Sugar and Ice - RJ Scott Page 0,57

and headed to the Saguaro National Park. I had been to the national park a few times since coming to Arizona, but it was the first time for Tate. Rock music blared out of the speakers in Colorado’s blue Jeep. Alex had his own Jeep and was toting Ryker, Jacob, Eli, and Sebastian. Tate and I were riding in the back with a chattering Apollo Vasquez between us. Henry was riding shotgun, as the Americans called it, and Penn was driving. He drove much like he played hockey. Erratically but laced with greatness. It was a busy day at the park, due to the holiday, but we kept off the main trails.

Tate marveled at the sights. The massive mountains, the towering Saguaro cactus, the birds and snakes and wildlife we spotted as we bounced along. His brown eyes were alive, his smile wide. I longed to kiss him simply for the joy seeing him so happy brought to me. But…

“Okay so pick the site and we’ll start roasting some wieners,” Penn shouted as he looked back to grin at us. The Jeep nearly ran off the road before he righted it. Apollo was halfway in my lap, his eyes wide as hubcaps. If not for the seatbelt he would have been wrapped around my neck like a scarf. “Roads. Who needs them? I say a man should make his own way in life! Do what he wants, when he wants, where he wants.”

With that we went off-road for a few miles until we skidded up to a campsite that was far away from the beaten path. A lone grill stood next to a weathered log cabin camp. Since we’d not gotten a camping permit, we’d not go into the cabin.

“Fuck yeah!” Colorado hooted, leaping out of the Jeep as I worked to peel Apollo from me. He was quite strong for such a small man. Finally, I got him loose and pointed in the direction of Henry who was paler than I had ever seen him. I leaned out of the Jeep and slapped Penn across the back of his head. He yelped. “Dude, seriously nasty way to harsh the buzz.”

“Some of us do not appreciate bad rides,” I snarled, jerking my head at Henry who was holding Apollo close to him as one would a buoy in a turbulent sea.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry man. Cy, you should have said something. Okay, no more off road for us! Grab the charcoal. I’ll get the tunes and the beer!”

With that pronouncement our goalie raced off after lifting a cooler and his battered acoustic guitar out of the back.

“I swear that man cares about no one other than himself,” I muttered to Tate who could do nothing but nod.

We unpacked the Jeeps and began our manly day out with a game of touch Frisbee. Touch meaning tackle. The temperature was a dry seventy-two degrees, perfect weather to be outside. After the game, which my team won, we went for a long hike, Alex reading off facts about the park, flora and fauna from his phone as we walked. We saw cactus as tall as a giraffe, small birds, a king snake warming himself on a rock, and several pronghorn off in the distance. When we returned to our makeshift camp we were all starving. Thank the stars that Apollo had packed more than just hot dogs and mustard. There were dishes of spicy Mexican food that we dove into, followed by a tres leches cake that was so delicious I had three helpings.

The memory of a small pool of crystal clear water nearby called to us, and so we all walked to it, hoping to work off some of the food we’d gorged on. The water had been warmed by the sun but was refreshing on bare feet and calves. Soon the boys fell into splashing and trying to dunk each other even though the pool was barely two feet deep. I was pulled in and then had to fight my way back to the rock where I’d been digesting my feast. Tate leaped onto my back, Ryker latched onto a leg, and Jacob plus Eli tackled me around the waist. It was the heft of the big farm boy and my defensive partner that knocked me off my feet. I came sputtering up, my clothes soaked, my lover scrambling to his bare feet. A small skirmish broke out during which I showed them all that the old dog still had what it