slipping off his shoulder slightly. He lifts his beer in a lazy half-toast. “Wait, you mean Josephine? She’s like 20, bro!”
I snort under my breath, taking another sip of beer. The irony isn’t lost on me, Hayden, of all people, laughing about Brendan hitting on someone older. I glance at him, but he’s too busy grinning at Brendan like he hasn’t spent the entire afternoon pretending he wasn’t flirting with me.
Brendan waves him off, laughing, his beer can tilting dangerously downward. “Dude, that’s only like two years. Relax.”
“She’s like in her career,” Hayden says, kicking some dirt at Brendan with his foot. “You’re still trying to pass Accounting 101.”
“Hey, hey," Brendan says, throwing his hands up defensively, nearly spilling his beer. "It’s just talking. Anyway, I almost couldn’t even make this trip. Coach’s been riding us hard already, and basketball season’s only a week away.”
Hayden perks up immediately, sitting even taller, his beer tucked between his knees. “No way. Track season’s coming up for us, too. Winter conditioning’s gonna start as soon as we get back.”
“What event again?” Brendan asks, yawning again behind his fist.
“Mid-distance," Hayden answers. "Eight hundred meters mostly. Maybe the mile if Coach needs me.”
“That’s brutal, dude,” Brendan mutters, rubbing his face like he’s exhausted just thinking about it. He takes a last swig of beer and sets the can down in the dirt beside him.
Hayden laughs and bumps his shoulder into mine again like he can’t help himself, the movement making the blanket shift over both of us. I wonder if he even notices he does that, if he realizes how much space he takes up, how easy it is for me to fall into his orbit without even trying.
Brendan pushes himself onto his elbows, blinking heavily at both of us. “Alright, boys. I’m beat, gonna crash.”
“Same,” I say, even though I’m not that tired yet.
Hayden nods and stretches his arms up over his head, his shirt riding up just enough for me to catch a flash of his waistline before I tear my eyes away. Brendan’s already half-stumbling toward his tent, and I watch him wrestle with the zipper in the dark for a second before he finally gets inside.
Hayden and I move slower, lingering for a second longer in the chilly night air. The blanket drags behind me as I scoop up the last of our empty cans.
"Should we turn in too?" I ask, my voice barely above the rasp of the zipper as Hayden nods. We stand in unison, the blanket draped behind me.
The tent flap yawns open. I duck inside first, knees sinking into the thin pad, the nylon sleeping bag whispering beneath me. As I turn, a flicker of movement catches my eye through the mesh: Brendan's tent across the clearing, his headlamp jerking like a firefly trapped in a jar. That small, bumbling light is strangely comforting proof we're not completely alone out here.
Then the zipper shrieks shut behind Hayden, severing us from the world.
When I turn back, he's watching me with that lopsided grin that makes my sternum feel hollow. The kind of smile that says we're in this together, even though neither of us knows what this is.
The LED lantern clicks on, casting our shadows tall against the tent walls. We move in the quiet rhythm of people who've undressed near each other just enough times to make it familiar but not enough to stop noticing. My Cotopaxi fleece layer and undershirt rasp over my head, the cold biting instantly at my exposed stomach as I pull the shirt back down. I reach for Hayden's blue Nike shorts, they're softer now than when I first stole them, the hem fraying from all my nervous picking.
Hayden peels off his clothes with the ease of someone who's never been ashamed of his body. The thermals he's left in cling like a second skin, outlining every lean muscle earned from track seasons and early morning workouts. He moves through the cramped space like he belongs here, his elbow brushing my shoulder as he reaches for his pack.
I slip into the new Cat's Meow, the nylon crisp and unfamiliar against my skin. No memories embedded in this one yet, just the faint chemical smell of factory freshness and my own rapidly increasing body heat.
Then Hayden's crawling over me, his knees bracketing my hips, his palms sinking into the Thermarest on either side of my head. His fingers comb through my hair, the calluses on his fingertips catching on my split ends. When I tilt my chin up, his eyes are dark with something that looks like regret.
"Sorry," he mutters, his thumb brushing my temple. "For outing you to Brendan."
“It’s fine,” I say. “Not like it’s a secret or anything.”
Hayden exhales, his breath warm against my lips. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Then his fingers slide from my hair to cradle my jaw, tilting my face up.
When he kisses me, it’s slow, testing, like he’s relearning the shape of my mouth and the rough hairs on my chin. His lips are chapped from the cold, but warm, insistent. I arch into it, my hands finding his waist under his thermal shirt, my fingertips skating over the ridges of his abs. He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me, and suddenly he’s everywhere: his knee nudging between mine, his free hand slipping under the small of my back to haul me closer.
The sleeping bag rustles as I twist toward him, my fingers tangling in his hair. He nips at my lower lip, and I gasp, the sound swallowed by his mouth as he deepens the kiss. His tongue slides against mine, hot and demanding, and I melt into it, my body thrumming with the kind of want that makes my hands shake.
Hayden’s fingers abandon my hair, trailing down to the zipper of my sleeping bag. The metal teeth part with a slow, deliberate shhk-shhk-shhk that echoes louder than it should in the quiet tent. Cold air rushes along my side, raising goosebumps before his body heat follows.
“Scoot over,” he huffs, already nudging my hip with his knee.
I should say no. I should remind him that this is a brand-new bag, and even I can’t hide it if we send it back with a huge rip. That Brendan’s tent is right there, but then his thermal-clad calf brushes mine, and all my protests dissolve into static.
I roll onto my side, making just enough space. Hayden slots in behind me like we’ve done this a thousand times, his chest pressed to my back, his knees fitting behind mine. The sleeping bag strains at the seams, the sack protesting as he yanks the zipper back up slightly around us.
“See?” His breath is warm against my neck. “Engineered for two.”
I exhale a laugh, but it catches in my throat when his arm snakes around my waist, his palm splaying flat against my stomach. The thin fabric of the Patagonia shirt might as well not exist, I can feel every ridge of his fingerprints.
His fingers trace up, slow and deliberate, over the thin fabric of my undershirt until they brush against my chest. A shiver runs through me as he ghosts over one of my nipples, just enough pressure to make me gasp a little under my breath.
He pauses, like he’s waiting to see if I protest and turn away.
I don’t. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.
I feel the faintest curve of a smile against my hair. Then his hand moves again, lower this time, skating down my stomach until it’s hovering right over the waistband of the Nike shorts.
I hold my breath.
Hayden’s fingers slip just under the elastic, the rough pads of them brushing against bare skin now. My whole body tenses, a different kind of heat pooling low in my stomach. I turn my face a little into my sleeping bag, trying to muffle the tiny sound that slips out.
He shifts closer until I can feel the steady rhythm of his breathing against my neck, his hand still barely dipping lower, teasing.
I squeeze my eyes shut, every nerve ending lit up, wondering just how far he’s going to go, and whether I even want him to stop.
Hayden's hand stills for a moment, and then he whispers, “I want to be inside you again, Joey. If… if you want that too.”
The question hangs heavy in the tent, and I nod, my voice a mere breath. "Yeah, I do."
With a gentle but firm tug, Hayden unzips the sleeping bag and pulls the shorts from my hips and then off, his eyes never leaving mine as he raises my legs. The cool air meets my bare skin, sending a tremble throughout me that has nothing to do with the temperature.
"Ah..." I breathe out, feeling a rush of anticipation.
His thermal bottoms are quickly discarded, revealing his readiness as he aligns our bodies. We both suck in a sharp breath as he enters me without preamble, the pressure intense and overwhelming.
"Oh... yeah," I moan, my eyes locking onto Hayden's.
Our gazes remain connected, the intimacy of the moment amplified by the tight space and the muffled sounds of our panting breaths.
He starts to move, setting a steady rhythm that has me biting my lip to keep from crying out. My head slips into the hood of the mummy bag, creating a private sanctuary as he continues to pound into me, the sensation raw and unfiltered.
"Yes..." I whisper, feeling myself getting closer to the edge.
Our eyes remain connected, the silent communication more profound than any words could ever be, as we navigate this new, thrilling territory of our relationship. The warmth of his body and the friction of our skin against the sleeping bag's material is the only thing that grounds me as we both give in to the passion that's been simmering beneath the surface for weeks.
Hayden's hips surge against mine, the pressure inside me building with each powerful thrust. "Mmm...," I moan, feeling myself getting lost in the sensation.
My legs tense around him, trying to pull him deeper as I feel him swell even more inside me. I squeeze my eyes shut and tighten my hole around his length, my pleasure rising in a delicious wave.
"Yes... Harder, Hayden." I whisper.
His pace quickens, the urgency of his movements sending my heart racing. The tent seems to shrink around us, our panting breaths echoing off the walls, the only soundtrack to our passionate dance under the mountain stars.
As Hayden's rhythm turns erratic and his breaths grow more ragged, his grip on me tightens, his hips driving into me with a fervor that steals my breath.
"Yes... yes...Hayden," I moan, feeling my head haze over..
And then, with a final, deep groan that seems to resonate through every part of me, he climaxes, whispering, "Ohhhhh, Joey," the words echoing through the tent. The sound makes me flinch, not because of the intensity of the moment, but because it's eerily familiar. It's the same tone, the same inflection that Travis groaned as I lost my virginity, a haunting reminder of my past that crashes into the present with Hayden. I hold my breath and stare, hoping Hayden doesn’t notice the sudden tension in my body, trying to push aside the memories of Travis and focus solely on the warmth and closeness of Hayden's embrace.
Hayden pulls out slowly, his breath still ragged as he collapses beside me onto his bag. I feel the immediate wetness beneath me, the sleeping bag's nylon lining clinging unpleasantly to my thighs. I shift uncomfortably, grimacing at the cool, sticky sensation.
"Oh fuck!" Hayden blurts out, propping himself up on one elbow. His eyes dart between me and the mess with genuine panic. "Joey, shit, I didn't even think, what do we do?" The dim lantern light catches the sheen of sweat on his forehead, his expression equal parts mortified and amused.
I can't help but chuckle at his wide-eyed alarm. "Relax, Speedstar," I say, pushing myself up on trembling arms. "I planned for this, too."
Hayden watches, fascinated, as I lean precariously out of the sleeping bag, shirt riding up, cold air hitting my bare legs, to rummage through my pack. My fingers close around the familiar crinkled package of wilderness-grade wet wipes I tossed in this afternoon.
"You brought wipes?" Hayden’s voice pitches up in disbelief. "Like, specifically for this?"
I toss the pack at his chest. "No, they’re useful for when you have to do a Number 2 as well."
He snorts, tearing a wipe free with his teeth. "You’re such a Boy Scout." But his hands are gentle as he nudges me onto my side, wiping carefully along my back and crack, his touch lingering just there.
I suck in a breath. "Hayden."
He freezes. "Sorry, are you cold?”
“Slightly, but you could help me with this too, when you’re done. I roll onto my back and grip my still hard erection through the top of the Cat’s Meow.
He balls up the used wipe and chucks it toward the tent corner, then shifts closer, his palm skating down my chest, over the pristine insulation of the Cat’s Meow. "You want me to…?" He rubs his thumb in a teasing circle, and my hips jerk.
"Yeah," I breathe. "Just like that. Through the bag."
Hayden’s laugh is low, warm. "You’re into the nylon, huh?"
I huff, but the embarrassment dissolves into a groan as he grips me through the slippery fabric, the pressure just shy of rough. The sleeping bag traps heat and amplifies every drag of his fingers, and I arch into it, the material whispering against my skin.
Hayden’s fingers work me through the nylon with practiced ease, his thumb pressing just there, the spot that makes my thighs tense and my breath hitch. The Cat’s Meow rustles between us, synthetic fabric amplifying every touch until it feels like he’s everywhere at once: the weight of his leg thrown over mine, the scratch of his thermal shirt against my arm, the warm puff of his laughter against my neck when I buck into his grip.
“Fuck,” I mutter, fisting the mummy hood beneath my head.
Hayden slows his strokes, teasing. “You close already?”
All I can do is nod my head as Hayden's strokes become more deliberate, his touch a masterful symphony of friction and pressure that sends my pulse racing. His eyes lock onto mine, filled with a mischievous glint that fuels my growing desire.
He leans in, capturing my mouth in a gentle kiss that's both tender and hungry, the contrast to the fervor of his hand driving me wild. Our breaths mingle, the cold tent air thick with the scent of sex and the faint metallic tang of the blood on my lip. My hips roll in silent pleading, the tension coiling tighter with every caress. The heat between us builds until I can't hold back any longer.
With a muffled cry, I spill my release into the inside lining of the Cat’s Meow, my body shuddering with its intensity. Hayden holds my gaze, his hand never faltering, until the last tremor subsides. Only then does he pull away, his thumb still tracing lazy circles around my tip through the bag. He reaches for another wet wipe, his movements efficient as he cleans me up and then the interior of the sleeping bag, ensuring no evidence remains of our shared passion.
Now that I’m finished, Hayden unzips his sleeping bag with one sharp tug, then scoots closer. Before I can protest, he drapes the open bag over both of us like a quilt, his arms circling my waist to pull me flush against him. The nylon rustles as he works the zipper partway up our sides, sealing us in a cocoon of shared body heat.
Outside, the wind needles at the tent walls, but here, with his breath warm on my neck and his knees tucked behind mine, the cold doesn’t touch us. His fingers trace idle circles on my stomach under my shirt, and for once, I don’t think about tomorrow. I just breathe him in, memorizing the way our heartbeats sync in the dark.
