Chapter 8:

In all affairs it’s a healthy thing now and then to hang a question mark on the things you have long taken for granted.

SATURDAY, WHEN Nick’s mom hadn’t appeared by ten in the morning, he went up to check on her. After knocking softly and getting a feeble “Come in,” Nick opened the door to find his mother still in bed. “You okay, Mom?”

Plucking fretfully at her blanket, Agnes answered, “Not really. These hospitals are so noisy at night.”

With a listless shrug, she amended, “Nursing home or whatever you call this place, then.”

Internally, Nick sighed, realizing his mom was lost in a nearly twenty-year-old memory, thinking herself back at the South Fayette Nursing Center. Since becoming his mom’s primary caregiver, Nick had always strongly insisted on reorienting her and wrenching her back to reality as much as possible, even though his efforts had never seemed to have much effect beyond upsetting her. Today he had neither the heart nor the energy, so he decided to simply play along. “Well, it’s quiet now. How ’bout I bring you up some tea and toast, and then you could try to catch a nap. How does that sound?”

Ten minutes later, Nick sat in the chair between the window and the bed, watching Agnes idly munching her toast and sipping the tea; he noticed that she really did look more worn out than usual. “I think we should get you to the doctor for a check-up.”

“Why? So he can tell me that bonk on the head left me crazy? I don’t need to hear that again.”

“Confused, Nicky. I’m so confused.” She wearily pushed the graying strands of hair back from her face and sipped more tea before turning watery hazel eyes on him, saying, “I wish I could see your father. Do you think they’ll let him visit me?”

The last thing Nick wanted was to relive that awful period when his mom finally woke from her coma and kept asking for the bastard who was the cause of all her ills. “Mom, don’t—”

“He’s still my husband.” A bony hand reached out and clutched Nick’s arm as Agnes stubbornly continued, “And he’s still your father.”

Agnes shook her head, insisting, “You think you can just wish him away like that? Well, you can’t. Hetty said he’s been askin’ to see you. You should go.”

“You think I’m going up to Fayette County for him?” Nick felt himself slipping into the fantasy with Agnes and fought the regression to his agonizing twelfth summer—but the pull was too strong. “No way, let him rot in prison. It’s where he belongs.”

“How can you say that? He’s the one who did this to you.” Nick’s tone grew louder as his unbearable memories grew stronger. “Over a stupid hammer! Just ’cause I left it out in the rain.”

Nick jumped to his feet and paced beside the bed, ranting, “Not until he was in prison, you didn’t! No matter how bad it got, you stayed and stayed. Until the son of a bitch tried to cave your skull in, and you wound up here—” Nick caught himself, suddenly realizing that he sounded every bit as crazy as Agnes. “You wound up like this,” he added more calmly as he shook off the delusion and dropped back into the rocking chair.

Watching his mom’s hands shake as she placed the empty cup on the bedside table, Nick felt a sharp stab of remorse. He reached over and settled the covers back around her and then relaxed back into the squeaking rocking chair. Both sat in private contemplation for a few minutes. Nick’s mind strayed to Logan, and he spent the time toting up all the ways Logan wasn’t really, had never been, couldn’t be, anything like Sam Zales.

Softly, and almost against his will, Nick asked, “What did you ever see in him, Mom?”

“Oh, Nick,” Agnes breathed, abruptly shedding her lethargy. Her eyes sparkled as she explained, “He was like no other boy I’d ever met. He had so many dreams and plans… about startin’ his own contractor business and makin’ somethin’ of himself.” She turned a wistful smiled on him, adding, “And he could charm a bird right out of the sky.”

It was impossible for Nick to reconcile Agnes’s description of Sam Zales as a charming, ambitious man with the ill-tempered, erratically employed handyman Nick remembered.

At least he doesn’t sound anything like Logan. The more cynical part of his mind briefly took the helm, asking, You sure about that, Zales?

Nick noticed that Agnes had dropped off to sleep and quietly left the room, his mind still on Logan—and his father. As he padded down the staircase, an impulse wholly foreign to Nick swept over him, a need to visit Sam Zales at last and see for himself. The idea was discarded as quickly as a flaming ember, but the smoke from it lingered, swirling around him all day.

LATER, EARLY in the evening, Logan was heading home from work when his cell phone rang. Never one to answer the blasted thing when driving, he let it ring, figuring he’d check the message when he got home. As he sat idling at a light, it did occur to him that the call might have been from Nick. He has my number now, could’ve been him. Maybe he’s callin’ it off for tomorrow… or maybe he just wanted to ask something about the car…. Unable to resist, Logan pulled the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open to check the number.

What he found on the face of the phone sent a shock wave through his body. He hadn’t seen that number in a long time. It was Linda’s. The surprise bled away gradually, leaving only dread in its place. He semi-deliberately stretched out his trip to the grocery store, all the while feeling the phone like a lead weight in his pocket.

As he loaded his two bags—containing little more than cold cuts, bread, chips, coffee, and two six-packs of Iron City—into the truck bed, he considered simply pretending he’d never noticed the message. The thought that Linda had some news about his daughters squelched that idea, and twenty minutes later, after stowing away his groceries and popping open a beer, he settled onto his worn loveseat and returned the call without bothering to listen to her message.

He was momentarily stunned speechless until he remembered that, like him, she could recognize her spouse’s number—after all, she had bought the damn phone for him as a Christmas present three years past. Finally he croaked out, “Hey, Linda.” The line crackled with static before he added, “I’m returnin’ your call.”

“I’m good. The girls okay?” Belatedly, he added, “And you, hope you’re doin’ okay.”

“Yeah, we’re all fine. Krista and Meghan, they told me ’bout… about what you said yesterday.”

“I’m glad you did that; it was good for them to hear.” Irritation honed an edge to her voice as she continued, “And it was nice they finally got a apology.”

“You told the judge, not me,” Linda shot back. Logan was still searching for a response when Linda went on in a more conciliatory tone. “I guess that’s one of the things we’ll talk about in therapy. That Dr. Gerard you been seeing wants to start that next month.”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan sighed, though the September timeframe was news to him. “Is that why you’re callin’, to tell me that you’re gonna do the counseling?”

“Yeah… but I also wanted to tell you…. The girls told me about what you said, about not wanting to leave Elco. And I thought you should know, I ain’t goin’ back.”

“I’m not so keen on the idea, myself. I just wish we hadn’t… well, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. You never told me. Anything. But that ain’t all of what I meant; it’s not just Elco I’m not goin’ back to.”

Rolling his eyes as he slurped his beer, Logan finally said, “Well, ya lost me now.”

“I’m not goin’ back to the way things were in Elco—ever. I’m not goin’ back to you hiding out in some garage twelve hours a day, seven days a week—”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m not stupid. I figured out a long time ago that you were usually happier in your shop than you were at home. Just like I figured out that you’re still blamin’ me for ruinin’ your life.”

“The hell you didn’t,” Linda interrupted firmly. “You blamed me for gettin’ pregnant when you was the one didn’t wanta wear rubbers.”

“Just like your big sister put all the blame on me!” Logan suddenly wondered if their counseling sessions were going to consist of re-fighting every disagreement of the past twelve years. Suspiciously, he asked, “Why the hell are we even talkin’ about this now? Where’s all this comin’ from?”

“I’ve been in therapy, too, you know. If we get back together, it’s gotta be different this time, Logan. You gotta start tellin’ me what’s going on inside your head so I don’t have to guess all the time. I don’t wanta go back to bein’ two strangers who live in the same house.”

“Just ’cause I wasn’t runnin’ off at the mouth all the time doesn’t mean I treated you like a stranger.”

“Say what you want, but you gotta know before we even start counseling that I’m aimin’ for something different this time.”

“Okay.” Logan was too busy dealing with warring emotions to develop any better response. He saw some hope that their joint sessions wouldn’t be dominated by recrimination, but he was unnerved by Linda’s new demands.

Hesitancy and hope bloomed in her voice as Linda asked, “Does that mean… you want that too?”

Cornered by her directness, he felt compelled to say, “Yeah… I guess I do.”

Later, as he chewed their conversation over, Logan was surprised by the thought that maybe he hadn’t been simply fobbing her off. Maybe he, too, wanted a change in their status quo. The unacknowledged truth Logan could barely face was that, as ever, he and Linda wanted very different things.

LOGAN LOOKED around for Nick’s Jeep as he pulled onto Arlington Avenue that Sunday, knowing that they both always parked on the street to leave the entire shop floor open for working on the Thunderbird. He was slightly irked that the black vehicle was not in evidence, since it was already after nine. As he loped up the steps, Logan set aside any disappointment, figuring the time could be put to good use grabbing a smoke and settling the nerves he was trying hard to ignore. When he got to the landing and found one bay door wide open, Logan stopped short in mild surprise. Must’a missed his Jeep.

Upon entering the garage he was greeted not by Nick Zales but by a rotund stranger who had his feet propped up on the corner desk and his face hidden behind the Sunday Post-Gazette. Logan cleared his throat loudly in an attempt to get the oblivious man’s attention. It must have worked, since the paper was slowly lowered to reveal a round, creased face topped by a shock of white hair.

“Hey there. You must be Crane.” The man rose unhurriedly to his feet and offered his hand, explaining, “I’m Dave Acken.”

Logan shook his hand, mumbling, “Good to finally meet you.” He gestured at the shop, wincing internally at the mess they’d left in the main bay but managing to say sincerely, “Nice place ya got here.”

Dave seemed unfazed by the disarray. “Thanks. Nothin’ fancy, but suited me for thirty years.” The white hair grazed his bushy and equally white eyebrows when he shook his head, musing, “Thirty years… don’t seem possible.” A chubby hand brushed the hair back as he exclaimed, “Oh hell, what’s wrong with me? You must be wonderin’ what I’m doin’ here.”

“Yeah,” admitted Logan, glad to be relieved of the burden of asking outright.

“Nick called and asked if I’d shoot over and let you in. He’s runnin’ late—some trouble with his mom.”

“Oh, that’s a damn shame.” Logan shuffled his feet nervously while wondering if that meant Nick had headed home to… Kittanning, wasn’t it? “Wish he’d called me.”

“He should. I called him just a few days ago,” Logan answered, feeling ever so slightly defensive for reasons he couldn’t understand.

“I think he said he left it at work or somethin’. Well, no big deal. I didn’t mind. Gave me a chance to see what you’re doin’ with the T-Bird.” Dave scratched his stubbled chin while gazing intently at the car and motor. “Looks like you boys got a good start there. I’m itchin’ to jump in and help, but my doctor’d have my hide, I guess.”

Logan was stunned that the man was neither annoyed nor surprised at the chaotic scene on his shop floor. As Dave went on to leisurely and cheerfully describe several rebuilds he’d done over the years, it occurred to Logan that, from the looks of the desk alone, Dave Acken was a man who could live with a mess.

When Nick finally showed up at ten a.m., Dave’s monologue was still going strong as he scrutinized Logan’s technique for removing the cylinder bore ridge. Logan turned and watched the two men shake hands, noting that Nick was wearing a loose, raggedy pair of chinos topped by a faded, untucked, blue oxford. He swore there was some sort of message in Nick’s choice of attire, but he wasn’t going to examine the matter too closely.

Nick rolled up the sleeves slightly while saying, “Sorry I’m late. What can I do?”

“She’s okay. She’s got this cold that’s wearin’ her down, and I just had to make sure she drank plenty of juice and got some protein….” Nick trailed off, apparently reluctant to give more detail. Logan had a few follow-up questions he would have liked to ask, but Dave’s presence made him skittish.

And Acken showed no inclination to leave. He kept up a running commentary while Nick and Logan rolled the engine over again to remove the pistons and rods and finally the crankshaft. When Logan started his examination of that last part, carefully searching for any deep grooves or excessive wear, Dave finally took off, saying that he didn’t want to miss out on Sunday lunch at The Liberty Grill.

Nick walked him to the shop door and waved Dave off with the exhortation, “Say hi to Larry for me.”

Logan’s stomach performed somersaults as Nick strolled over and leaned casually against the workbench. There was a streak of grease on Nick’s cheek, and Logan dug his fingers into the engine part he was holding to resist the temptation to reach over and wipe it off. Nick nodded at him, asking, “How bad is it?”

“Oh, yeah… looks like I can just polish it up some and cross drill it, and it’ll be better than new.”

Nick’s smile looked like it had cost him some effort, but he said cheerfully, “Good news.”

“Always.” A shrug punctuated the response before Nick added, “She has dementia, so a cold is the least of her problems.”

Ready to examine the condition of the pistons, they needed Dave’s micrometer set. While Logan was rooting through the tool chest, Nick said, “Speaking of rough and family members, how’d it go with your daughters yesterday?”

Emerging with his prize, Logan opened the micrometer case, saying, “It went real good.” He was tempted to leave it at that but couldn’t resist the chance to unburden himself on a sore point. He put the tool kit down gently and turned to face Nick. “There was this…. Krista did ask me if I was ever gonna do anything like that again.”

Nick shrugged, apparently unfazed by Logan’s revelation. “That’s a fairly common fear. It’s good she was able to articul—to tell you that right out.” He straightened and trained a suddenly intent gaze on Logan. “What did you say?”

“I said I was gonna do my damnedest to make sure nothin’ like that ever happened again.” Logan started his examination of the pistons but kept one eye on Nick, measuring his reaction as minutely as the condition of the pistons.

“Good, but she’s gonna need to hear that again. They both will probably need to hear that a few times.” Nick picked up one of the micrometers and examined it idly. “That’s the worst part, you know.”

Eyes still on the delicate instrument, Nick answered, “The waiting and wondering. ‘When’s it gonna start again? Tomorrow? Next week?’ Even when nothing’s happening, there’s always this fear….” He shook his head, finishing, “You can never relax.”

“Yep.” Nick put the micrometer down and leaned back against the bench, his eyes directed towards the window but unfocused. “The worst times were when he was between jobs. See, he was a contractor. Well, he claimed to be a contractor, but he really just picked up odd jobs, painting, putting up sheds—stuff like that. Anyway, when he was outta work for a couple of weeks, it was inevitable….” Suddenly he turned to Logan, saying, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this… it’s not like you’re….”

Logan gave him a few seconds, but when there was no continuation, he demanded, “What?”

Nick’s voice got more formal as he answered coolly, “What I mean is, your girls will have this fear, and you’re going to have to deal with it. Especially when….” The dark eyes slid sadly away from Logan’s face as he finished, “When you get back with your wife.”

Anything but grateful for that reminder, Logan managed to choke out, “Yeah, I understand. Thanks for the advice; I’ll remember that.” He resumed silently examining the pistons but felt the air between them fairly crackle with tension. Logan wondered if Nick joined him in cursing fate or if he had a more human target for his frustration.

Nick broke into his reverie, drumming his fingers on the workbench, asking, “What can I do while you’re doin’ that?”

Glad to put some distance between them, Logan dredged up his best instructor demeanor, saying, “You can look the block over real good, see if there’s any wear, scratches, or cracks. Then we can put the lifters in that box with dividers. That’ll be enough for today.”

“Sounds good.” Nick worked in silence for a few minutes, then affirmed that the block was in reasonably good shape. He moved on to the second task and asked over his shoulder, “How was class on Thursday? Everybody ready for graduation?”

“It was good. I’d say they’re ready.” Logan withheld the news that he’d missed Nick’s presence keenly—didn’t seem like something one friend said to another. “It’s weird though. I think I’m actually gonna miss doin’ it.”

The only immediate response was the soft thud of metal against cardboard, but then—Reluctantly? Tentatively? Logan wasn’t sure which—Nick offered, “You don’t have to. If you’re willing, I could set up more modules. I have plenty of other clients who need to learn about cars.”

Trying to hide his eagerness, Logan strolled to Nick’s side, casually answering, “Okay.”

“Really?” Nick directed a wide smile—the first of the morning—up at him. “You’re willin’ to be a permanent volunteer?”

“Sure.” Logan crouched down to join Nick in his task. “Why not?” The idea of having this lasting connection with Nick—one that would stretch out past finishing the T-bird—gratified Logan in a manner he was unwilling to scrutinize directly.

Together they quickly polished off the chore of numbering the lifters and stowing them in the box. As they were finishing up, Nick gave him a sidelong glance and said, “Look, I’m not trying to recruit you or anything—I already have my ‘Queer Scout’ merit badge—but there’s somethin’ I gotta ask.”

Sitting back on his heels, Nick said, “That was a joke, you know? The ‘Queer Scout’ thing. It’s okay to laugh.”

In an effort to don a casual front, Logan jibed back, “Maybe it just wasn’t funny, Zales.” He carried the box over to the workbench, saying, “What did you wanta ask?”

“That guy you told me about, the one that got beat up in Elco. Was that you?”

Almost dropping the box in shock, Logan shoved it onto the bench and whipped around. “What? Hell no!”

Nick slowly rose to his feet to face Logan. Raising a hand in a placating manner, he said, “Okay, sorry, I didn’t mean to…. I just wondered, is all.”

Logan glared at Nick for a long second, his mind a whirl of fury, confusion, and memories. Finally, he grunted, “It was this guy, Jerry Sievers. Was a senior when I was a freshman in high school.”

“So what happened?” Nick prodded, walking over to join Logan at the workbench.

“He hired me to restore this MG Midget he’d gotten his hands on. His plan was to drive it ’cross the country after graduation.”

Shaking his head as he stared at the grease-stained concrete, Logan murmured, “I don’t know.” He cleared his throat and continued in a stronger voice, “Some folks thought he was ’cause he was… different.”

Logan looked at Nick, taking in the grim set of his face. “No, not at all. But he wore weird stuff like… leather pants, and striped socks, weird shirts that pulled over instead of buttonin’ up. And he quoted poetry. All the girls was wild about him, but he never really seemed to have a girlfriend. Stuff like that.”

Nick snorted, “He could’ve been gay… or he just could’ve liked thinkin’ for himself. I guess they’re equally bad in Elco. What happened to him?”

“One day after school, I went to work on the car and found the garage door wide open and Jerry bleedin’ on the floor. Some guys had worked him over good.” Logan paused to swallow down eighteen-year-old sorrow before he continued. “They used one of my wrenches, even. He was laid up for months. Had to miss graduation and everything. His family moved away that summer after his dad sold the MG to some junkyard. We never even got to finish it.”

That was hitting too close to home. “Nope,” Logan answered tersely, turning to retrieve the tools they’d left on the floor. “We done here?” He peered over at Nick and was discomfited to be met with a puzzled frown.

Fortunately Nick broke his inspection after a second, saying, “Yeah, I better get home.”

As they loaded the T-bird parts into the Ford’s spacious truck bed, Logan felt the work slowed by Nick’s efforts to avoid so much as their sleeves brushing. Their awkward interaction had Logan weighing the pros and cons of the morning. “That was good, right?” he asked Nick. “Good morning’s work, I mean.”

Nick tilted his head and jiggled his keys before answering, “Yeah… sure. And we even managed to—um, yeah, to get things ready for the machine shop.” Briskly, he asked, “How long do ya think it’ll take to get things rebuilt and re-bored?”

“No,” Logan rushed to assure him, certain he had detected some disappointment in his companion. “We’ll start getting some back before then. I’ll ask ’em to stage it.”

“Okay, see ya next week.” Nick gave him that forced smile again and then turned towards the Jeep. The smile seemed more genuine when he looked back to wave, adding, “And Thursday. See you then.”

It hadn’t escaped Logan’s notice that the wave had replaced their usual handshake. He was left to wonder if the lack of contact was due to residual resentment or because Nick didn’t trust that they could share a simple handshake without losing control. Either way, it seemed Nick was determined to keep up his end of the bargain. Logan was glad… and he kept reminding himself of that fact all the way home.

Chapter 9:

Start It Like a Car

They say love conquers all, You can’t start it like a car

You can’t stop it with a gun.

—Warren Zevon (“Searching For A Heart”)

WEDNESDAY EVENING, Logan walked into the small waiting room adjoining Trudy’s downtown office, feeling calmer than he had last Friday, though not as relieved as he would have expected. Still bothered by restless nights, awakened several times each night by dreams he couldn’t quite remember, Logan had almost been tempted to skip the session. However, the hope that Trudy would have news about his enhanced visitation rights kept him from canceling.

His effort was rewarded when Trudy started the hour by saying, “I did get the affidavit to the mediator’s office on Monday; you should be hearing from him soon. I would guess you can start overnight visits with your daughters as early as next weekend.”

Some of the knots in his neck and shoulders loosened as Logan answered, “Good. That’s real good news.”

“We haven’t had a chance to talk about the discussion you had with them. How did you feel about it?”

“I felt… I guess it was good.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“Yeah, I think I went in expectin’ too much.”

“How so?”

“I was thinkin’ that I would do that and it would….” Logan shrugged and wished for his cigarettes before finally finishing, “…would be the end of it.” He rubbed his fingers across his bottom lip. “But it was more like the start, it seems.”

Trudy raised her eyebrows and smiled encouragingly, asking, “The start of what?”

“Of them really… dealin’ with it.”

“Is that true for you, too?”

“Me?” Logan glared at her across the desk. “I’ve been dealin’ with it all along.”

“Have you?”

Cursing his counselor’s evasive, infuriating ways, Logan rubbed the back of his neck, retorting, “Yes. But I guess you’re tellin’ me you don’t think so.”

“No, I’m not telling you anything. I’m looking for a more thoughtful answer from you. Now, what was it that clued you in about Krista and Meghan?”

“It wasn’t anythin’ in particular…” Logan broke contact with Trudy’s intent gaze and shifted his line of sight to the window. “I could see it in their eyes, hear it in their voices. This has been weighin’ heavy on them. And it ain’t gonna be fixed by me sayin’ I’m sorry or even by me gettin’ back with their mom.”

He looked back to Trudy to find her nodding in agreement. “You’re right; I’m really glad you realize that. What do you think will fix it?”

“Aren’t you s’posed to tell me that?”

“No, I’m not. But maybe I can help you—and Linda—find the answer for your family.”

At the mention of his wife’s name, Logan offered, “Talked to her on Saturday.”

“Linda?” Trudy asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the first direct contact since your court appearance, wasn’t it?” When Logan nodded, she asked, “What did you talk about?”

“She said she wanted me to know….” Logan tilted his head up slightly, trying to recall the particulars. “Oh, a bunch of stuff. That she doesn’t wanna move back to Elco, that she wants somethin’
different—”

“A different kind of relationship?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

“And what’s your response to that?”

“I told her okay ’cause—”

“No, Logan. I’m not asking what you told her, but, right now, what’s your feeling about that?”

Logan expelled a puff of exasperation, feeling like Trudy was backing him into a corner. “Guess it’ll have to be different, won’t it?”

“Why?”

“’Cause of all that’s passed between us, right?” He let his irritation seep out from under that last word.

“But do you want things to be different? Or would you prefer going back to the life you had before you moved to North Braddock?”

Involuntarily, Logan blurted, “No.”

“Yet, you told me once that you and Linda were ‘happy enough’ back in Elco.” When Logan had no response, Trudy exhorted, “Come on! Talk to me. Tell me what you want from your marriage. What you’re going to need in this new relationship.” Trudy made air quotes with her fingers as she said those last two words. “It seems like Linda has learned to state her needs. That’s good, that’s healthy. I want the same for you. It’s a simple enough question: what do you want?”

His treacherous mind started up an endless litany—one syllable repeated over and over: Nick… Nick… Nick…. In a desperate effort to shut that voice down, Logan interjected, “Why can’t you let up on this?”

“Because if we don’t answer this question before you and Linda get back together, then you’re eventually going to end up right back here—only things will be even worse. Because you’ll be a repeat offender.” Trudy leaned forward, saying, “There are two things you’re going to have to do in joint counseling with Linda. You’re going to have to deal with the past and the future; admit the wrong you did, yes, but also ask for what you need going forward. You’re getting closer on the first item—I see a lot of movement there. But you won’t budge on the second. Why?”

As he had expected, Trudy had cornered him again. Weary and anxious, Logan fell back on a safe answer. He stared at his old friend the carpet and sighed, “I don’t know.”

Trudy eased back into her chair before saying, “I bet you don’t let your girls get away with that answer, do you?” When Logan simply rolled his eyes in response, the counselor seemed to change the subject. “What was your parents’ marriage like?”

Caught completely off guard, Logan hunched forward, lost in reflection. After some thought, he answered, “It was… good ’nough, I guess. They didn’t fight a lot or anything, not as I remember. Though my dad sure had a temper on him.”

A rueful smile streaked across Trudy’s face as she said, “Runs in the family, eh?”

Logan couldn’t help but grin back. “Seems to. Me and Jim both take after my dad in that.”

“Did you have a good relationship with him?”

“My dad?” At Trudy’s nod, Logan continued, “Yeah, I did. I was hanging around the garage with him soon’s I could walk. Taught me everything I know.”

“Jim, too?”

“Nah, he never took any interest in learning about fixin’ cars. Or—” Out of longstanding reticence about family matters, Logan stopped short.

“Or?”

After a second, Logan rationalized that anyone in Elco could tell Trudy the rest, so he answered, “Or anything much besides raising hell.”

“You two didn’t get along?”

“I didn’t say that.” Logan shook his head, searching for the words to describe something as complex as his feelings about Jim. “Most of the time he treated me okay… ’specially after our parents died.”

“But before that?”

“He kinda… resented how close me and my dad was.” Logan snorted before adding, “Though it was his own choice to never set foot in my dad’s shop. Too much like work, I guess.”

“You were, what? Fourteen, when your parents died?”

“Not quite fourteen.”

“How old were your siblings?”

“Daisy was twenty-one, and Jim had just turned seventeen.”

“That was a lot for Daisy to take on, raising you two.”

“Yeah, family’s real important to her. She always says family sticks together no matter what.”

“You haven’t talked much about her. She’s not standing by you through this?”

To avoid discussing the longstanding distance that separated him from Daisy, Logan evaded, “I didn’t wanta bother her with any of this. She gets ’nough grief from Jim.”

“In what way?”

Logan hesitated, but, figuring the taboo was already breached, he explained, “Ten years ago, he took off for Florida—workin’ on some real estate scam he got mixed up in. Now we hardly ever hear from him, unless he needs money. I told him no, real firm, the first time he ever asked me, but Daisy—he’d bleed her dry if it weren’t for her husband. She still sneaks him as much money as she can, then Jim’ll take off again soon’s he’s got it.” Despite the problems between them, Logan still sympathized with his sister’s perpetual disappointment in their brother. Pensively, he added, “She never learns.”

“Is that something else that runs in the Crane family?”

Logan had no immediate answer, though he couldn’t help but wonder if it was true.

NICK WAS trying to navigate heavy I-279 traffic while keeping his cell phone to his ear as he drove to class on Thursday afternoon. Polly was on the line, giving him an update on his mom, though the conversation so far had focused on Polly’s complaints about Agnes’s doctor. “Yeah, doctors do get backed up these days. I’m sure everybody had to wait that long—”

“Oh, no they didn’t,” contradicted Polly. “I saw some pretty young thing just sashay in ahead of us—she hardly waited at all. They see two little old ladies and think we got nothin’ better to do with our time except sit around and wait and wait.”

Forbearing to ask what other pressing appointments Polly and Agnes did have, Nick tried again. “So what did the doctor have to say after you got in to see him?”

“Rude little snip—asked why it’d taken so long to get your mom in. I had half a mind to tell him it wouldn’t ’ve been so bad if we hadn’t been waiting for an hour and—”

“What wouldn’t be so bad? What was the diagnosis?”

“Pneumonia, he said. Though seems to me if that were true, your mom would have a more productive cough. I remember learning that back in nursing school. In fact I’m pretty sure—”

Nick lost the rest of Polly’s diatribe, first in the blare of a horn and then in dealing with the owner of said horn: a speeding tractor trailer. When he refocused on Polly, she was finally saying, “…so we’re at Allegheny Suburban right now.”

“What? She’s getting admitted to the hospital? Is it that bad?”

“Oh, I don’t think so, hon. They’re mainly worried about the fact that she’s not eating much. Just lookin’ to make some money off your poor mom, if you ask me.”

Already looking for the next exit, Nick said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Don’t worry about rushing; they’re still trying to find a room for Agnes. Looks like it could take three or four more hours.”

“Okay, I’ll be there by…,” Nick did some mental calculations before saying, “By five at the latest.”

“Like I said, don’t rush. These hospitals have no more respect for your time than those damn doctors do. And nobody tells you what’s goin’ on or—”

“Yeah, I know, I hate that, too,” Nick interjected, and before Polly could re-launch her complaints, he said, “Bye, see you in a bit,” and hit the off button.

Nick was on autopilot the rest of the drive to Acken’s shop and arrived on Arlington Avenue with no memory of the ride after his talk with Polly. Still torn between guilt and worry about his mom, he fervently hoped he hadn’t run any red lights or knocked down any pedestrians on the way to South Side. He’d already decided to spend fifteen to twenty minutes congratulating the students and the instructor before rushing back to North Hills. Nick grabbed a bag off the passenger seat and jogged up the steps.

When he entered the shop, the class was already in full swing, though the festive atmosphere bespoke more of a party than a learning module. The girls were in a small knot, Tish in the center, obviously holding court. Nick’s eyes immediately sought out Logan. He was standing slightly aside, looking as happy and relaxed as Nick had seen him since Kennywood.

Nick cleared his throat theatrically to get the group’s attention, and Logan’s smiling eyes found his. Maybe it was because he needed to believe it right then, but Nick could have sworn the smile deepened before being covered by a grease-stained hand.

Tish looked up and hooted, “Well, look who’s decided to grace us with his royal presence.”

Putting on a relaxed front, Nick shot back, “Yeah, I can see I was holding up the class. What’s up?”

“Me!” Tish laughed. “You’re looking at Dish’s newest waitress, that’s what’s up.”

“That’s great news.” Nick held the bag aloft, saying, “How fortunate that I brought presents.”

Tish’s dark eyes sparkled. “For me?”

“For all three of you.”

The women rushed to him, demanding to know what the gifts were, and Nick quickly handed each one a small, slim, silver rod. Norah and Cheryl thanked him immediately, though they sounded slightly puzzled; Tish stared at the gift for a few seconds before saying, “You shouldn’t have.” She looked at Nick while emphasizing, “Really.”

“They’re digital tire pressure gauges,” Nick explained.

Logan eyed the presents and nodded approvingly at Nick, offering, “Damn nice ones, too.”

There seemed to be more he wanted to say, but nothing else was forthcoming, so Nick said, “I’m sorry I’m late. Got caught up at work. And I can’t stay long either; I got….” Nick had long since wearied of expressions of sympathy veering into pity about his mom; besides, he rationalized that bad news would put a damper on the occasion, so he finished, “My mom’s got a doctor’s appointment this afternoon.”

“Ever’thing okay?” Logan asked.

“Guess that’s what I’ll find out.” Nick forced what he hoped was a convincing smile. “From what I’ve heard, it doesn’t sound too bad.”

Norah interrupted the general murmurs of concern to say, “Hey, Nick, before you go, I wanted to tell you I’m not going to make our session next week.”

Nick searched her face for signs of distress, asking, “Why not?” While waiting for an answer, he mused that canceling sessions could sometimes be a good sign, a recognition on the part of a client that they were ready to move on and no longer needed counseling.

He breathed easier when she gave him a sunny smile, responding, “I’m going home to Arkport for a visit.”

“I think that’s a good idea. You’ve been wanting to see your folks.”

“Yeah, it’s long overdue.” She gestured at her car, saying, “And now with this fine running vehicle, I got no excuse.”

Nick turned to Logan. “So, what do you think? Will the Cavalier get her to Arkport?”

“Hell, shape this car is in now, it could get ’er to Alaska.”

After Logan started the girls on their final lesson, Nick said goodbye and moved towards the door. As he reached for the knob, Cheryl called, “Do you want me to bring the keys back for you again?”

Impulsively, Nick called back, “Nah, just give ’em to Logan.” He looked over and caught sight of Logan’s blank face and wondered if the mechanic was surprised or annoyed. “You can lock up and give ’em to me… later, right?”

A nonchalant air fell over Logan as he mumbled, “Sure.”

ON SUNDAY morning, Logan arrived at Acken’s shop at quarter to nine. All the way to the city, he’d tried to shrug off the feeling that Nick bestowing the keys to the shop on him had been a big deal. He probably didn’t wanta bother Dave again, in case he’s late. His dismissive thoughts couldn’t stop Logan feeling, as he let himself in, that he’d been granted a rite of passage.

Twenty minutes later, Logan had started feeling like Nick had given him the keys perhaps because he knew he’d be late. ’Course, he ain’t really late, I was kinda early.

Logan used up some time by dragging a rusty, battered step stool over and forcing open the ancient window; it was hardly worth the effort, as the heavy, muggy air made little difference in the stifling garage. The humidity was so high, Logan expected it to start raining any second, and he wasn’t surprised when a clap of thunder erupted a few minutes later.

While he listened to the drumbeat of rain on the roof, Logan unpacked the few parts the machine shop had made ready in a week. Suddenly the shop door banged open and Nick dashed into the garage, carrying a cardboard takeout tray containing two Styrofoam cups and a waxed paper bag. The tray—like Nick—was soaking wet. “Damn! It’s pourin’ out there.”

Logan couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I noticed.” He also noticed that Nick was wearing a black T-shirt and knee-length shorts. If the clothes had been dry, they might have been unremarkable, but as it was, they clung to every curve and plane of the body they covered. Logan’s eyes took a journey that his hands were aching to follow, sliding up and down Nick’s drenched form. As he felt the stirrings of desire, Logan hurriedly shifted his eyes to the tray, asking, “Whaddya got there?”

“Breakfast.” Nick put the cups down on the workbench, explaining, “I stopped at the Liberty Grill and picked up coffee and crullers.”

Gladly accepting the coffee, Logan said, “Crullers. What the hell’s that?”

“They’re these doughnut things; they fry ’em up fresh every morning—can’t beat ’em.” Nick took a twisted strip of fried pastry out of the bag and tore into it; he swallowed hastily and tilted the bag towards Logan, asking, “Want one?”

Mesmerized by the sight of Nick’s tongue snaking out to snatch a flake of glaze from the corner of his mouth, it took Logan a second to answer, “Sure,” as he reached inside the bag, pulling out a cruller.

Both men leaned over the workbench, chomping down the pastries and gulping the coffee in companionable silence until Nick asked, “We got a lot to do today?”

“Nah, not much at all,” Logan said, hoping Nick wouldn’t ask what the hell they were doing there, in that case. In an effort to extend this leisure time together, he asked, “How’s your mom doin’?”

Nick peered down into his cup before answering, “She’s okay.” There was a beat, and then he added, “I guess I should say, she will be okay.”

“Why? What’s goin’ on?”

“She’s in the hospital.”

Logan thumped his cup down on the bench and stared at Nick. “What? When’d that happen?”

Nick finally met Logan’s gaze as he answered, “Thursday.”

It took him a moment to connect the dots, and then Logan asked, “Is that why you rushed out of class?”

After another swallow of coffee, Nick admitted, “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

A melancholy shrug accompanied his explanation. “I don’t know. Maybe I was hopin’ if I didn’t make a big deal out of it, then it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Is it?”

“The doctor tells me no. But she looks… not good.”

“What happened to her?”

“She’s got pneumonia—had it for a couple weeks now, probably.” Nick slammed his fist down on the bench, exclaiming, “Damn it! I should’ve gotten her to the doctor then! I knew somethin’ was wrong, but she kept insisting she was fine, and so did Polly….”

“Who’s Polly?”

“She’s the aide I have in to watch my mom. She used to be a nurse, so I guess I thought she must know what she was talking about.”

“But the doctor said your mom’s gonna be okay, right?”

Nick exhaled forcefully before saying, “I know, can’t help worryin’ though.” He went back to his breakfast, seeming lost in thought as he stared down at the workbench.

Logan looked over at Nick’s hunched back, longing to put a hand out in a gesture of comfort. Should I? Why not? He could show Nick that they could touch without it meaning… anything, really.

Liar! That ain’t what you want at all. Logan couldn’t fool himself for long; he ached to touch Nick, and consolation wasn’t the reason. The sight of Nick’s muscles moving and shifting under wet cloth drew him in—an irresistible lure. Like a toddler to a hot stove, like a moth to a flame, Logan reached out, powerless to resist. When his hand finally landed, the hot skin burned him through the damp of the T-shirt, sending a streak of fire up his arm, licking across every nerve.

Suddenly he was facing Nick, fingers still stretched across that strong, masculine—no mistaking that—back; their eyes met and held. Logan was lost in that gaze, drowning in Nick, frozen in time. He would never know how they got there—who moved first, or if they moved together, it didn’t matter, nothing mattered except he was kissing Nick and Nick was kissing back.

A thrill shot up Logan’s spine as Nick groaned into the kiss, his vibrating tongue filling Logan’s mouth with the taste and texture of Nick—layered with an undertone of coffee and pastry, a new flavor as necessary as air. Just as exhilarating was the feel of Nick’s chest crushed against his denim workshirt, the feel of Nick’s gripping, searching hands. Logan shifted, fitting their bodies together until he could feel Nick’s cock prodding his own aching hardness. Logan broke the kiss to gasp for air before diving back in, his hips thrusting desperately, needing the contact, needing the friction, needing… oh God, needing… Nick.

Logan felt an orgasm starting to build when suddenly he was yanked out of the vortex of desire by a shove from Nick that rocked them apart. “No, Logan!”

Panting breathlessly, Logan asked, “What?” He was still holding on to Nick’s shirt, holding on fast as if to life itself—because it was, his authentic life, finally within reach, and he wasn’t letting go. “What the hell, Nick? You don’t wanta—” He stopped, since he hadn’t even filled in that blank for himself. Logan just knew he could go on kissing for, oh, hours, at least.

“No. I don’t want to be the thing you regret. After,” Nick clarified as he shook his head sadly, eyes shifting away, fixed on a spot over Logan’s shoulder. “Or tomorrow. Or… ever.”

“I won’t,” Logan gasped, reaching up to pull Nick’s face to his so Nick could see the truth—the one Logan felt in every cell of his body. He might regret a lot, but not Nick. In fact, this dark-haired man was one of the few things in his life right then that he didn’t regret. “I swear, I couldn’t.” Logan stared into Nick’s eyes, praying, hoping, silently chanting, Please, oh please, you gotta believe me.

He got his answer when Nick leaned in and renewed the kiss. There was no hesitation, and the passion built faster, burned hotter, more primal than before. Nick’s rough hands were biting into Logan’s ass, welding them together, and Logan was shaking with desire, wild with need, and he leaned into Nick and whispered huskily, “Where’re we gonna…. We gotta find—”

“A bed,” Nick groaned. “I know. I know.” Logan could feel Nick’s heart pounding under his hand as he continued, “There’s a little motel… on Carson.” Logan watched Nick swallow, then add, “You can follow me there.”

Breaking out of his stupor, Logan answered, “Yeah. I’ll follow.”

Sitting in the parking lot of a Motel 6, Logan remembered absolutely nothing about the five-minute trip there except Nick’s parting words. “If you decide not to show, it’s okay.” Nick had given him one last chance to back out, an option Logan had no intention of taking. He watched from the cab of his truck as Nick walked out of the motel office swinging a key, oblivious to the rain, not looking at Logan, fixed on his destination. He quickly unlocked the door and slipped into Room 9.

Nine it was; Logan put a hand to the dashboard and took a deep breath to quell his nerves. This is it—you go in that room and you’re gonna… you’ll really be… with a man… with Nick.

Ten seconds later, he was knocking softly on a weathered brown door that opened quickly. A strong arm yanked him into the room and right into Nick’s embrace. Logan felt his back hit the door and then knew nothing else except Nick, who was all over him, who was pushing against him, who was as frantic as Logan to kiss and lick and bite and thrust.

No words were spoken or needed; they seemed to be of a single mind, both pursuing the mutual goal of skin on skin. Logan hardly noticed Nick unbuttoning his damp workshirt, so occupied was he in ripping off Nick’s T-shirt and shorts. When Nick pushed Logan back onto the gaudy bedspread and pressed him into the bed with his welcome weight, when Logan felt their bare bodies lined up, felt Nick grinding and pumping against him, when their naked cocks met at last, Logan felt pleasure burning through him, intensity bringing it near pain, didn’t even know he could feel like that, didn’t think anything could feel better—until Nick reached down and gripped their dicks with his hand.

Nick started pumping slowly, then faster; Logan had to look at Nick, glad to see his eyes open, see dark fire blazing back, wanted to say—to tell him… what? He didn’t know, too lost in the overwhelming sensation. Logan knew he was close, could feel the tightening low in his groin, gonna come… so fuckin’ close… yeah, Nick, just like that, oh God….

And then he was shooting all over Nick hand’s, relief and release shooting out of him, pulling out of him all that hidden longing, all that tamped-down, blocked-up desire, free at last, and goddamn it, nothing had ever felt so good. He was thrilled to feel Nick join him seconds later, thrilled to see Nick’s face mirror his own elation. ’Cause of me, ’cause of us, what we just did, he looks like that.

Gulping air like he had broken the surface after a long time undersea, Logan stared up at Nick and felt no regret but was shocked to see Nick suddenly frowning down at him. “What? What’s wrong? Wasn’t that—”

“The best sex… ever?” Nick interrupted archly as he rolled off Logan. He propped himself on one elbow, explaining, “Yeah, but wasn’t ’xactly smart.”

“Smart?”

“Yeah, we should’ve talked some, maybe even gotten some condoms.” Logan was still processing that idea when Nick put a hand to Logan’s chest and added, “It’s okay, what we did was pretty safe, and I’m clean—you should know that. I’ve been tested.”

Oh, that. Logan gripped Nick’s hand, though he shifted his gaze to the curtained window. “Umm…. Yeah, me too. Clean, I mean.”

When Logan peered back at Nick, he saw a full-force smile aimed his way. “Good to know.” The smile faded as Nick continued, “But I’m still sorry. I should’ve—”

Logan rolled on his side, leaned into Nick and stopped him with a quick kiss. “Nah, playin’ it completely safe don’t seem right for us.”

“No?”

Grinning widely, Logan teased, “Nope, you’re the most dangerous man I know, Nick Zales.”

“Likewise, I’m sure,” Nick shot back with a yawn.

“You tired?”

“Yeah, I ain’t been sleeping much.”

Logan felt an answering yawn pulled out of him, too. “I know what you mean.”

Having at long last given his body what it craved, Logan was rewarded with loose muscles, relaxed nerves, and a quiet mind; he felt himself drifting off as Nick did the same. He took a second to acknowledge that when he awoke there would be questions, problems, maybe even awkwardness, but for now, there was only the sound of rain against the window and Nick’s warm body snug against his.

Chapter 10:

A Man’s Errors

A man’s errors are his portals of discovery.

—James Joyce

NICK’S EYES blinked open, slowly focusing on the ugliest curtains he’d ever seen. The brown, orange and pink-flowered cloth put to shame even some of the ruffled monstrosities his mom used to hang in their house in Kittanning. His mind skipped from contemplation of the curtains to his present location. Where the hell am I? A soft snore from the other side of the bed sent a wave of memories crashing through his mind. Logan! What the fuck did I just do?

Rolling gently to his other side, he was presented with the sight of Logan, sound asleep on his back. Despite the surge of shock and dismay he was fighting through, Nick took a moment to admire the masculine beauty of his bed partner, contrasting with the dowdy bedspread crumpled underneath them.

The blond-haired man, body open and face softened by sleep, looked more at peace than Nick had ever before seen. The realization made his breath catch in his throat. He reached out, unable to resist the urge to run his hand lightly over the supine body. As Logan stirred slightly beneath his touch, Nick tried to ignore the rush of tenderness in his veins, stubbornly calling it desire and jeering at himself. Whaddya want, Zales? Another quickie before he runs back to his wife? Wife! Shit—I’m an adulterer…. Great, can add that to my long list of sins.

Nick paused briefly in his mental tirade, trying to remember how it worked. Was he an adulterer? Or was it just Logan? Sunday school was too long behind him for Nick to be sure. Bet my mom would know. Great idea, I can ask her at the hospital, that will sure perk her up. “So, Mom, I slept with this married guy. Did I commit adultery or what?”

He couldn’t help smirking slightly at that imaginary scenario, though the thought of his mom left Nick wondering about the time. He slid off the bed and went in search of his watch. Collecting his clothes from random spots in the small, musty room, Nick checked the time, gathered his things into a ball under one arm, and scooted quietly into the bathroom.

When he emerged a few minutes later, dressed in his still-damp clothes, Nick saw Logan yawning wide enough to crack his jaw, his eyes fluttering open. Feeling suddenly awkward and confused, Nick murmured, “Hey, you awake?”

Logan closed his eyes again and stretched while answering, “Yeah. Umm, what time’s it?”

Trying unsuccessfully not to stare at Logan’s muscular body arching off the bed, Nick answered, “Little past one.”

A frown clouded his face as Logan muttered, “Hell, I slept like the dead.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and flicked the bedspread over his groin, saying, “Sorry ’bout that.”

“For what, fallin’ asleep? It’s okay, I been out, too. Just woke up a few minutes ago.”

Nick thought he detected a blush as Logan nodded and rose to his feet, quickly slipping on his discarded boxers. The pink was heightened as Logan hurriedly gathered the rest of his clothes before disappearing into the bathroom.

Nick was still tying the laces on his sneakers when he heard the door open; he looked up to find a fully-clothed Logan standing in the bathroom doorway, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans. “Ready to get to work?” Logan asked.

Nick assumed the question was directed at him, though Logan seemed to be asking the bedside lamp. “I’m afraid I can’t.” He watched Logan’s frown deepen, so he hastened to explain, “I gotta get to the hospital.”

“Oh yeah, your mom.” Logan seemed to relax a bit and met Nick’s gaze as he offered, “Don’t worry ’bout it. I can take care of what little bit needs doin’. You go on and see her.”

“Thanks.” Nick rubbed the back of his neck as a thousand questions jockeyed for position in his mind. The unlikely winner turned out to be, “So… how’re you feeling?”

“Good,” Logan answered in anything but a convincing tone. “You?”

“Great,” Nick laughed, finding Logan’s solicitous inquiry surprising. Ain’t me that just had sex with a man for the first time. At least he assumed it had been Logan’s first time; there was so much he didn’t know about his companion. Nick stood up, saying, “I really hate to run off on you, but… we’ll talk more next time, okay?” When Logan’s only response was a sharp intake of breath, Nick immediately amended with a sinking heart, “That is, if you want… if there’s gonna be a next time.”

If the pause that ensued wasn’t pregnant, it was at least trying to conceive. “I… yeah….” Logan swallowed before clarifying in a murmur, “I do want… um… want… that.”

“Good.” Sure about that, Zales? Ignoring his doubts, Nick suggested, “I gotta be at the hospital next couple nights…. Why don’t we just meet right here next Sunday mornin’?”

Logan chewed on a hangnail before saying, “Can’t, I’ll have my girls next weekend. Pickin’ ’em up on Friday night.”

“Oh.”

Nick felt slightly foolish and was beginning to wonder if Logan really wanted a next time when the other man blurted, “We could get together Thursday night, couldn’t we? We don’t have class no more.”

As he was about to agree, Nick smacked his forehead. “Shit, I can’t. That’s the night me and Adam’re takin’ the kids to the Pirates game.”

“Adam, huh?” asked Logan, voice filled with gravel and ice. “So you’re gonna keep on…,” he waved his hand vaguely before continuing, “with him?”

“We’re friends, Logan.” Nick pivoted on one foot and ran his hand through his hair before turning back and saying, “Besides, we’ve had this game planned for weeks. You think I should just let the kids down?”

“No, I—”

“And what about you?” Nick challenged. “Are you still getting back with your wife?”

“Yeah….” Logan’s brow furrowed as he added, “I guess.”

Arms akimbo, Nick spat, “You are?”

Logan threw up his hands, protesting, “I don’t know. Fuck, Nick, you gotta give me some time….”

“Yeah, okay. I need time, too,” Nick admitted more calmly. “I don’t know what to make of this, any more ’an you do.”

His disclosure seemed to amuse Logan. “You don’t?” He grinned as he nodded at the bed, saying, “You sure seemed to know what you were doin’.”

“I don’t think sex is our problem,” Nick retorted with a chuckle. More soberly, he added, “It’s just… everything else.”

“It sure is.” Logan drew his hand across his mouth before saying, “Like you and that Adam guy, me and Linda, Trudy….”

Nick’s head whipped up at that name. “What about her? You’re not plannin’ on tellin’—”

“Hell, no.” He studied Nick briefly before adding, “I was afraid you might….”

“Tell my boss I’m screwing one of her patients?” Nick asked in disbelief. “Um, no, not a good idea.”

Logan nodded thoughtfully, saying, “Uh huh. Guess I can see that.” His frown returned as he asked, “What about Adam?”

With a shrug, Nick answered, “I should say somethin’. He always tells me….”

“Tells you what?”

“’Bout other guys.” He saw Logan’s eyebrows shoot up, so he explained, “See, we don’t have that kind of relationship—you know, exclusive.” He came close to laughing out loud at the very idea of Adam being monogamous.

Logan was staring at his wedding ring as he twisted it idly on his finger. “That means… you both have other guys?”

Nick was almost tempted to lie and say yes—it seemed easier and… safer, somehow. Instead he found himself saying, “Adam does, but I….”

Bright blue eyes betrayed intense interest as Logan prodded, “Yeah?”

“Don’t.” With an ironic smile and a slight toss of his head, Nick amended, “Didn’t.”

“But he’s gonna expect—”

With a protesting hand raised, Nick interrupted, “He’s not gonna expect anything on Thursday except a baseball game.”

“Okay.”

Nick tried to guess what was going on behind that pensive frown and that clipped retort but failed. “Guess we can talk more—”

“When?”

“You tell me.”

After a half minute of silent concentration, Logan said, “I’m s’posed to drop the girls off at home by one o’clock next Sunday. I could be here by… say, two? Would that work for you?”

“Yeah, I could swing that.”

“Great.”

Offering an outstretched hand to seal the bargain, Nick received a nervous smile and a firm grip from Logan as a reward. At the moment of contact, there was that now--familiar electric spark, and Nick was momentarily dazed, feeling the impulse to pull Logan into a tight clinch before deciding that would be unwise. He did step a bit closer and give him a clumsy thump on the back. They stood frozen in the near-embrace for long seconds before Logan cleared his throat and said, “You better get goin’, see your mom.”

Nick took that as his cue to step back. He pulled his keys from his pocket and headed for the door before looking back to say, “See ya next weekend.”

On the way to the hospital, Nick veered wildly between thinking it would be the longest week of his life—and the shortest.

THURSDAY EVENING, Nick wrestled with all of the annoying and endless minutiae it took to get six kids to PNC Park on time for the Pirate’s seven-fifteen start. During the day he’d actually thought he would be glad for the distraction, needing something to take his mind off his mom and Logan. Those two topics had fully consumed him for four long days—when he was being completely honest, the latter even more than the former.

When the night’s aggravations actually started, Nick couldn’t quite consider them a blessing after all. Several weeks’ reprieve had obviously dulled his memory of the lowlights of these baseball outings: the bickering in the van on the way to the city, the hassle of finding parking at Station Square, shepherding everyone over Clemente bridge, and of course, refereeing the heated debate of who would sit where after they picked up their tickets at the Will Call window. “Just take the ticket I gave you, and we’ll sort it out at the seats, okay?” Nick snapped.

Suddenly a merry voice sang out, “They’re all good seats, guys. I’d never let you down.”

Nick turned and grinned at Adam, glad to see not only a friend but another adult at last.

His relief was cut short by Jesse whining, “I don’t wanta sit next to a girl.” He turned to Isabel Cabrera, a last-minute addition to the group, and sneered, “I don’t even know why you let her come. Girls don’t know nothin’ about baseball.”

Isabel shot back, “I know as much as you do—probably more!”

Nick stepped in between the pair, saying, “That’s just fine, Jesse, since I was hoping Isabel would do me the honor of sitting next to me.”

As they walked to the seats under a temporary truce, Adam muttered, “Actually, I was kinda hoping for that seat next to you.”

Sotto voce, Nick assured him, “Don’t worry, you get the other one.”

Luckily once the game started, all the kids settled down, fascinated by the surprisingly tight contest between the Pirates and their archrivals, The Philadelphia Phillies. Still, Nick was acutely aware of the audience and didn’t relate anything of a personal nature to Adam other than an update on his mom’s situation.

His young friend’s eyes darkened with compassion as he responded, “That’s rough, man. Sorry to hear that.”

Not much more besides comments on the game passed between the two men until the seventh inning. The Phillies had pulled ahead by three runs, and the disappointed crowd was somewhat subdued. Isabel disappeared in search of a ladies room while several of the boys went off on a cotton candy hunt. Nick was already bracing for the aftereffects of the inevitable sugar rush but appreciated that there were now three empty seats between him and his nearest charge.

When Adam asked, “Why’re you so quiet tonight? Think they can’t pull this out, or is it your mom?”

Nick decided to take advantage of their relative privacy. “Yes, and yes and no.”

Laughing and shaking his head, Adam said, “Care to explain? ’Cause I didn’t quite get that.”

“I don’t think they can come back from this collapse, I am worried about my mom, but there is something else on my mind.”

Adam glanced over at the kids and, seeing the remaining boys occupied by the game, asked, “Like what?”

Hesitating for only a second, Nick plunged ahead, whispering, “I met someone.”

In an equally low tone, Adam asked, “A guy you’re interested in, you mean?”

“Yeah, a guy.”

“Guess it’s about time,” Adam responded with a shrug. “I always wondered why you didn’t… you know.”

Nick licked his lips nervously before elaborating, “I’m not one for…. What I mean is, I was perfectly happy with what you and I had—”

“Had?” Adam’s eyebrows slanted upwards in consternation. “Whoa, are you trying to say we’re through? Fuck, don’t tell me you think you’re in love.”

“No!” Nick saw Ben shoot a puzzled glance their way from four seats over and lowered his voice again as he clarified, “It’s just that I might not have much time for you for a while, and I wanta be upfront about it.”

A grin broke across his face as Adam said, “Okay, gotcha.” Hearing a restrained cheer ripple through the crowd, he turned to watch McLouth take first base on a walk before continuing. “For a second there, I thought you’d lost your mind.” His smile took on a sly cast as he added, “You realize I want details, don’t you?” Adam made a “give me” gesture with his hand, demanding, “Come on, who is he, where’d you meet ’im, and most important of all, how’s the sex?”

Faking a sudden interest in the game afforded Nick a minute to consider what he was going to tell Adam. It isn’t like he’s gonna know me taking up with an abuser throws into question my supposed recovery from my childhood. Still, even Adam was savvy enough to realize that, based on everything Nick had ever said about his work, he was now, literally, sleeping with the enemy.

Nick cringed with embarrassment at the thought of revealing such a lapse in judgment, so he finally hedged by admitting only, “He’s a volunteer. At ACC.”

“Huh, never thought you’d mess around at work. He must really be somethin’. What’s he look like?”

“Muscular build, blond, almost as tall as me.”

“Sounds hot.” Adam doffed his Pirates cap and tapped Nick on the arm with it, saying, “Good for you.” His voice grew more animated as he suggested, “Hey, some guys are gettin’ together at Sully’s this Sunday to watch the Steelers game. Why don’t you two swing by?” His grin turned wolfish. “I’d love to meet your new conquest.”

Eyes on the relief pitcher warming up in the bullpen, Nick quietly demurred, “Sorry, we can’t make it.”

“Some other time, then?”

“I really don’t see us goin’ out together much.”

“Why? Is he ugly?” Adam teased.

“No.” Nick laughed in spite of himself, turning to Adam to add, “He’s actually really good-looking.”

“So the problem is…?”

Nick had a sinking feeling that Adam wasn’t going to let up on this. In desperation, he supplied, “He’s married. With kids.”

Puzzlement wrinkled Adam’s brow as he whispered incredulously, “You’re messin’ with a closeted guy from work? What the fuck?”

“Logan isn’t like that,” Nick interjected. After taking a deep breath, he explained, “He’s… he’s never ever been with a guy before.”

Adam’s mouth fell open, and his eyes grew wide. His voice still low but his tone urgent, he said, “What? He’s straight? Holy shit!”

“Well, obviously he’s not straight,” corrected Nick dryly.

“You know what I mean. I know you’re not gonna like this, dude, but that is so hot.” Nick resumed watching the game, determined to ignore Adam’s sudden fascination with Logan until Adam mused, “What do ya think? Maybe I can have a crack at this guy when you’re done?”

An unfamiliar feeling crawled into Nick’s gut, sending a flush of temper through him; it took some effort for him to clamp down on the sudden need to tell Adam to go fuck himself. What the hell is wrong with me? You’d think I was jealous or something. In an effort to prove the green monster had no hold on him, Nick joked back, “You think you’re gonna have time for anyone else but me when this thing with Logan is over? You better think again.”

“Oh promises, promises,” Adam laughed. “And I’m still waiting for those juicy details.”

Nick nodded discreetly in the direction of the kids, saying, “And you’re gonna have to keep on waiting—for a better time.” Or until hell freezes over.

“Okay,” Adam sighed. He signaled one of the vendors over, asking Nick, “Want another dog?”

“Sure. Who’s buyin’?”

“You are.” Adam turned twinkling green eyes on Nick. “It’s the least you can do after puttin’ me on a diet.”

Nick reached for his wallet, protesting, “Okay, but I know you’re not really gonna be going hungry.”

“Looks who’s talking,” Adam retorted. “The guy whose menu now reads ‘fresh hot blond’.”

As Nick bit into his hot dog, he muttered under his breath, “Yeah, with a side order of ‘heavy baggage’ and a whopper of a bill.” He didn’t say it aloud, since he had no explanation as to why he was so eager for a second helping.

FRIDAY AFTERNOON, Logan found himself standing totally perplexed in the cereal aisle at Kroger’s. He’d intended to make a quick stop on his way home from work to pick up a few things for the girls, cereal being one of them. He wanted to get his daughters’ favorite kind; he’d never really taken note of the name or the brand but figured he’d recognize the box when he saw it. Instead he found a bewildering array of choices, most looking pretty similar and none looking all that familiar. He fingered his cell phone, tempted to call Linda and ask, but that felt like an admission of failure.

How can I not even know what kind of cereal they like? Maybe Linda was right. If you added it all up, he’d spent most of the girls’ lives in his garage in Elco. And during the time in North Braddock before the separation, he’d been aware of little save his own misery. Determined not to let this first weekend be ruined by regret, Logan shelved his guilt, grabbing a box of Honeycombs—something he vaguely remembered eating as a child—and dumped it in his cart. They’re comin’ to spend time with me, not eat cereal.

As he stood in the checkout line, Logan tried to calm nerves that had been stretched tight as a bow the entire week, though the impending visit with the girls wasn’t the only cause. Wednesday’s session with Trudy had been dominated by preparations for joint counseling with Linda. The list of rules Trudy had required Logan to sign had been vaguely insulting, but the worst part was feeling like a fraud as he wrote his name. But how could he tell Trudy that he had no interest in reconciling with Linda? Was that even true? And even if it was, how could he explain himself without revealing what was going on with him and Nick?

Logan snorted to himself, thinking that first he’d have to know what was going on before he could explain it to somebody else. Thursday night Logan hadn’t even been able to listen to the baseball game knowing that Nick was there with… him. Venom pooled in his chest at the idea of Nick Zales’s… whatever the hell he is. Logan was tormented by the thought that Nick would keep seeing Adam yet terrified of the implications of Nick breaking it off. It ain’t like there’s any kinda future in this thing between me and Nick. I know that. Hope to hell he does.

Two hours later, Logan pulled up in front of his old apartment building, no closer to answering any of the questions that had plagued him all week. As he climbed the stairs, he decided to focus on his girls instead of his problems. Maybe if he’d done that before, he’d know what kind of goddamn cereal they liked. His resolution lasted up to the very weird experience of knocking on the door that used to be his own, but not much beyond it since the person opening it turned out to be Linda.

He should have been better prepared to face his wife, but for some reason Logan had assumed that his sister-in-law, Marie, would be the liaison that evening. Suddenly he realized he was standing frozen in the doorway and hadn’t even returned Linda’s greeting. He got hold of himself and choked out, “Hi, Linda.”

As he trailed her into their old living room, Logan was nagged by the feeling that something was different in Linda’s appearance, until it hit him: her formerly soft brown hair was now platinum blonde. Belatedly, he told her, “You look good.” An awkward pause followed before he added, “You changed your hair.”

Linda nodded before answering, “I thought you were gonna say somethin’ about the scars all bein’ gone.”

A memory of Linda as he’d seen her last—bruised and bandaged—assaulted him without warning, along with a wave of shame and guilt from which he’d been hiding for six months. The sensation almost made him retch, but he fought through it with no outward symptom except a hacking cough.

There was still no sign of Krista or Meghan, so it was Linda who brought him a glass of water. He thanked her before laying the blame for the incident on his pack-a-day habit. “Been thinkin’ of quittin’,” he added.

“I did.”

“Quit?”

“Yeah,” Linda answered as she settled on the couch. “They wouldn’t let me smoke in the hospital, and by the time I got out, I was pretty near to quittin’, so I figured, what the hell?”

The mention of her hospital stay brought on aftershocks of guilt, and Logan made a sudden decision. He glanced nervously towards the bedrooms and asked, “Where’re the girls?”

“They’re packin’ up. You know how they are—you’d think they were gonna be away for a month.”

Logan nodded and, before he lost his nerve, parked himself in the chair across from her. With no preamble, he said, “Last time we talked, you were sayin’ how… how I never told you direct that I was sorry for what I did. Well, you were right. But I’m sayin’ it now. I am sorry, Linda.”

Tears sprang up in her eyes, and she reached for the glass of water she’d brought for him. After a few small sips, Linda whispered, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well, guess it was long overdue.”

Linda nodded, saying, “It sure was.” She took her own peek at the hallway before continuing. “Can you tell me why, Logan? Why it took ya so long?”

Logan just shook his head. No words came to him, not any that his wife wanted to hear. The good feeling he’d enjoyed after that “thank you” had lasted all of five seconds. When Linda said, “Guess we’ll talk about that on Wednesday,” Logan felt the world closing in on him again.

It wasn’t anything Linda had said—Logan guessed she had the right to say that, and more. It was that he saw his feet being set back on that same old path, that grim death march of a life where he was always doing more than he wanted but less than he should. Where every day was a sacrifice that was never enough and couldn’t be appreciated—or even shared.

Thankfully Krista appeared right then, dragging a suitcase and beaming at her dad. Meghan was bringing up the rear, carrying her own overloaded bag and already talking about the weekend. Logan ushered them out of the apartment as quickly as was decent. When Linda reminded him to have the girls back on time on Sunday, it was all he could do not to enthusiastically retort, “Don’t worry!”

On the short drive to his apartment, Logan let the happy chatter of the girls flow over him while he contemplated his plans for Sunday afternoon. A brushfire of shame burned through him as he considered the reason he had no intention of getting his daughters back home late. What would they think? What would his daughters, or his wife—or anyone—say if they knew? Knew that Logan was counting the hours until he could be with a man? Logan understood precisely what they’d think and was well acquainted with the words they’d fling at him. He’d heard it all often enough from his father and brother.

Well, they don’t know, Logan argued back to his scolding conscience. No one does—or has to. He didn’t care that meeting Nick wouldn’t solve any of his problems, might even make some worse. For the first time in a long while, Logan Crane had done exactly what he’d wanted to do. For the first time ever, he’d tasted pure freedom and unfettered joy—and no power on earth was going to stop him from going back for more.

Chapter 11:

Things We Give

Secrets are things we give to others to keep for us.

—Elbert Hubbard

THOUGH LOGAN was watching his elder daughter, his body was attuned to the ticking of the clock behind him. He’d hoped to feed the girls their lunch quickly, since it was already after twelve, but Krista was taking longer to make a sandwich than Logan did to shop for the fixings. “Somethin’ wrong, Krista?”

“Is this all you’ve got?” She waved her hand dismissively at the paper-wrapped packages of cold cuts.

“Bologna and chip-chopped ham, yeah. What’s the problem?”

Krista’s mouth twitched before replying, “They’re both so fattening, Dad. You know I only eat turkey breast.”

As a matter of fact, Logan didn’t know that but figured it best not to admit it. Was this something recent? He could have sworn she used to love chip-chopped ham….

In the meantime, Meghan munched potato chips and toyed with her meal. Pulling a slice of bologna out from between the pieces of bread, she surveyed it, saying, “Maybe we should’ve gone out for lunch.”

Logan shook his head at both girls, sighing, “We went out for lunch and dinner yesterday.” He plunked his own sandwich on a paper plate and parked himself at the small table across from Meghan. “I gotta get you girls home in less ’an a hour, and you ain’t even packed up yet. If you don’t want a sandwich, Krista, there’s canned soup in the cupboard.”

“Soup?” Krista exclaimed, her tone more appropriate to a suggestion of fresh blood than Campbell’s tomato soup. “It’s too hot for that.”

To Logan’s thinking, both girls had seemed frequently peevish and whiny over the weekend, so he had trouble dredging up much sympathy for Krista’s dilemma. “Then if you don’t wanna go hungry, I guess you’ll have to settle for ham or bologna.”

With nothing more than an exaggerated sigh and a roll of her eyes, Krista complied with her dad’s directive, though she only deigned to fix a half-sandwich.

Twenty minutes later, on the drive to the Palisade Manor apartment, Meghan’s cat was on her mind—as it had been for much of the visit. “Boots is sure gonna be happy to see me. Poor little guy, I hope he wasn’t too lonely.” She turned to her dad, speculating, “Maybe we can bring him with us next time. Whaddya think?”

His eyes still on the road, Logan countered, “My landlady doesn’t allow pets, honey. I’m sure your cat was just fine with your mom.”

“Nuh-uh! He sleeps with me, Dad, and Mom doesn’t let him up in her bed.”

Logan was tempted to ask Meghan if her damn cat was more important than spending time with her dad, but he refrained from posing the question since, in the first place, he wasn’t sure he’d win that contest, and in the second place, his mind was mostly fixed on his upcoming rendezvous with Nick.

Actually his mind had been on Nick for most of the morning, but now his body was getting into the act. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his pulse sped up whenever he thought of how soon he’d be seeing the man in the flesh. Literally.

When they pulled up in front of the apartment building, Logan considered just dropping the girls off at the door, since his chance of making it to the motel in Pittsburgh by two p.m. was growing slimmer; moreover, he had no desire for another encounter with Linda. It was a short struggle with his conscience. No way was he going to let his little girls drag their suitcases up the stairs unassisted.

The reward for his sacrifice was a stilted exchange with Linda and a five-minute introduction to Boots that included Meghan talking for the cat in a high-pitched, singsong voice and insisting “Dad” give his kitten son a peck on the head.

After a hurried conference about next week’s visitation, Logan made good his escape. He clattered down the staircase, musing that he had a much more satisfactory kissing partner in the offing. He squealed into the parking lot of the Motel Six on two wheels at five minutes after two, half-relieved, half-concerned that there was no sign of Nick’s black Jeep. He shed his disappointment with the thought that Nick was often a little late and there was no real need for worry. Nick wasn’t the kind of guy to stand somebody up.

Besides, the delay afforded Logan a chance to pay for the room this time—he didn’t want Nick paying every time they got together. Back when Logan was meeting up with Linda, he’d always paid for the motel, and he didn’t need Nick treating him like some goddamn girl. As he sat in the truck waiting, jiggling the room key and thinking over that last encounter while stewing about the upcoming one, Logan started to get annoyed that Nick hadn’t given him the chance to split the cost of the room the previous Sunday. Maybe he’s already treatin’ me like a fuckin’ woman… and he don’t even know yet that I… that maybe I…. Logan felt all the spit dry up in his mouth, and he swallowed several times before he could moisten his tongue enough to breath easily.

The previous night, Logan had lain awake long after he’d heard the girls drift off to sleep on his sofa bed. The cause for his insomnia wasn’t the hard floorboards underneath him but rather his restless mind. He couldn’t help wondering what they were going to do this time. Would it be like last time? Or would they do more? If so, how was it that two men decided which way it would go? Did Nick have any idea what Logan wanted? And the biggest question of all: did Logan even want Nick to know?

Now, so close to time zero, those same questions pressed on Logan more insistently. Staring at the floorboard, trying to get his wayward nerves and frenzied emotions under control, Logan was startled by a rap on the passenger window. All of his anxiety, all of his worry and frustrations, were blown away when he caught sight of a smiling Nick Zales.

Logan felt himself smiling back—an instantaneous, involuntary reaction; a smile that required more than just his lips and teeth. It called his heart and mind up for duty, too. Before he could shut it down, an acknowledgment flitted through his mind: heretofore, that particular smile had been reserved for his daughters alone.

NICK’S EFFORT to get to the hospital as soon as visiting hours allowed so he could spend a few hours with his mom before racing to the motel was well rewarded when he saw Logan’s slow-burning smile spark into full flame.

Neither man was smiling when they slipped unobtrusively into the room—number six, this time—a minute later. Nick was surprised by how much anxiety was mixed with his arousal; his tension wasn’t alleviated by noting that Logan looked distinctly pale. Shit, what the hell is wrong with us?

When he saw Logan turn to the nightstand and drop his watch onto it, Nick decided to simply follow his instincts. For seven long days, he’d been aching to touch this man, so he quickly advanced on Logan and slipped his arms around that slim, masculine waist. With his head on Logan’s shoulder, Nick whispered, “I missed you.”

Logan’s gruff reply, “It’s only been a week,” was belied by the way he sagged back against Nick and pulled Nick’s arms tighter to his body.

Nick lifted his lips from the path they were making across Logan’s neck long enough to murmur, “Sure seemed longer.”

While his tongue laved a madly pulsing artery, Nick heard Logan gasp, “Yeah, you’re right.”

Since his mouth was still lingering over the taste of salty skin, Nick made no answer. His hands were busy unbuttoning Logan’s shirt. Logan groaned as he turned and thrust his tongue into Nick’s mouth. The kiss became complicated by their effort to continue disrobing without breaking contact.

Nick’s fevered mind finally admitted the futility of that endeavor, and he pushed back slightly so he could pull Logan’s jeans down. His eyes were immediately drawn to the bulge in the faded boxers. Nick cupped his hand around Logan’s swelling cock, enjoying the heat and hardness and the way it jumped at his touch. His trance was broken when Logan grabbed his hands and pulled them up to facilitate the removal of Nick’s T-shirt as he rumbled, “You’re wearin’ too much.”

Seconds later, both were naked, and their bodies collided with a force that knocked the breath from Nick’s lungs, nearly knocked the sense from him, too. The thrill from a full-contact kiss was just as strong as before—far better than the memory he’d played over and over to get him through the week. Blazing lust shot through him, leaving him dizzy with the need to push Logan down on the bed, climb on him, and rut like a wild ram.

Fortunately, the presence of mind it took to consider the logistics of his impulse put Nick’s brain back in the driver’s seat long enough to kill that plan entirely. Instead, he took a deep breath and stepped back. Logan gulped air like a drowning man and shot him a quizzical look.

Nick grabbed his discarded shorts and retrieved a small box of condoms and some lube from the pockets. When he noticed Logan watching, Nick smiled and winked at him. His attempt at reassurance seemed unsuccessful. He tossed the stuff on the bedside table and flicked the bedspread down, but Logan was frozen in place, eyes wide. Nick slid onto the bed and patted the space next to him, saying, “Come on, let’s get comfortable.”

Logan did stretch out next to him but looked anything but comfortable. After giving him a second, it became clear Logan wasn’t going to break his silence, so Nick said, “I thought we should talk ’bout what… what you’d like… to do.” Logan’s body stiffened beside him, and his dick was now at half-mast. Nick pulled him closer, running a lazy hand across the still-heated chest. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “We ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t want. I just need to know… you know, what it is you do want.”

Logan’s brow crinkled as though in puzzlement or deep concentration; he reached out to brush his fingers through Nick hair, gaze fixed on the motion. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, finally dropping his eyes to Nick’s face to ask, “What do you like to do?”

“Everything,” Nick laughed. When that answer didn’t relax Logan, Nick clarified, “I like what we did last week. I love blow jobs—giving and getting—and I like to fuck, like that a whole lot, and also gettin’ fucked. Any of that sound appealing?”

Rather than helping, Nick’s list seemed to have put Logan further on edge; he was staring at the sheets, and Nick was concerned that Logan’s jaw might crack from the strain of his tightly clenched teeth. He reached over and caressed Logan’s chin, pulling it up slightly so Nick could see into those liquid blue eyes. The desperate yearning he found there just about broke his heart. “What’s wrong?”

A shuddering sigh broke through Logan’s defenses, and he whispered, “So… you’ve let guys do that, huh? To you.”

“What?” Nick queried, though he was beginning to see a streak of daylight in the dark mystery that was Logan Crane. “Fuck me? Sure,” he shrugged. “I like it, so why not?”

Logan bit his lip until it looked close to bleeding before answering with a frown, “You know what they say….” He nodded glumly at Nick before continuing. “About takin’ it up the ass.”

With a toss of his head, Nick retorted, “Sure, I know what they say about takin’ it up the ass; they use it like some terrible insult. Just like ‘cocksucker’. Well, I do take it up the ass, and I am a cocksucker, Logan, and I like it that way. And I ain’t gonna let some empty-headed bigots ruin it for me.” Nick leaned in and gave Logan a quick kiss before running his tongue across his stubbled jaw. Defiant amusement punctuated his whispered assertion. “I never knew a guy who threw that word around who for sure didn’t want his own dick sucked. Maybe that’s their problem.”

Nick got to his knees and straddled Logan, licking and suck-kissing his way down his sweat-covered neck onto the lightly furred chest. Directing a saucy smile up over the hills of muscled flesh, Nick teased, “See if you find anything insulting about this.” By the time he’d worked his way down to the groin, it was clear that Logan’s cock had no issue with Nick’s intent.

When he finally took Logan into his mouth, Nick nearly swooned with relief. It felt like he’d been dying to do this for ages. Starting his assault, greedily sucking and slurping, Nick considered the difficulties involved in giving a guy a blow job for the first time—no knowing for sure what he liked, how much pressure, how much attention to the balls, a little teeth action okay or unwelcome…. So why did Nick feel absolutely confident, feel like he knew exactly what Logan wanted? And why, based on the reaction, was he right?

By the time Logan jackknifed off the bed and erupted into his mouth, Nick no longer cared. This wild trip was too good to miss; he was just going to hang on and enjoy the ride. He swallowed down the bitter, salty essence of the man beneath him, already hungry for more—not more seed, but more of Logan. More, especially, of this Logan grinning down at him, eyes glazed with sated lust. Nick pulled himself up to the head of the bed so he could kiss this apparently happy man, almost forgetting his own stiff, leaking cock until he felt it engulfed in a heated clasp and heard Logan growl, “Your turn.”

“Damn straight.”

Nick’s intention to crack wise about his own ironic answer was stopped cold by Logan’s husky murmur. “So, what do you want?”

Running his tongue around Logan’s ear and chewing on the lobe gave Nick a second to think. Deciding his request would probably do as much for Logan as himself, he finally whispered, “I’d like to be inside you, Logan. What do you think about that?”

Logan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, once, twice, before answering, “I think….” He flicked a heated glance at Nick from beneath his lashes. “I think we should do that.”

Trying to ignore his own impatient, rising need, Nick slowly readied Logan to be entered, all the while searching his eyes for reluctance or distress, finding nothing except determination that quickly yielded to pleasure and wonder. Before rolling on the condom, Nick said, “The first time it’s better, easier… from behind.” Breathing heavily and growing ever more erect, Logan wordlessly complied.

As quickly as he dared, Nick moved into position and slid home—a private phrase he’d always used to describe that mind-numbing sensation of being suddenly engulfed in heat and pressure. “Sliding home”—previously, he’d always associated the term with baseball, with a goal achieved, but for the first time ever, Nick joined his body with another man and felt that “home” was a place he’d found, one he’d been missing his entire life, one he’d been looking for, aching for, without ever acknowledging the quest.

Though he had intended to draw out this first bout of lovemaking as much as possible, once engaged, Nick’s body took over. He’d been craving this connection too long to go slow, to be gentle, to savor. As soon as he heard Logan’s hoarse shout and felt him flowing over his hand, Nick let loose, giving in to an orgasm that pulled him under a crashing wave of ecstasy. He collapsed onto Logan, pushing them flat onto the mattress, sweat welding their skin together.

When Nick regained his senses, he quickly took care of the condom and spooned around Logan’s heavy, warm, slack form. Taking a second to enjoy the tranquil pleasure of the moment, he ran a hand down Logan’s arm, asking, “How do you feel?”

A contented murmur of “Good,” came from Logan’s side of the bed.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Nick teased, “Just good?”

Logan rolled to face Nick, giving him a mock shove as he rejoined playfully, “Fishing for compliments, Zales? You know it was great… right?”

“Well, I know it was for me,” Nick shot back, grabbing Logan’s hand from his shoulder and holding on tight.

“Me, too,” Logan confirmed. “Can’t remember the last time….”

“Yeah?”

Logan shook his head, directing his attention to their clasped hands. After a few deep breaths, he continued, “I can’t remember ’cause… it was never like that before—not for me.”

Rather than admitting that on a certain level, he felt the same way, Nick asked, “Why? Why’d you wait so long? Just because of what happened to your friend?”

Pulling his hand free, Logan levered himself into a sitting position. “Just because? Jesus, Nick! Do you know what it was like? Seein’ that and knowin’ my own brother—”

“Your brother?” Nick sprang up to face Logan, exclaiming, “Your brother was the one who did that?”

“Yeah,” Logan admitted, running a hand across his forehead. “I knew it as soon as I seen Jerry on the floor.” He turned sorrow-filled eyes on Nick as he explained, “They was in the same grade, so Jim knew when Jerry had his short days and headed to the shop. ’Sides, Jim had a key to our dad’s garage, same as me.” Seeming lost in a far-off memory, Logan’s gaze drifted to the window as he snorted, “Knew right away it was Jim. Sure as hell it was him and that rotten friend of his, George Syches.”

Nick took a deep breath, reigning in dozens of accusations, and managing to calmly ask, “Did ya ever think of confronting him?”

Logan’s head snapped back to Nick, and his eyes blazed cobalt fire. “Of course I did. As soon as I got back from the hospital, I cornered my brother and told him if he didn’t turn himself in, I was gonna do it for him.”

“But—you didn’t,” Nick said.

“Nope. Because of Daisy, my sister.” The passion gone from his voice, Logan explained woodenly, “She said if I turned my own flesh and blood in to the cops, she’d disown me for good.”

“What about your parents—”

“They were both dead by then, killed in a car accident the year before. Daisy was raising both me and Jim all by herself.”

Raw pain bled from Logan’s broken voice, inciting Nick to reach out and pull him into a protective embrace. “Those bastards,” he fumed. “How could they do that to you?”

Logan seemed to accept the comfort for a minute before he whispered into Nick’s chest, “Maybe they did it… ’cause they knew.”

“Knew what?”

The answer was barely audible. “I’ve always thought that maybe Jim had guessed… that I liked… him.”

“Jerry?” When Logan nodded, Nick pondered for a second before confirming, “You mean you were attracted to him?”

Logan pulled back, silently considering the question before saying, “I think so. I didn’t know it for what it was at the time, but lookin’ back… I think maybe… maybe I was.”

“So fucking what,” Nick raged. “I bet your brother didn’t even know. How could he if you weren’t even aware of it?” When Logan only shrugged in reply, Nick said, “And even if he had some inkling, you think that makes it your fault, not his?”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t Jim’s fault, just that if Jerry hadn’t gotten mixed up with me… none of that would’ve happened to him.”

“Logan, put the blame where it belongs, on your brother and his friend. And yeah, to some extent, your sister.” Nick whispered, “Come ’ere,” and pulled him down until they were once again spooned on the bed.

Nick let the skin-to-skin contact soothe them both, thinking they were done with the subject, until Logan quietly said, “I never told anyone else any of that before.”

“Not even Linda?”

“No.”

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was their synchronized breathing; Nick spent the time contemplating whether or not Logan’s revelation required a response from him. When he heard a soft snore, he knew they really were done talking—for the time being. His mind occupied with thoughts of fate, guilt, and confessions, Nick stayed awake while Logan napped.

FULLY DRESSED and freshly showered, Nick stood over the bed and jostled it deliberately. Logan cracked open first one eye and then the other before saying, “You want somethin’, Nick?”

“Yeah, I wanta know if you’re gettin’ up.”

Logan rolled over and stretched, saying, “I doubt it. Not after comin’ twice not more ’an…” he grabbed his watch and finished, “a hour ago.” While Nick enjoyed a laugh, Logan asked, “What’s your hurry? You got somewhere else you gotta be?”

“Well, if I’m not mistaken, I saw some of the T-bird’s parts in the back of your truck, and I figured we got some work to do. Seein’ as it’s almost four, I think we’d better get to the garage. Soon.”

“Shit,” Logan exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “I almost forgot about that. Just give me a sec.”

“You always like this after sex?”

As he disappeared into the bathroom, Logan tossed over his shoulder, “No. I ain’t.”

Rather than ponder that statement for long, Nick yelled through the closed door, “You hungry?”

Logan popped his head out of the bathroom, a towel around his neck. “Now that you mention it, I could eat a horse.”

“There’s a pretty good takeout place down the street. I could pick us up some burgers and meet you at Acken’s. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

Nick headed for the door, asking, “Want beer or pop?”

A frown appeared on Logan’s face. He leaned against the doorframe and started sternly, “No beer—” He seemed to catch himself and amended, “No beer for me when I’m workin’. Pop is fine.”

Nick reflected briefly before answering evenly, “Yeah, I can see that. Pop for me, too.” He moved to leave but stopped with his hand on the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, Nick resolved to follow through on a decision he’d made while Logan slept. Turning back to the room’s interior, he looked at Logan and said, “Listen, thanks for tellin’ me that, about your brother. Couldn’t’ve been easy.”

Logan nodded and tugged on the towel around his neck before mumbling, “Thanks for listening.” He gave Nick a crooked smile. “And for not bein’… put off by my crazy family.”

“No problem.” Positive he’d heard some uncertainty in that last statement, Nick rolled his eyes, adding, “Besides, I got the market cornered there.” He slipped out of the door after promising, “See ya in a bit.”

Double Days Famous Hamburgers was surprisingly packed for a Sunday afternoon, and it took Nick twenty-five minutes to make it to the head of the line. Consequently, Logan handily beat him to the shop and was already unloading parts when Nick got to Arlington Avenue. He swung the loaded bag of food over his arm and helped Logan get the parts up to the shop.

Nick tossed a burger to Logan, asking, “So what’re we gonna do today?”

“We gotta get the crankshaft, rods, and pistons ready for final assembly.”

Nick saw that Logan had some parts laid out on the newspaper-covered workbench. “Got quite a bit done last week, huh?”

Logan shrugged the praise off and opened his burger, protesting, “I just cleaned the crankshaft and pistons real good and left ’em to dry. There’s a lot more to do this week. We gotta get off all the burrs and scratches from the connectin’ rods and pistons.”

“Okay.” After swallowing a huge bite of his burger, Nick asked, “We use the sandpaper for that?”

Logan took a swig of his coke before answering. “That or a deburring knife.” After setting the bottle down, he displayed the tool in question. “Then we gotta go over ever’thin’ with the Scotch Brite.”

They fell into an easy rhythm with Logan performing the initial work on each part before turning the final polishing over to Nick. He was squinting down the length of one piston, checking for scratches, when Logan said, “Forgot to ask before, how’s your mom?”

Nick winced at the subject, admitting, “Not great. She’s got a feeding tube in now.”

“Shit.” Nick heard a soft thud that must have been Logan putting a part on the bench. He looked over to find Logan staring at him with concern. “When’d that happen?”

Showing far less distress than he felt, Nick answered, “Friday. It’s not as bad as it sounds. The doctor says it’s only temporary, so she doesn’t lose more weight. But… it’s still rough seein’ her like that.” Before Logan could ask any more questions, Nick changed the subject by asking, “How was the weekend with your girls?”

“It was… good.”

Sure that the truth of the matter was contained in that pause, Nick prodded, “But…?”

Logan picked the piston up again and went back to sanding, explaining, “They were kinda… let’s just say they were a little harder to deal with than before.”

“Weekend visitation with you is a change; they could just be adjusting to that.” Nick almost left the subject in that comfortable place, but feeling an impulse to give Logan the whole truth, he added, “Or it could be that some of their anger is finally coming out.”

Braced for an outburst, Nick was surprised when Logan just nodded sadly and said, “Yeah. Trudy warned me about that.”

“Good.”

His voice took on an edge as Logan retorted, “Sure, she found time to do that after makin’ me sign that goddamn no violence contract.”

“That’s pretty standard with her for joint counseling.”

“Why? Like I’m gonna haul off an’ hit Linda right in her office?” Logan objected. He held out a piston to Nick while adding, “It’s stupid—and insulting.”

Instinctively, Nick snapped to his boss’s defense, grabbing the part while insisting, “Trudy knows what she’s doin’, Logan.”

“Yeah, then why’s she tryin’ so hard to get me and Linda back—” Logan bit down on the rest of his objection.

He needn’t have bothered, since Nick heard the rest anyway. Unintentionally using his counselor voice, Nick asked, “You don’t want to get back with Linda, do you?”

Nick had to strain to catch Logan’s soft reply. “No.”

“Then don’t. Tell the truth.”

Logan started on a connecting rod with unnecessary vigor while snarling, “I thought you didn’t wanta let Trudy know about us.”

“Fuck!” Nick put the piston down on the workbench and threw up his hands. “I didn’t realize a homosexual affair was the only grounds for divorce in the state of Pennsylvania. Just tell ’em both the marriage wasn’t workin’ for you and you want out. Which is the truth.”

“You think it’s that easy, huh?” Logan hurled a spent piece of sandpaper at the trash can while insisting, “You don’t understand. What would I tell my girls? You think it would be easy tellin’ ’em I won’t be comin’ home—ever?”

Taking a minute to absorb that objection, Nick finally offered, “Easier than explainin’ why you broke your promise.”

Hand suspended halfway to the pack of sandpaper, Logan whirled to face Nick. “What promise?”

“The one where you said you’d do your best to make sure you never hurt Linda again. Remember that?” The only answer Nick got was Logan taking up a fresh piece of sandpaper and going back to work. He stepped over and touched Logan on the arm, saying, “Just think about it, okay?”

Logan didn’t look up from the rod but sighed, “It’s harder than you can imagine.”

Nodding at Logan’s bent head, Nick admitted, “I guess it is.”

By silent accord, they let all serious discussion lapse and talked about nothing but the car and the Steelers’ prospects for a repeat championship while they worked. Ninety minutes later, they stood at the shop door together, looking over their handiwork with tired but pleased expressions. Nick asked Logan, “They gonna have the rest of the parts ready by next week?”

“They should.” Logan shuffled his feet nervously and reseated his baseball cap before saying, “So… we ain’t gonna get together again…’til then?” He squinted over at Nick, clarifying. “Next Sunday, I mean.”

Nick felt a smile splitting his face in half. “We don’t have to wait. You busy Tuesday night?”

“Nope.” Logan smiled back just as wide, adding, “Your turn to get the room.”

Nick nodded and ran a hand over his mouth. Suddenly he said, “Hey, why don’t you come to my place instead?” The look on Logan’s face told Nick his offer had surprised both of them.

Recovering quickly, Logan agreed, “Sure. Uh, where is it?”

“Observatory Hill.” Nick found a piece of paper on Dave’s desk and scrawled out directions before he could change his mind. He tucked the paper into Logan’s shirt pocket after collecting a dazzling, two-minute-long, breath-stealing kiss as a reward.

On the drive home, he had to contend with a voice in his head asking what the hell he was up to. His answer, “Big deal, I’m havin’ a friend over to my house—high time,” didn’t fool Nick or quiet the voice.

Chapter 12:

Always Something More to Say

The truth is always a compound of two half-truths, and you never reach it, because there is always something more to say.

—Tom Stoppard

THOUGH IT was still early on Monday morning, Nick muttered his tenth salty oath of the day, cursing Microsoft, Bill Gates, and computers in general. He was frantically trying to finish his budget report, and Excel was definitely not cooperating. The quarterly budgets had actually been due the previous week, but Nick hadn’t gotten around to preparing his. He rationalized his tardiness with the thought that technically it was still September, so he wasn’t really late. He was rooting around in the top drawer of his desk, looking for some receipts, when the phone rang. Nick didn’t bother to look up, just grabbed the receiver and put it to his ear. His greeting, a curt “Nick Zales,” put his irritation on full display, not that he cared at the moment.

“Well, good morning to you, too.” Trudy Gerard’s voice was split between amusement and admonishment.

“Sorry, Trudy. What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me why your butt isn’t in my office as of ten minutes ago.”

Nick’s eyes snapped to the clock display in the corner of his computer screen. Fuck! How did it get so late? Though he’d gotten in two hours early, Nick’s plan to get his budget done before his meeting with Trudy was now in shambles. “Sorry, I lost track of the time; I’ll be there in a minute.” In an effort to stop his morning from getting any worse, Nick diligently saved his spreadsheet before leaving his office. Whatever paltry progress he’d made on his budget report, it was better than starting from scratch.

On the way to Trudy’s office, Nick grabbed a fresh cup of coffee, sure he’d need the caffeine jolt to get through the meeting. He found out how right he was ten minutes later. After a brief chat about his mom’s situation, Trudy started grilling Nick about his late budget report. “Janice says your department expense accruals aren’t in yet. What’s the problem there?”

Since he was feeling that he’d already worn out the word “sorry” that morning, Nick explained, “I’m afraid I didn’t make it a priority last week, but I’ve been working on it all morning and I’ll turn it in before I go home today.” Immediately, Nick started wondering how he was going to keep that promise, since he had a full day of sessions and a four p.m. meeting with his mom’s doctor.

Trudy peered sternly over her reading glasses as she reproved, “It’s not like you to be late, Nick; Janice said she sent you two reminders. She does need a full week to get the site report together.”

“I know,” Nick acknowledged tiredly. He sipped his bitter black coffee, silently hoping Trudy was done with her lecture. Fortunately his boss did turn her attention to his clients, and things went smoothly for a while. Nick was able to relate two pieces of good news about Cheryl. “She and the kids will be moving to Steubenville to live with her great aunt in a couple of weeks. And I’ve found a continuing education grant for her. It’s aimed at disadvantaged, adult students. I think she’s a shoo-in. And Cheryl is all over it—she has most of her paperwork done. I think she could start taking classes in the winter.”

“That’s great,” Trudy enthused, her warm smile appearing briefly. “How much tuition will the grant cover?”

Nick consulted Cheryl’s file before answering. “It should cover about two courses per semester. That’s really as much as she should take on with working full time anyway.”

“And what about her sessions with you?”

“We’re going to cut back to twice a month.”

Some sardonic observation was coming—Trudy’s quirked eyebrow convinced Nick of that. He was not disappointed. “Good. That should give you more time to spend with Sheila Palmer.”

A resigned sigh escaped from Nick before he said, “You heard.”

“I usually hear when a client runs out of here crying. What happened?”

“Sheila was all excited that her husband voluntarily entered anger-management therapy. I had to explain that he doesn’t have an anger problem, he has an abuse problem.” Aggravation sharpened each word as he continued. “I also had to tell her that if she went back to him, the abusive behavior would undoubtedly return within a month.”

Trudy studied Nick intently before suggesting calmly, “That wasn’t very diplomatic.”

“She doesn’t need diplomacy, Trudy. She was already talking about giving Dean another chance. She needs the truth,” Nick snapped.

“Maybe she needs both.” Nick was struggling to control his temper when Trudy observed, “You can usually manage both.”

“What the hel—” Nick caught his rising anger and amended more quietly, “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’re under a lot of stress right now, and I’m worried about you. Knowing you—and I do—that bleak report you gave me on your mom isn’t even the worst of it.” Nick wasn’t about to congratulate Trudy on her powers of perception, so he stubbornly remained silent. His boss leaned forward and fixed her shrewd eyes on him; Nick had a moment to appreciate the true concern he saw there before Trudy asked, “Are you sure you don’t need a leave of absence?”

“Jesus, Trudy!” Nick huffed. “One late budget and an over-emotional client, and all of a sudden I’m not fit to do my job?”

Trudy shook her head sadly, but her voice was crisp as she retorted, “I didn’t say you weren’t fit, and you know it. I said you’re obviously stressed, and you look worn out. I’m offering you the option of some FMLA time until your mom is out of the woods, so dial down the outrage.”

With more confidence than he actually felt, Nick answered firmly, “Things are a little rough right now, I admit it, but I don’t need FMLA. I can deal with the stress.” The thought of the stress relief he had planned for Tuesday night enabled Nick to give Trudy a sincere smile. “But thanks, I appreciate the concern.”

Apparently his firm assurance and convincing smile mollified Trudy enough that she dropped the subject of a leave of absence. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“How about we cut this meeting short so I can work on my overdue budget?” Nick asked.

Trudy pushed her chair back and waved her hand at the open door. “Done.”

Breaking into surprised laughter, Nick joked, “Whoa, who are you and what have you done with Trudy Gerard?”

“Careful, smartass. I could just as easily extend this meeting for another two hours.”

His hands held in mock surrender, Nick said, “I take it back. Every word.”

“Okay, then. Get out of here.”

Nick leapt to his feet and hurried back to his office, determined to finish his budget report. He did turn it in by the end of the day, but only by delaying Marta Cabrera’s counseling session until Tuesday, though the only slot he had for her was at the end of his day. As he climbed into his Jeep, Nick sighed, thinking longingly of his date with Logan the next night. He would still have plenty of time if all went well, but since not much in his life was trending that way lately, he decided to warn Logan he might be late. Nick headed for Allegheny Suburban Hospital, hoping for some good news for a change.

AS SOON as Logan turned off Route 19 onto Matson Boulevard, he relaxed slightly. The calming factor wasn’t just that he had nearly arrived at his destination; it was that the neighborhood was so obviously a working class one. The houses were mainly modest, two-story structures with older cars lining the streets, and kids could be seen—and heard—playing on many of the small front lawns. Logan didn’t know much about the city of Pittsburgh, but Nick had referred to this area as Observatory Hill, and to his ears that sounded like some fancy kind of neighborhood. He was glad to find nothing could have been further from the truth.

When Logan parked behind Nick’s Jeep in front of 54 Matson Boulevard, he saw that the place was a small brick house with a slight incline of steps running beside the driveway. The steps led up to a front porch that stretched across the front of the house. Seeing the Jeep had been another relief. Nick was evidently already home, even though Logan was a few minutes earlier than the appointed hour. Nick had left a message on his cell phone that morning saying he had a late counseling session but should be home by seven, traffic permitting.

As Logan trotted up the steps, he wondered why Nick didn’t park in his driveway, but upon noticing a well-worn basketball hoop attached to the porch railing, he considered that as one possible answer. Before he got to the front door, he was greeted by the smell of burning charcoal; Logan had thought it was a neighbor’s grill until he stepped onto the porch and saw a cast-iron hibachi smoldering in the corner. Nick evidently had immediate plans for dinner, which delighted Logan’s stomach but sorely disappointed another part of his anatomy.

That part of him had grown more impatient for this meeting with each passing hour, so much so that towards the end of the day, Logan had feared a coworker might notice the distinctive bulge that made him grateful for his loose-fitting work jeans. During his after-work shower, he’d soaped his crotch well, idly considering taking the edge off his impatience before deciding against it. He’d also taken care to clean the rear quarter well; unlike his Sunday morning shower, this time Logan didn’t have to pretend there was no particular reason for the attention, though he still preferred not to examine his craving too closely.

In that motel room with Nick, nothing had seemed wrong. In fact, everything they’d done had seemed exactly right to Logan, in a way nothing he’d ever done with a woman had. He fit with Nick—in every sense of the word—like the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle falling into place. The only interaction before in his life that had ever felt that natural had involved a wrench and a gasoline engine.

Unfortunately, the further away he was from Nick—in both time and space—the more insubstantial that comfort became. As he shaved Monday morning, though the welcome soreness in his ass was subsiding, Logan had stared at his reflection in the mirror, wondering if there was some visible sign of his weekend activity. Was he now marked in any noticeable way? Would other men now sniff him out like wolves did a weak member of the pack?

However, at work, none of the guys seemed cognizant of any change—great or small—in Logan Crane. The only verbal observation had come that afternoon from Jeanie, one of the more flirtatious checkout girls at the garden center. She had coyly asked if “that smile” was for her, and Logan had adroitly brushed her off with the answer that his smile had been for quitting time and nothing more.

Of course none of that mattered to him now; now that he was on the verge of seeing Nick, nothing, no unresolved questions or qualms nor his fluttering nerves, stayed his eager hand from pressing firmly on the doorbell. When Nick opened the door and let him in, Logan was as lost in a haze of dark eyes and white smile as he’d been upon first meeting the man—but this time he didn’t need to hide from the reason. Even better, this time he got to kiss him, and Logan immediately pressed forward, every part of him engaged: thrusting tongue, grasping hands, and aching cock, a kiss without surcease until his lungs protested and the need for air finally beat back his need for Nick.

When his power of speech returned, Logan grinned back at a smiling Nick, gasping out, “Nice place you got here.”

An equally winded Nick answered, “Thanks. It’s kinda small and needs some work, but I like it.” He paused uncertainly before offering, “You wanna tour?”

A devil who rarely saw the light of day popped out in Logan, and he responded archly, “Sure. Let’s start with the bedroom.”

Laughter bubbled out of Nick and bounced off the walls of the narrow entryway. “I can’t believe I’m turnin’ that offer down, but I thought we’d have dinner first.” A sly grin broke across his face as he added, “’Course, I could just leave the burgers in the fridge.”

There was a renewal of hostilities between Logan’s gut and his dick, but the winner turned out to be the part of Logan touched by the thought of Nick bothering to cook for him—his heart. Though as he trailed Nick down the hall to the kitchen, there was no conscious acknowledgment of the victor on Logan’s part.

He watched Nick retrieve a plate containing four hamburger patties from the ancient fridge, and Logan took a second to glance around at his surroundings. The furniture, worn and slightly dowdy, matched the refrigerator, all of it a far cry from the sleek bachelor pad Logan had been picturing. Belatedly, Logan remembered that Nick wasn’t really living the bachelor life. “How’s your mom doing?” he asked while gladly accepting Nick’s silent offer of a cold IC Light.

Nick took a long pull of his own beer before saying, “Not great. But I met with the infectious disease specialist last night, and he put her on a more aggressive antibiotic regimen. He says he’s had some success with it in the past on advanced cases.”

“That’s good,” Logan answered, though there really didn’t seem to be much good in that report, but he wasn’t about to add his own dose of gloom. He followed Nick out to the porch and watched him flip the burgers onto the miniature grill before asking, “Did they ever figure out what brought on all this trouble for your mom?”

Nick shrugged sadly before tilting his head up at Logan and saying, “Nah. The one doctor was telling me it happens to a lot of Alzheimer’s patients—supposedly they forget how to swallow properly or something….” He rolled his eyes at Logan, adding, “I’ve told him three times now that my mom doesn’t have Alzheimer’s.”

Puzzled, Logan stammered, “But, uh, I thought you said your mom was… um, demented?”

The porch light was dim, but Logan could still see a crease that spoke of pain appear on Nick’s forehead as he explained, “She is, but it’s not from Alzheimer’s—it’s from brain damage.”

“Sorry. How awful—for both of you.”

Logan took a long swallow of beer, debating whether or not to ask how she’d been injured when Nick blurted, “My dad did it to her.”

Shock and sorrow stole any eloquence Logan might have possessed. “Fuck! That’s brutal.” Nick was busying himself with the burgers, so Logan softly asked the back of his head, “How old were you?”

Nick straightened up and looked at Logan, answering in an audibly controlled tone, “Twelve. I had just turned twelve.” Logan was still struggling to formulate a reasonable response when Nick started talking in a jumpy register. “Never gonna forget that birthday. Ya see, it was—well, not my fault, I know that….” Logan heard a man trying to convince himself more than his audience but stayed wisely silent as Nick continued, “Anyway, I got this basketball hoop for my birthday, and I wanted to put it up. God forbid the old man help me, you know?”

His own father would have jumped at the chance to help either of his sons with such a task, so Logan really couldn’t relate, but he nodded, encouraging Nick to go on.

“I wasn’t allowed to touch his tools, so my mom gave me this useless old ball-peen hammer used to belong to her dad. I could’ve hammered all night with that thing, for all the good it would’ve done me, so I snuck into the shed and got my dad’s brand new hammer without her knowin’. Had the hoop up in no time, but I got so excited with the idea of tryin’ out my birthday present that I forgot to put the hammer away—left it layin’ there in the grass.”

Logan had a sickening feeling he knew where this was going and wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the details, but, remembering how good it had felt to unburden himself, he prodded, “Forgot all about it, huh?”

“Yeah, until I was in school the next day and it started pourin’ rain.” Nick squinted off in the distance, staring at the hazy moon as he polished off his beer. Seeming fortified, he continued. “The old man came home early, found the hammer layin’ in the mud, and went berserk.” There was a long pause, and Logan thought he might be done, but with a great heave of his chest, Nick added, “Beat the hell out of my mom with it.”

“Fuckin’ bastard,” Logan fumed, his hands tightening on the neck of his beer bottle, a poor substitute for the real object of his fury. “Can’t believe a man could do somethin’ like that to his wife.”

“I could, with him. I wasn’t even surprised.” Nick hurled his empty bottle at the recycling bin in the opposite corner, hitting it dead center. He brushed his hand across his eyes and, in a choked voice, continued, “I prayed to God that whole day, begging Him to let me get home before my dad. I was still sayin’ ‘please, oh please’ as I ran home from the bus stop. Right up ’til I spotted the ambulance in front of my house and saw the cops loadin’ my dad into a squad car. I knew right away what’d happened. Right then I figured out that God—if He exists—sure don’t hear the prayers of Nick Zales.”

Grasping for some comfort to offer, Logan stepped close to Nick, saying, “You know, Sister Ciera says when it seems like God’s abandoned you, that’s when He’s workin’ the hardest for you.”

Nick snorted with bitter amusement, retorting, “Yeah? She also thinks there’s hope for guys like my dad.”

He almost let it go, but something made Logan say, “And me.”

“What?” Nick was staring at him like he had started speaking in Swahili.

“They ain’t all like your dad. Maybe some of them’re like me.”

Nick waved his hand as though he were batting Logan’s suggestion away. “You’re nothin’ like… those other guys. Any of ’em.”

“Bet that ain’t the way Linda sees it.” This was a recent revelation to Logan, one that he had avoided for months—one that had caused him some sleepless nights of late. Now that he’d finally said it out loud, he was anxious to hear Nick’s answer.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean….” Nick trailed off as he squatted down to check the burgers. “They’re done,” he announced a trifle too heartily. “Come on, let’s eat.”

Logan was as glad to let the unhappy topic drop as he was to eat, though there was a part of him that wished Nick had finished his thought. It was good to know Nick didn’t lump him in with those other guys, but Logan would have liked to hear the basis for that belief.

Over dinner, Logan told Nick that the machine shop had all of the Thunderbird’s reconditioned parts ready, and they could probably finish the engine that Sunday if they devoted most of the day to the task.

“Hot damn! You mean it might actually be a car again instead of lookin’ like the end row of a junkyard?”

Logan licked a glob of ketchup and meat juice off his thumb, then cautioned, “Well, it’s still gonna look pretty rough until we get it painted. Given any thought to what color you want it?”

“Red, it’s gotta be red—just like God intended,” Nick laughed.

“First time I ever heard anyone confuse Ford with God.”

Nick laughed even harder as he stood up and collected their empty plates. He dumped them unceremoniously in the sink, then turned towards the table, asking, “Had enough?”

Logan jumped up and trapped Nick against the sink, one steely arm on either side of Nick’s body. “Enough food, yeah. But I want you for dessert,” he growled before diving for Nick’s mouth.

The kiss continued and built upon itself, Nick only briefly breaking to say, “You read my mind,” before pulling Logan back for more. Logan ground against Nick’s hard body and harder erection, sparks of passion igniting when cock met cock until Nick grabbed his hand and said, “Come on, let’s christen my bed before we think of doin’ it in the sink.”

That startling revelation was tucked away for later contemplation as Logan eagerly followed Nick up the stairs. When they got to Nick’s sparsely furnished bedroom, Logan felt Nick pushing him towards the bed and was happy to go along for the ride. He felt the edge of the mattress hit the back of his knees and fell purposely back onto it, dragging Nick down on top of him.

The solid weight of Nick felt so good, so right, and Logan tightened his arms to keep that man right where he belonged, though Nick seemed a most willing prisoner, entwining his legs with Logan’s and returning the ardor in full. Logan pulled Nick’s head down for a deep, probing kiss, lips rough, tongue wet and voracious, teeth nipping at tender lips; Logan moaned deep in his throat, wanting more contact. There was too much cloth between them, he wanted—needed—to feel Nick naked against him, needed it now.

Reading his mind or the tremors in his body, Nick joined Logan in removing any obstacles, stripping clothing off himself and off Logan. After shucking his jeans, Logan reached into the pocket and pulled out his “goods.” He dropped the brand new condoms and lube on the rumpled sheets, grinning proudly at Nick. Nick laughed in return, pointing at the bedside stand where a twin set of supplies waited. Logan threw his jeans over the edge of the bed and smirked at his lover, saying, “Well, that should last us—for tonight.”

Nick seemed to agree with that sentiment, rolling on top again until he was straddling Logan. A wicked smile lit those intense brown eyes from within as Nick bent down and puffed in his ear, “Been thinking of this all day. Thinking of what I was going to do to you, how you was gonna taste and look….” He breathed in deep, adding, “And smell.”

Logan groaned deep in his throat, his cock growing ever more erect; his eyes fluttered closed when he felt a tongue snaking from the side of his neck down to his collarbone, felt the mouth grow more demanding, sucking and biting. Logan knew there was going to be a mark there but couldn’t care right then, was inspired to launch his own attack on Nick’s neck, intending to return the favor and finding the taste of Nick’s skin and sweat enthralling.

By the time Nick thrust his slick fingers into Logan, he was more than ready for the welcome intrusion and thrust down greedily onto Nick’s hand. Logan was taken with the sight of Nick’s face—pupils dilated with lust, tousled hair looking wild. He didn’t want to lose that view, delighted to do it this way, so glad when Nick pulled his legs up and placed his cock in position.

Nick teasingly placed only the tip inside and then, committing sweet torture, ever so slowly thrust inside. The rhythm gradually picked up until each stroke was pushing Logan higher and higher, nothing could be better—until Nick grabbed his heated cock and started stroking him inside and out. He was nearly delirious with the sensation of Nick being everywhere, his body surrounded by Nick, wrapped securely in his man.

Logan struggled to keep his eyes open despite the overwhelming sensations, wanting to watch Nick this time, see the obvious pleasure dripping off him. His own nerves were singed by the sight. Logan couldn’t stand it anymore, had to let go, found that watching his come splatter onto Nick’s chest had to be the most goddamned erotic thing he’d ever seen. An elated grin stretched across his face as Nick joined him in orgasm seconds later. Nick kept them joined for a shuddering moment, then rolled off and collapsed onto the mattress, allowing Logan to stretch his long legs out with a primal groan of satisfaction and pull his lover into the sheltering circle of his arm.

NICK WOKE with Logan’s body half-draped around his. He’d never been one for cuddling, and neither had most of the men he’d slept with, but something about this was okay. More than okay. It was damn good. A tongue rasping against the back of his neck and a deep rumble in his ear, “Mmmm,” let Nick know that Logan was also awake.

He let Logan continue his ministrations for a few seconds before stretching and rolling over to give his bed partner a cheeky grin. “I see you’re up.”

“Not yet, but I’m gettin’ there,” Logan joked, though his eyes were searching the bedside table. Nick figured Logan was looking at the clock and glanced over to see that it was 10:30. Still time for another round—I hope. However, Logan evidently hadn’t found what he needed on the table, since he was now looking over at Nick’s dresser.

“What’re you lookin’ for?”

“An ashtray.” Logan pushed the sweaty blond strands off his face, saying, “Guess you don’t smoke in here, huh?”

“I don’t smoke at all.”

“Oh, right.” Logan shrugged sheepishly. “Been thinking of quitting, myself. Krista nags me ’bout it all the time.”

“Good idea,” Nick declared, though he didn’t mind the smoky taste that was part of Logan’s unique tang. It reminded him of his own days as a smoker. Nick leaned in for a quick kiss before pulling back to say, “It’s rough to quit. I won’t lie to you ’bout that.”

Though apparently engrossed in playing with the damp curls on Nick’s chest, Logan asked, “You used to smoke?”

“Yeah, all through high school. Then I showed up at Carnegie-Mellon, and it seemed like none of the kids in my classes smoked. It was bad enough being a scholarship kid—didn’t need ’nother reason to stick out.”

”Seems to me havin’ a scholarship is somethin’ to be proud of.”

“Not at that school.” Nick paused as memories of those first lonely weeks at college, when he was sure he’d never fit in, rushed upon him. “And especially not my scholarship. See, it was for… kids who….” Nick swallowed, wondering why this was so hard—surely Logan had guessed the rest by now.

“Kids who were gay?” Logan ventured into the breach.

That suggestion pulled a surprised laugh out of Nick, and he relaxed slightly, enough to say, “No. Carnegie-Mellon wasn’t looking to build a super-race of genius queers. Besides, I didn’t even come out ’til my junior year.” He forced the rest out in a rush. “It was a partial scholarship for kids with a parent in prison.” Nick snorted, “I was able to go to CMU ’cause my dad went to Fayette County.”

Logan reached over to massage Nick’s shoulder gently while asking, “Is that where he died?”

“He ain’t dead—’cept to me,” Nick answered sourly. Wish he was. “He would’ve been due to get out soon, but he got some years tacked on back when he first went in.”

“Why?”

“I heard he caused a bunch of trouble his first few years in the place.”

“You ain’t never gone to see him?” Logan asked, pulling Nick close.

Nick snuggled in gratefully, murmuring, “Hell no. What for? So I can thank him for making me an accessory to the crime?”

“You ain’t—”

“Responsible,” Nick cut in with a sigh. “I know, but I can’t help thinkin’ how different everything would’ve been if I had just put that goddamn hammer away. Or had listened to my mom and not touched it in the first place.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t blame you,” protested Logan firmly.

“No? Right after she moved in, I was putting up that hoop out front, and she came out to tell me I better not be usin’ my dad’s good hammer.”

Logan stroked Nick’s hair, murmuring, “That don’t mean nothin’, Nick. You said she’s got that dementia.”

“I know, I know,” Nick agreed faintly. And he did know. He knew how kids from abusive homes tended to blame themselves, and he knew how fucked up that was, but he also knew that his case was slightly different. Tired of the subject, not just from this discussion but also from a lifetime of regret, Nick felt the need for distraction, and he knew one damn fine way to accomplish that goal.

“Do you wanna….” Nick chewed his lip for a second, wondering if this was a good idea but continuing anyway. “Spend the night?” There was no immediate answer, and though Logan’s face held nothing but surprise, Nick read the hesitation as a no. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “I know that’s a long drive back to North Braddock to make first thing in the morning.”

“I could stay,” Logan blurted. “I’d just have to get outta here by….” He squinted at the ceiling, evidently doing some calculations. “By about six.”

The surge of happiness Nick felt at Logan’s offer was strong and swift, banishing any gloom that had crept into the room with the topic of his father. “That’s fine. I can get out early, too. I’ve got a bunch of work that’s been piling up. That’ll give me a chance to get some stuff done before my first finance session. ”

Logan quickly rolled on top of Nick, pinning him to the mattress and saying, “So. That means we got all night.”

“I thought you had to get up early,” Nick teased.

“I’ll lose a little sleep for ’nother bout—or two—with you.”

Nick arched up for a kiss, whispering, “Glad to hear it.”

LOGAN YAWNED and shook his head as he inched along in the early evening traffic. It had been a long day after a night of little sleep. He and Nick had gone at it until well after midnight and had even taken time for a quickie first thing in the morning. Logan grinned at the memory. The sacrifice of sleep had been well worth it, even if it had left him ill-prepared for his session with Linda and Trudy.

The dashboard clock showed six forty-five p.m.; that meant Linda’s session had already started. Trudy had arranged it so that Linda would start half an hour before Logan, and then he would continue on for the same period after Linda left. Trudy said they’d do this for a few weeks, since it was likely there were still things they weren’t ready to share as a couple.

Logan wasn’t really ready to share much with either woman, though he did finally feel ready to make amends as much as possible with Linda, even if the idea of moving back in with her filled him with dread. Gotta remember, it’ll mean moving back in with my girls, too. Grim determination to do right by his daughters was the only thing keeping Logan on this course of action.

He did plan to put the reconciliation off as long as possible, hoping to stretch out his time with Nick as much as he could. And then what, get back with Linda and never see Nick again? The thought was staggering. But Nick didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would settle for being a piece on the side. Luckily for Logan, he had arrived at Trudy’s office building and could set aside this dilemma while he concentrated on getting through the next hour.

When he knocked on the door to Trudy’s office, Logan was surprised to hear faint laughter coming from the room. Tears, he would have expected—but mirth? What the hell? Trudy’s voice boomed, “Come in,” and Logan walked in to find them both smiling.

Trudy pointed at the chair next to Linda, directing, “Have a seat. Linda was just telling me some stories about work. Did you know she got promoted last month?”

Mildly surprised at the news, Logan shook his head. He congratulated Linda as he plopped down in the chair. When Linda had taken the job as an administrative assistant at a collection agency in North Braddock, Logan had figured it to be a temporary situation. Personally, he couldn’t think of a worse place to work. But Linda had said it wasn’t that bad and had always spoken fondly of the energy and camaraderie of the place. “You ain’t hounding deadbeats for a living now, are you?” he offered awkwardly.

“No, I’m the office manager.” Linda seemed to swell with pride at the announcement. “They gave me a real nice raise, too.”

Logan nearly answered that he supposed a collection agency was one of the few places doing well in the present economy, but he changed his mind, thinking that might come off as a cheap shot at Linda’s good news. “That’s great. I’m sure you deserve it. You always worked real hard there.”

“Thanks. And how are things at the garden center?”

“Good, real good. Gettin’ busy again.” Logan almost cringed to hear himself chatting with his wife like a near-stranger, but the sudden realization hit him: wasn’t that, deep down, what they were—and always had been—to each other?

Trudy broke into his reverie, saying, “Linda and I were talking about her goals. Why don’t you tell Logan what you were telling me?”

“I was talking with my other counselor about getting some formal training in accounting.”

While Logan was searching for something to say other than repeating “That’s great,” Trudy prompted, “I was thinking of the more personal goals we were discussing, Linda.”

“Oh yeah,” Linda breathed while nervously twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. She turned beseeching eyes on Logan, explaining, “It’s like I was telling you on the phone that time. I want us to be close again, Logan. To laugh and talk, really talk ’bout things. Remember how we laughed and had so much fun on our honeymoon? I want us to be like that again.”

Logan did remember that week in the Poconos, back when he’d still thought he might find some passion for Linda, back when he was actually kind of proud about the baby Linda was carrying, thinking it proved something about his manhood. Now he knew the truth, knew what he really wanted, knew Linda could never provide it for him. In fact, he couldn’t imagine anyone other than Nick Zales could.

For the rest of the joint session, as Logan saw the false hope he was provoking in Linda, he felt like two men. One man who was going through the motions as the Logan of old always had, and another one who was standing back and observing the deceit with a disgusted but slightly detached air.

By the time Linda walked out, leaving him alone with Trudy, Logan had decided. He was determined to put an end to this charade. Nick was right. If he got back with Linda, he would end up hurting her in the long run, emotionally for sure and maybe even physically again. Who knew what he would be driven to if he had to go back to that miserable life of hiding and constant pretense?

He looked up to find Trudy looking at him expectantly. “I’m sorry, I missed that.”

Trudy shook her head as if he were a naughty pupil. “I said that you never really shared with Linda what your hopes for the marriage are. We need to get you—”

“I can’t,” Logan exclaimed suddenly, every fiber of his being protesting against the future she was holding out to him.

Frowning in puzzlement, Trudy asked, “You can’t what?

Before he lost his nerve, he stated, “I can’t go back to that….” He swallowed hard and added in an almost pleading tone, “I don’t wanna be married to Linda anymore.” He bit his lip before adding softly, “I don’t think I ever did.”

To his surprise, Trudy was smiling at him. In a tone of indulgent forbearance, she said, “I know exactly what is going on with you. In fact, I was expecting this.”

Horrified, Logan gaped at her. “You were?”

“Sure. You’re just now seeing the hard work ahead, what it will take to get past the abuse incident and forge a strong relationship with Linda, and your impulse is to give up—to run away.”

“Trudy, that ain’t—”

She shook a reproving finger at him, saying, “I’m not going to let you get away with it. You’ve come too far to give up now.”

“I’m not giving up….” Logan struggled to find words to convince her without giving his secret—and Nick’s—away. “I’m just…. I don’t want to get back with her.”

Trudy leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. “I see,” she said dryly. “You’ve suddenly come to this startling conclusion just tonight, after months of telling me how much you wanted to get back with your wife. And the reason for this thunderbolt is you ‘just don’t want to’. Sorry, mister, I’m not letting you off the hook that easy. You’ve got to come up with something better than that.”

Defeated, Logan’s shoulders slumped, and he stared at his boots, feeling trapped—again. Right back where he’d spent most of his life. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he lied, looking up in Trudy’s direction though not meeting her eyes. “About why I said that.” He halfheartedly finished the session by telling Trudy whatever he thought she wanted to hear.

Logan drove home, dejected and frustrated, with a new sympathy for those animals he’d heard of that would chew their own legs off to get out of a snare.

Chapter 13:

Landing Is Inevitable

Taking off is the hard part, landing is inevitable.

—Edward Stickney

THURSDAY MORNING, Nick woke suddenly to the shrill jangle of his bedside phone. His heart thudded in panic as his thoughts flew to his mother in the hospital. He shot upright, immediately swinging his legs over the side of the bed and grabbing the receiver. “Hello,” he croaked. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded apprehensive.

“Hey, Nick.”

“Logan?” Nick’s heart rate slowly returned to normal as he checked the time. six a.m. “Is somethin’ wrong?”

“No. Sorry, did I wake you?”

Nick peered out the window at the dimly lit street, where the neighborhood was just showing signs of coming to life. “Yeah, I don’t usually get up for ’nother half hour.”

“Aww, geez, I never thought about that. I wanted to reach you before I left for work.”

“You’re workin’ today? I thought you had Thursdays off?”

“Not anymore. I changed my schedule so I could get weekends off, for when I’ve got the girls, you know?”

“Oh, right. What’s up?”

“I was just wondering….”

Any impatience Nick might have been feeling was banished by the yearning he heard stuttering across the line. “Yeah?”

“I was thinking, we sure gotta lot of work to do this weekend, and it’d help if we could get a head start. How ’bout we get some stuff done tonight?”

Nick couldn’t keep the smile out of his tone as he confirmed, “With the T-bird, ya mean?”

“Yeah—for starters,” Logan said.

From the purr in that throaty voice, Nick could easily picture Logan smiling back, but he was nagged by the feeling that there was something more to this call. “Everything go okay with Trudy and Linda last night?”

“Yeah, sort of.” There was a beat and then Logan added, “Not really. I’ll tell ya all about it tonight.”

“All right, but… you could tell me now. I’m in no hurry, and isn’t that why you really called?”

“Nah, I’d rather wait. I’m no good over the phone.”

“Okay, no phone sex, gotta remember that.” Nick was pleased by the amused snort he got for his small jest, but he couldn’t let go just yet. “You sure it can wait ’til tonight?”

“Yeah. Meet ya at the garage later?”

“Sure. I can be there by….” Nick paused, factoring in a visit to his mom’s hospital room. “Let’s say, six-thirty?”

“Sounds good.” Then Logan added, “Don’t be late, you’ve got the key—”

“—I got the key, so don’t be early,” Nick warned at the same time. Loud and strong this time, Nick’s laugh rang out as he promised, “I’ll call if I’m gonna be late.”

“Great.” Logan seemed ready to ring off, then added uncertainly, “Hey, Nick. Can I ask you something?”

Convinced that the truth behind this call was about to be revealed, Nick said smoothly, “Sure, anything.”

“That thing you said about your bed—was it true?”

Nick racked his morning-fuzzy brain but was at a complete loss. “What thing I said?” With a slight laugh, he joked, “If you’re gonna quiz me like this, Logan, you gotta wait ’til I’ve had some coffee. What’re you talking about?”

“What you said… about us, you know… christening your bed.”

The memory of that unintentional confession came rushing back to Nick. He rubbed the back of his neck as he stalled. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Oh yeah, what? That was the first time—”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

After briefly considering feigning confusion about the question, Nick said, “Why didn’t I ever have a guy over before? Umm… just the way it worked out, I guess.”

“Uh… okay.” Nick swore he could hear the wheels turning in Logan’s head but didn’t know what was being manufactured. He wasn’t enlightened any by Logan finishing, “See ya tonigh—”

“Probably because I never really wanted…,” Nick blurted, but then he hesitated, not sure that Logan was ready to hear the rest, certain he wasn’t ready to say it, maybe not even ready to believe it. He continued, “It just didn’t seem right, with my mom here and all.”

“Makes sense.”

After a moment of hesitation, Nick decided to seize the opportunity to get something off his own chest. “Listen, speaking of the other night….”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry I laid all of that on you—’bout my dad and the hammer and all. But thanks for listening.”

When the only response was a sharp intake of breath, Nick wondered if he’d only made things worse until Logan proclaimed, “It’s okay. You had every right to tell your story.”

Nick was touched—and slightly amused—to hear the echo of his words to Cheryl. “Guess all this time with me and Trudy is rubbin’ off on you.”

“No way. You’re the only one rubbin’ off on me. I swear.”

When he stopped chortling, Nick said, “Good to hear. See ya tonight at Acken’s. Have a good day.”

“Sure thing, Nick. You, too.”

NICK TOOK advantage of the extra half-hour in his day by going for an early morning run. The exercise helped alleviate most of the tension resulting from the knowledge that he was facing a nine thirty a.m. appointment with Sheila Palmer. As he ran, Nick reviewed the last session he’d had with Sheila, noting all the reasons this client could be particularly exasperating. He reminded himself that Norah Seebold had also insisted on defending and finding excuses for her abuser in those first few weeks at ACC. Gotta be patient with Sheila. She’ll come around, just like Norah did.

Later that morning, Nick efficiently typed up some notes while awaiting Sheila’s arrival and made a bet with himself. Though most people would have been petulant at best with a counselor who sent them home in tears, he wagered that Sheila would try to make amends almost immediately. An intense craving for approval was one hallmark common to many abuse victims, and one he suspected Sheila had in spades.

At precisely nine-thirty, after a soft knock on his door, Sheila walked in carrying two Starbucks coffee cups and a couple of cellophane-wrapped biscotti. She gave Nick a small, lopsided smile as she dropped the cookies on his desk and handed him one of the cups, saying, “Good morning; I got you a cappuccino—and some biscotti.”

Nick smiled warmly, answering, “Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that, Sheila,” while thinking, Bingo, Zales, got it in one.

Sheila, a pretty, petite woman with beautifully coifed light brown hair, took her seat in front of Nick’s desk, smoothing out her buff-colored twill skirt before delicately crossing her legs. “Oh, it’s no big deal. I pass a Starbucks on my way here.”

“As much as I appreciate the gesture, I want to be clear,” Nick said, pausing briefly to look Sheila deliberately in the eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You had every right to leave if the things I said upset you.”

The only sound was the crinkle of plastic as Sheila unwrapped a cookie, apparently mulling over Nick’s statement but finally saying, “Okay, but neither did you. You were right about Dean.” She took a bite of biscotti and sipped her coffee before adding, “I think what really upset me was that part of me knew it, too.”

“Okay, let’s explore that for a bit. Why didn’t you let that part of you that knew the truth have her say?”

“Because….” Sheila stopped for another gulp of coffee, then shook her head dismissively, whispering sadly, “I don’t know.”

“I think you do know. Well, that same part of you does. You’re shutting ‘her’ up again. Why do you think that is?”

By now Sheila was tearing up while she stared down at her manicured nails. “I wish I knew.”

“Maybe because it’s a habit?” Nick suggested gently. He sipped his own drink before explaining, “For the last eighteen years, you’ve pretty much had to watch every word you’ve said. You don’t have to do that anymore. In these sessions, you can just say whatever pops into your head. In fact, that’s the very best thing you can do.”

Sheila took a deep breath and sat up straight, avowing, “Okay. I’ll give it a try.”

“Good. Now tell me why you got so upset when I told you Dean’s behavior showed no signs of true reform. Don’t think too hard, just answer.”

In a rush, she said, “I wanted to believe that Dean had changed because then I could go back with him.”

“And that’s so important… why?” Seeing Sheila biting her lip in thought, Nick prompted, “Because you love him, because you miss him, miss your house, your friends—”

“Because then I wouldn’t be stuck… here.”

Nick leaned across his desk, asking softly, “Where’s here?”

Sheila expelled a short, humorless laugh before retorting, “Here is being a forty-year-old woman living off her cousin, with no job, no life. A woman whose only chance for a significant other from now on is going to be her Cavalier King Charles spaniel.”

Even though Nick had been expecting something along the lines of Sheila’s bleak self-assessment, he sat back in surprise at the sheer vehemence of it. “Whoa, whoa. Sheila, don’t you think you’re being kind of rash, and really hard on yourself? You’re judging what the rest of your life, fifty or so years, will be based on the past month? You’ve set up this false dichotomy in your mind: either life with Dean or no life at all. No wonder you’re so stressed.”

Sheila tossed her empty cup in the trash can, asking in a biting tone, “How are you so sure it’s false?”

“Because I see you as you really are, which you can’t do right now. You’ve been blinded by eighteen long years of verbal abuse and control.” Nick waited until he caught his client’s eye before continuing. “When I look at you, I see an attractive, charming, healthy, and well-educated woman with plenty to look forward to. For starters, you’re not going to be living with your cousin forever, if you don’t want to. After all, you’re due for a very lucrative divorce settlement—”

“Maybe.”

“No, certainly. Your husband is a wealthy man. Why do you think he’s trying to placate you by doing that anger management thing? He’s worried about losing half of a considerable estate.”

“I guess,” she sighed. “I’m still not sure I’m going to get enough money to live off for the rest of my life….”

“You don’t want to get a job?”

“Oh yeah,” Sheila snorted, “I’m sure my unused anthropology degree is going to do me a lot of good in one of the worst job markets ever.”

“The money you’ll get in the divorce will give you some time to figure that out, time to build a life—a good life. Your choice isn’t living in fear with Dean or not living at all. You’ve already done the hardest thing of all—leaving him. The rest will fall into place. As long as you’re willing to work at it.”

A sincere smile appeared on Sheila’s face for the first time all morning. “I’m willing if you’re willing.”

Nick winked at her, answering jauntily, “That’s why I’m here.”

SINCE HE’D deliberately arrived a little before six-thirty, Logan was almost disappointed to see Nick’s Jeep parked on Arlington Avenue when he turned up the drive leading to Acken’s shop. Even if Nick had shown up right on time, Logan had planned on teasing him unmercifully about being late and making Logan hang around waiting, even letting the pizza he’d picked up on the way to the shop get cold.

The short trip up the driveway gave Logan time to reconsider. Could be that Nick being early for their appointment was a sign of eagerness, maybe even equal to Logan’s own. He pulled into the open garage bay door, beeping his horn and yelling, “Pizza delivery for Nick Zales.” The way Nick jumped in shock at the sudden entry more than made up for him foiling Logan’s other plot.

Nick continued to gape in surprise as Logan jumped out of the driver’s seat and plopped the box and two sodas down on the workbench. “You really did bring a pizza.”

“Yeah, I figured it was my turn to provide some grub,” Logan answered easily, though his pulse quickened as he heard Nick advancing on him.

Before Logan could turn around, Nick had grabbed him from behind and nuzzled his neck. In a husky whisper, he said, “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, eh?”

The feel of Nick’s right hand trailing down to his groin caused Logan to gasp, “That ain’t my stomach.”

A throaty chuckle poured melted butter into Logan’s ear. “Don’t I know it.”

Logan twisted around suddenly, facing Nick and taking advantage of the opportunity for a teeth-jarring kiss. His own hands found their way to Nick’s ass, and Logan roughly pulled him even closer.

When they broke, Nick grinned at him, still in the embrace, saying, “We let this go on too much longer, and we ain’t gonna get any work done on that car.”

Logan reluctantly released Nick, admitting, “Yeah, you got that right.”

Nick pointed to the pizza box, saying, “Guess we can eat first, though.”

“Yep, may as well eat before we get down and dirty.”

“Thought we just agreed we weren’t gonna do that,” Nick quipped as he opened the box and grabbed a slice. “Mmm, sausage and mushroom.” He grinned around a huge bite, mumbling, “Great choice.”

“You’re sure in a good mood,” Logan said, shaking his head fondly as he dove into the pizza himself.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Nick held the half-eaten slice aloft, saying, “Good food with a good friend, and my car’s almost done. Right?”

The jolt in his stomach at Nick calling him a good friend surprised Logan; to cover his confusion, he bit off half a slice and swallowed before answering, “Almost is a stretch. Let’s wait an’ see how far we get by Sunday night.”

“We can finish up next weekend, can’t we?”

“Only got next Sunday afternoon to work on it. I got the girls next weekend.” As soon as it was out of his mouth, Logan braced himself for the questions he’d hoped to dodge until later.

As if on cue, Nick said, “That reminds me. On the phone this morning, you said it didn’t go so well with Linda last night. What happened?”

A weary sigh escaped from Logan as he explained, “Linda was saying how she wants us to be closer and share everything and all that crap.”

Nick took a gulp of his soda, then cocked his head at Logan, asking, “Okay. What did you say?”

“Me? Well….” Logan grabbed another slice of pizza before admitting, “I pretty much went along with it.” Rather than look at Nick, he concentrated on eating as if it required the full force of his attention. Logan finally peered up to see Nick frowning down at his second slice of pizza. The silence was more unnerving to Logan than a lecture would have been, so he quickly offered, “’Til later when I was alone with Trudy.”

Nick looked up sharply, asking, “Then what?”

“Then I told Trudy I didn’t want to be married to Linda anymore, that I never really did.”

A sparkling smile, rivaling any marquee Broadway had to offer, gleamed at Logan as Nick enthused, “You did? That’s great, so
what—”

Before Nick could get too worked up, Logan cut in, “Trudy cut me off at the knees.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning she blew me off.” Logan grabbed a few napkins and wiped his mouth before finishing, “Said I was bailin’ out because I was afraid of all the hard work ahead and she wasn’t gonna let me do it.” He punctuated that statement by tossing the used napkins in the wastebasket. “Let’s unload the parts.”

He turned to find Nick standing stock-still with his hands on his hips, frowning at him. “Wait a minute. Trudy said that, and then you said…?”

“I said….” Logan slammed his tailgate down and hoisted the first box out the truck bed, mumbling, “She was right.”

Nick appeared next to him and accepted the box as he glared at Logan, snapping, “Why the fuck did you say that?”

Logan watched Nick put the box next to the T-bird and ran a hand through his hair, muttering, “I don’t know.” He turned to get another box and added, “She’s just thinkin’ of my family—more ’an I am, seems like.”

When he handed the next box off to Nick, Logan was stunned to see a softened expression on his face. “Aren’t you part of your family, Logan?”

“Of course I am.”

“Then you got as much right to be happy as they do,” Nick grunted as he moved the heavy box next to the other one. “And Trudy’s not your sister, by the way.”

It was Logan’s turn to stare in shock. “Well, thanks for the newsflash. What kind of mushrooms were on your part of the pizza?”

Nick walked over and put a hand on Logan’s shoulder. He gave it a squeeze, explaining, “You’re following an old pattern here, don’t you see? Daisy made you sacrifice what you felt was the right thing to do for the sake of your brother, now you think you have to listen to Trudy and sacrifice your own happiness for your wife and daughters.”

As he unpacked the reconditioned parts, Logan searched desperately for a way to refute Nick’s analogy, but the frustration and resignation he’d experienced in Trudy’s office the night before was just too familiar. He hadn’t made the connection himself, but now he remembered feeling the same way eighteen years earlier as a teenager, wilting under Daisy’s lecture about the necessity of sticking by your family.

The sad truth was that recognizing this connection solved nothing for Logan. He straightened up and looked solemnly at Nick, asserting, “I don’t care about Daisy no more. What I do care about is my girls, and yeah, Linda—in a way.”

“Then care enough to be honest, Logan. You think goin’ back and living a lie again is gonna make anyone happy?”

Halfway to the tool chest, Logan whipped around to face Nick. “Be honest? Are you saying I should tell them—”

“That you’re gay? Yeah, I think you should.” A couple of strides brought Nick right in front of Logan, close enough to hear him ask softly, “Because you are… aren’t you?”

A lifelong expert at dodging that question from his own mind, Logan didn’t immediately answer. Instead he gave a dismissive shrug, saying, “That ain’t the point,” and headed back over to the tool chest.

As he selected tools, a voice floated over his shoulder. “Then what is?”

Silently contemplating the enormity of what Nick was asking of him, Logan went to work. Tell Trudy—and Linda? Face his own wife’s sneering condemnation? And it wouldn’t stop there, would it? No, Linda would tell Marie, who’d tell Bob…. Shit, word would get back to the mill, even. Then guys like Chuck would know the truth—how right they were about him.

Logan started seeing a confession to Trudy as a pebble dropped into a pond, the ripples of his big news spreading out into the wide world, confirmation to all those who had previously questioned his manhood. Like wildfire, the news would spread to everyone in his life…. Logan sat back on his heels as the worst part of this plan hit him like physical blow: Krista and Meghan.

As if no time had passed since Nick’s inquiry, Logan wheeled on him, protesting, “No way am I gonna tell Trudy or Linda that. The girls would have to know, too!”

Nick looked up from the piston in his hands, tilting his head at Logan. “Okay… so?”

Rather than facing the question directly, Logan snarled, “So? So Linda and her lawyer would take ’em away from me for good. I might never see them agai—”

“What?” Nick straightened up and moved towards Logan, his outrage sizzling through each word. “They can’t do that! You got visitation rights as an abuser and you think they’re gonna keep your girls from you because you’re gay?”

Logan felt his own anger rising in response. “Maybe they won’t have to take ’em away because the girls won’t want nothin’ to do with me once they find out!”

Calm returning to him, Nick stated firmly, “I don’t believe that.”

“’Cause you know ’em so well, huh?” Logan snorted. “After meeting ’em that one time.”

“I saw how much they love you.”

Logan’s treacherous mind immediately turned the word into the past tense, “loved.” He swallowed down most of his panic at that thought, managing only to say, “No kid wants a dad who’s… like that, Nick. You know they don’t.”

“They wouldn’t let that stop—”

“I can’t put ’em through that. Not on top of everything else they’ve been through.” He turned pleading eyes on Nick, aching for his understanding. “It’s just too much, too soon.”

Relief washed over Logan when Nick nodded in apparently reluctant agreement. “Then you gotta find a way to make Trudy believe you without tellin’ her… everything.”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll think of somethin’,” Logan promised wearily, hoping that would be the end of it for the night. He nodded at the car. “Let’s get some work done.” Intending to lighten the mood, Logan quirked an eyebrow at Nick, saying, “Or we won’t have time for anything else tonight.”

Nick grinned at the obvious gambit. “Does that mean you’re comin’ back to my place when we’re done here?”

Logan nodded towards the passenger seat of his Ford. “That overnight bag answer your question?”

“Hot damn!” Nick rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. “Let’s get busy now,” his smile widened as he finished, “so we can get busy later.”

THEY WORKED diligently, not only Thursday night, but every spare minute the two could find through the weekend, making so much progress that Sunday at five p.m. found them taking the Thunderbird, with its rebuilt engine, out for a spin through The South Side Slopes.

After taking a sharp corner at 45 mph, Nick revved the motor and headed up the hill on Coast Avenue. He grinned at Logan, crowing, “Damn! I can’t believe this is the same car!”

With one hand braced on the dash, Logan shook his head, admonishing, “You keep drivin’ like a maniac, and it’ll be a junker again soon enough.”

Since Logan’s proud, happy grin matched his own, Nick just waggled his impressive eyebrows and gunned the car up Canton Avenue, the steepest street in all of Pittsburgh. When Nick crested the hill easily, he felt like a dad whose son had just won the Little League World Series. He finally slowed and turned down Hampshire, pulling into the first open parking spot he saw.

Turning to the man next to him, Nick was entranced by the sight of a relaxed, ebullient Logan. He had to grip the steering wheel tightly to keep from reaching over and dragging Logan into his lap for a wild makeout session right then and there. Nick sublimated his impulse through a fond shove to Logan’s shoulder. “You are one hell of a mechanic, ya know that?”

The blush that suffused Logan’s face as he shook the compliment off made him look almost exactly like he did at the height of passion, and Nick felt his already interested cock stand up and take notice. He was half-tempted to slam the car back into drive and head straight for home—and bed—but the other part of him preferred to draw out this festive night and delay the literal climax of the evening. “We gotta celebrate g’tting’ this car back together, you know that?”

“Sure.” Logan must have been feeling the tension, too, since he asked archly, “What’d you have in mind?”

A growl from his stomach reminded Nick that he hadn’t eaten since his skimpy breakfast. “How ’bout we get some dinner before anything more… elaborate?”

“Sounds good. Is there some place around here?”

A second of thought brought the answer to Nick. “Liberty Grill! You haven’t even been there yet, have you?”

“Nope.” Logan frowned, asking, “But didn’t you tell me Trudy’s husband runs that place?”

“Yeah, but Larry never works on Sunday night. It’s okay.”

Skepticism laced Logan’s question. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I wouldn’t’ve suggested it if I wasn’t.” Logan was still mulling it over, so Nick prodded, “Come on, Logan. It’s a Pittsburgh landmark. And the food’s the best.”

“Okay.” A sly smile graced Logan’s face as he added, “Wouldn’t wanta miss this landmark of yours.”

Twenty minutes later, they were ushered to a corner booth with a good view of the busy counter by the evening hostess, Maddie, whose familiar greeting to Nick seemed to interest Logan very much. “Seems like you know everybody here.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Sensing where this was headed, Nick rushed to calm his jumpy companion. “It’s not like anyone’s going to be reporting back to Larry that I showed up tonight, or with who. They’re too damn busy to keep score. ’Sides, it’s not like I’m a novelty or anything, I’ve been comin’ here since I was a starving college student.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I knew Larry before I knew Trudy.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope, I used to come here for dinner and bring my books. Larry served me probably… thousands of cups of coffee when I was studying into the night, right there at that counter.”

Confusion ironed a crease into Logan’s forehead. “Thought he ran things around here. What was he doin’ working the counter?”

Nick shrugged, explaining, “He’s done just about every job in this place. Still mans the counter whenever he can.” He smiled at a distant memory and mused, “Couldn’t believe it when I was applyin’ to the graduate program at Pitt and Larry suggested I talk to his wife, who just happened to be Dr. Trudy Gerard.”

They were briefly interrupted by the perky waitress who introduced herself as Becky and took their drink orders after explaining the specials. Logan got his usual Coke, but Nick asked for a root beer, advising Logan that it was on draft at Liberty Grill—best damn root beer in the city. Nick wondered if Logan had heard him, since he had a definite air of distraction as he studied the menu. Nick asked, “Somethin’ wrong?”

Logan folded the menu and leaned his forearms on it, saying, “The way you said you were so surprised to find out Larry was married to Trudy—is she famous or somethin’?”

“In the field of abuse counseling, you bet she is. Famous and infamous.”

“Whaddya mean, infamous?”

“Well, she’s one of the few—” The conversation was interrupted again when Becky brought their drinks and took their meal orders. Logan asked for the meatloaf special while Nick got the T-bone pork chop.

As soon as she disappeared, Logan took up right where they’d left off. “You were sayin’, about Trudy?”

“Oh yeah, she’s kind of a controversial figure in that she strongly supports couples counseling—like she’s trying to do with you and Linda.”

“And why’s that such a big deal?”

“’Cause hardly anyone else does it—or believes in it.”

“You don’t?”

“Hell no.” When he saw the hurt look flit across Logan’s face, Nick hastened to soften that pronouncement. He leaned forward and, in an urgent whisper, explained, “Like I told you before, most abusers… they aren’t like you, they don’t wanta change, and they aren’t… they couldn’t even if they wanted to.”

Logan studied the parking lot briefly before turning to Nick and asking, “But Trudy believes otherwise, huh?”

“She believes it’s worth a try some of the time. And she’s had some limited success,” Nick admitted. He gulped some root beer before admonishing, “That’s why you gotta be firm with her, Logan. You gotta convince her there’s no hope for saving your marriage, or she’ll be like a bulldog—won’t let go.”

“Tell me ’bout it,” Logan sighed.

“Thought any more about what you’re gonna say?”

“Same as I said last time. I don’t wanta go back to Linda… but stick to my guns this time.” Logan let out a puff of exasperation, grousing, “She’s been asking for weeks what it is I want, and then when I finally tell her, she don’t listen!”

“Yeah, well, this is her pet cause, reuniting families.” Nick ran a hand through his hair as he elaborated, “After all, she wrote a whole goddamn book about it.”

“She did?”

“Yep, a bestseller in our field. There’s an autographed copy on my bookshelf at home.” Nick didn’t find it necessary to add that the only part of the book he’d ever read had been Trudy’s inscription on the flyleaf.

Their food arrived just then, and Nick took advantage of the break to change the subject. He pointed to the T-bird that could be seen in the parking lot. “Can’t wait ’til it looks as good as it runs. Where should we get it painted?”

Logan chewed his meatloaf while he seemed to consider the subject. “It’s a shame—the best place I know is back home in Elco. The guy used to do a lotta work for me.”

“Maybe we should take it there.”

“Nah, gotta be a place closer…. Let me think about it.”

The topic of conversation drifted to Logan’s continuing efforts to find a mechanic position in North Braddock, and on to work in general, and finally got around to Nick’s mom. At last there was some small bit of good news on that front, and Nick gladly gave it. “I saw her doctor yesterday, and he’s talking about moving her out of the hospital.”

“She’s comin’ home?”

“Not right off. They gotta move her to a nursing facility first, ’til she gets stronger.”

Their plates were cleared, and Nick started teasing his companion about dessert. “You gonna have some pie?”

The look on Logan’s face suggested that he’d never heard a crazier idea. “After that meal? No way.”

“Come on.” Nick flicked a hot glance from under his sooty lashes. “We’ll work it off later.”

Logan’s ready laugh spoke of the success of this celebratory meal, though he protested, “Not if I explode first.”

“But the pie here—”

“Is the best in the city,” Logan finished, provoking a shout of laughter from Nick.

Nick was just about to agree that they should skip dessert and head back to his place for the next event on the evening’s schedule when he saw Dave Acken enter the restaurant. His friendly smile quickly faded when he saw that Dave was closely trailed by the imposing bulk of Larry Gerard. Bringing up the rear was none other than his wife, Trudy. Nick instinctively dropped his head and hunched forward as he calculated their chances of remaining undetected.

Logan, whose back was to the door, noticed the change in Nick immediately. “What?”

Before Nick could answer, Dave’s voice could be heard booming down the aisle. “There they are! I knew it.”

Dread squeezed a steel band around his heart as Nick suddenly found their cozy booth surrounded by the last three people he had expected—or wanted—to see. He flicked a glance across the table and knew the jig was up; Logan looked as guilty as a murderer caught with a smoking gun in his hand. Somehow Nick found the courage to nod and greet the group nonchalantly. “Hey, guys. Didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

Dave and Larry were both smiling widely, but Trudy’s face wore a suspicious and guarded frown. Larry clasped Nick on the shoulder with a meaty, dark-skinned hand as he exulted, “Can’t keep you away from this place. I guess I’ve more ’an made back every double order of fries I ever slipped you.”

Mustering up a wan smile, Nick said, “You’re the one who’s here on his night off.”

The ever-genial Dave jumped in to explain, “That would be my doing. Trudy and Larry took me out for my birthday to this place nearby.” He paused and glanced at Trudy, asking, “What was it called?”

“Dish,” Trudy supplied. “It was Nick’s suggestion.” Her voice unusually cool, she added, “It was every bit as good as you said…. Oh, and Tish says hi.”

Nick just nodded, not daring to check how Logan was faring as Dave informed them, “So we was passing by on the way back, and I spotted the T-bird in the parking lot. Had to stop in and congratulate you two on getting it running.” He turned his attention to Logan next. “Guess you figured out that problem with the valve seat heights, huh?”

No longer able to avoid looking at Logan, Nick watched him stutter out an inaudible reply and felt compelled to say to the Gerards, “Logan has been helping me with the Thunderbird.”

Larry greeted Logan directly and offered his hand while Trudy said, “Is that right? Funny you never mentioned it before.” She turned to Logan, spearing him with her annoyed gaze. “Or you.”

Nick’s guilt was submerged under a wave of irritation at being treated like a couple of naughty schoolboys, and he quipped, “Guess my last few biweekly reports have been light on details about my personal life, huh?”

Seeming to play along, Trudy drawled, “Yes. I guess we can rectify that at our eight a.m. meeting tomorrow.”

Since there previously had been no morning meeting scheduled, Nick got the message loud and clear. He took a deep breath before asserting calmly, “I’ll be there.”

“Good.” Trudy nodded at the duo in the booth before saying to Larry, “Honey, we’ve already kept the sitter waiting, and we still have to drop Dave off.”

Larry laughed. “Just more money for her.” But the group quickly said their goodbyes and left.

After watching them move to the door and tracking them out to the parking lot, Logan turned to Nick and barked, “She knows.”

Nick didn’t bother refuting the assertion. “Well, she suspects, anyway.” They paid the bill in gloomy silence.

On the short drive back to Acken’s shop, Logan asked, “What’re you gonna tell her?”

The question echoed the one that had been playing through Nick’s mind, and he’d come to one solid conclusion. “The truth.”

“The truth?” Logan leaned into Nick’s space, warning, “It ain’t just your truth to tell.”

He made no answer until the T-bird was safely parked in the garage. Nick cut the engine off and turned to Logan. Quietly but firmly, he asserted, “I’m not going to lie to Trudy.”

Logan leaped out of the car, yelling, “What the fuck! You didn’t have any problem with me lying to her!”

Nick bounded out and raced around the T-bird to face him. “I never asked you to lie.” More calmly, he added, “What’s the point, Logan? You said it yourself, she kno—”

“She can’t prove anything.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Logan sagged back against the frame of the car, folding his arms. His eyes on the floor, he defiantly enunciated, “It does to me.”

“Why?” Nick leaned down to try and read his eyes. When they flicked back up, Nick was cut by blue steel.

“If she can’t prove it, then she can’t tell anyone.”

“What, are you nuts? You think she’s gonna let this go if I tell her we’re just friends? A friendship I’ve deliberately concealed from her for months?”

Logan pushed off the car and started pacing the floor, muttering angrily to himself.

“What did you say?” Nick demanded.

Stopping right in front of him, Logan averred through gritted teeth, “I said, I knew no good would come of all of this.”

“No good!” Nick yelled back. “No good? Is that what I’ve been to you?”

“You don’t get it,” Logan snapped, then shook his head wearily as he explained more quietly, “You don’t have anything to lose.”

Nick took a deep breath, biting back every vicious word fighting to get out of his mouth. When he had better control of himself, he glared at Logan, asserting, “I guess you’re right. I’m sure not losing anything important.” Nick tossed the keys to the shop at him, saying, “Lock up, will you? I’m going home. Alone.”

As he stalked to the door, a snarl followed him out. “Good! We should’a been doing that all along. Then none of this would’ve ever happened.”

Nick ignored the salvo and drove back to Observatory Hill in muted, stoic fury, wondering how a bright, glittering day had shattered so quickly—and irrevocably.

Chapter 14:

For Every Truth There Is an Ear

For every truth there is an ear somewhere to hear it.

—Ivan Panin

SUNDAY NIGHT at eleven p.m., Nick trudged slowly home, sweat-soaked after a long run but still unsure whether or not sleep was an attainable goal. He barely remembered traversing the lamp-lit trails of Riverview Park, so occupied had his mind been with doomsday scenarios, each one more catastrophic than the last. Trudy’s gonna reprimand me for sure. Maybe even fire me… and the job market for counselors isn’t exactly jumping. I could lose the house—then Ma won’t have a place to come home to…. Good thing I wasted my savings on that stupid car. He immediately shook that reflection off, since it brought his train of thought to an unwelcome stop named Logan Crane. Suddenly the contemplation of financial ruin was more attractive than thinking of his still-silent cell phone.

A short while later, Nick stared sleeplessly at his bedroom ceiling and attempted to calm his raging fears. Trudy won’t fire me. She can’t! It’s not like I broke any clear-cut rules. If she tries to, I’ll… I’ll sue her ass off. Abruptly, he was inspired to jump out of bed and dig out an old boyfriend’s business card—one who specialized in employment law and was known in the gay community for anti-discrimination suits. When Nick finally found the card tucked into a desk drawer, he clutched it like a talisman and laid it carefully on his dresser. He hadn’t spoken to Mark Billings in almost four years, but they had parted on very amicable terms, and Nick felt slightly better for having taken some kind of action.

When he dressed for work the next morning, Nick was still girding his loins for battle, already mentally arguing with Trudy in his head. I can’t believe you’d do this to me, after all I’ve given to this place. Not bothering with any kind of breakfast, Nick filled his travel mug with coffee and headed for ACC at 6:20 a.m., since pacing in his small kitchen wasn’t accomplishing anything. Once at work, he decided to use the extra time to dig out his last few performance reviews. Trudy had written them and was fully aware that his ratings had all been exemplary, but Nick planned to go in armed with as much ammunition as possible.

He was scanning e-mails without comprehending a single word when his desk phone rang at five minutes after seven; the LED screen indicated that the call was from Trudy. Nick picked up, saying, “Good morning, Trudy.”

“Good morning. I saw your Jeep in the parking lot.”

“Uh huh.”

“So… you’re here, I’m here. Let’s do this thing.”

Nick was almost tempted to ask Trudy when she had started talking like Tony Soprano but found the joke died in his parched throat. “Okay. I’ll be right there.”

When they were seated across from each other in Trudy’s office, she cleared her throat and said calmly, “I’m not going to beat around the bush. What’s going on between you and Logan Crane?”

Though he had been preparing for this question for the last twelve hours, Nick was momentarily at a loss for words. After a centering breath, he sat up straight, hoping to appear unruffled. “We’re good friends.” Not wanting to delay the inevitable, he added, “And lovers.”

No surprise showed on Trudy’s face as she ground out, “I see.” Fully aware of a counselor’s usual bag of tricks, Nick expected the silence that ensued and did nothing to fill it. Trudy eventually broke it by asking, “And how long has this been going on?”

When he paused to do the calculation, Nick was shocked at the answer. “Three weeks—almost to the day.” Only three weeks. How is that possible? If he’d answered without thinking, Nick would have said a lifetime. He felt like a different man from the one who’d walked soaking wet into Dave Acken’s shop that Sunday morning several weeks earlier.

“If you only crossed that line three weeks ago, why didn’t you ever tell me that you two—”

“I didn’t understand…,” Nick interrupted. “I mean, I was confused.”

“Confused?” Trudy fumed. “Confused about what? How long it would take to seduce him?”

Unable to restrain a snarl, Nick shot back, “It wasn’t like that. I had no intention…. Fuck, I thought he was straight.”

“Right up until three weeks ago?” Trudy’s words dripped with skepticism.

“No,” Nick snapped. “I thought he was straight up until five weeks ago.”

“When you made a pass at him?”

“Yeah, sure. Right after he grabbed me and kissed me.”

Trudy’s face at last showed surprise—bordering on shock. “Logan kissed you? Right out of the blue?”

“Yes,” Nick hissed.

“And you responded by…?”

“I… uh… I… kissed him back.” Wanting to end the interrogative nature of the questioning, Nick added, “If you want any more details, you’ll just have to wait ’til my autobiography comes out. Suffice it to say, we kissed, nothing more happened for a couple of weeks, and then….”

“And then, you decided to take advantage of the situation?”

“No! I didn’t decide anything. It just happened. And I am not the one—” Nick stopped abruptly, shutting that thought down before it had a chance to fully form.

Her interest obviously piqued, Trudy asked curiously, “You’re not the one? Meaning Logan is? He took advantage of you?”

“He’s not—nobody took advantage of anybody, okay?” Frustrated and tired of being on the defensive, he adroitly flipped the subject around by saying, “What I was going to say was, I’m not the one who missed all the signs from my patient. That’s why you’re really pissed off, Trudy, isn’t it?” From her sharp intake of breath, Nick knew he’d scored a direct hit. He thrust the knife in a little deeper by adding, “What happened, were you out the day they covered ‘latent homosexuality’ in Psych 101?”

Trudy bit her lip as she resettled in her seat. After a moment spent visibly composing herself, she cocked an eyebrow at him, admitting, “I guess I deserved that.”

After a brief pause, Nick leaned back, saying evenly, “I guess you did.”

“But I don’t think that’s what you were going to say.” Nick refused to give her the satisfaction of confirming her supposition, and he was wholly unprepared when she leaned forward and said, “Nick, do you think Logan is the only one I’m concerned about in all of this?” While he was still parsing that question, Trudy added, “What about you? With your history, have you given any thought to the implications presented by this relationship?”

Nick closed his eyes while he slumped to the side and ran a hand through his hair, murmuring, “You’re better at this than me.”

“Better at what?”

“Throwing your patient off balance.”

“You’re not my patient.”

Nick’s head shot up, and he grabbed for his victorious moment. “Exactly.”

Trudy did not appear discomfited in the least. “But I think you should be someone’s patient.”

“Oh, God, not this again,” Nick groaned. “I thought we closed this subject years ago. And I availed myself of therapy in graduate school, as you full well know.”

“Six sessions, Nick. How much do you achieve with a client in six sessions?”

“We’re not having this discussion again. We’re not,” Nick insisted through gritted teeth. “If you want to ream me out because you think that I interfered in Logan’s therapy, then do it.”

“Okay, let’s talk about that. You still haven’t explained why you concealed the friendship from me back when that’s all it was.”

“I told you, I was confused because….”

“Because some part of you knew something was up back then—whether you admitted it to yourself or not. And once it did start, what did you think was going to happen? Were you just going to let this man go back to his wife, knowing what that might mean for her?”

“I was trying not to let that happen. I kept telling Logan that if he went back to Linda, he might end up hurting her again physically—and he’d sure as hell hurt her emotionally.” Nick shrugged sadly, asserting, “The rest was up to him.”

There was no immediate answer as Trudy mulled his response over. She mused quietly, “That must be why he told me…,” before resuming her lecturing voice and steely glare. “Do you realize how much damage we’ve already done to Linda? How much worse the truth is going to be now that her hopes have been raised?”

“I didn’t want it to get this far,” Nick sighed.

“But you let it happen. You’re absolutely right, I blindly ignored all of the signs, and it was Logan’s place to tell me, or his wife. But when none of that happened, you,” Trudy wagged a finger at him, “should have felt some obligation to step in.” In a softer, searching tone, she asked, “Tell me, how does the Nick Zales I know not do everything in his power to keep an abused woman from further harm?”

A shroud of sorrow and shame fell over Nick at the question, and he couldn’t answer without losing composure; the only reply he could manage was a shake of his head while reaching for the cup of coffee perched on the edge of Trudy’s desk.

The softer voice stayed as Trudy prodded, “What was going on in your life three to four weeks ago, Nick?” She supplied the answer herself, saying, “You were letting Norah go, you had just taken on two demanding new patients, and worst of all, your mom was very ill.”

Hearing concern but feeling condescension, Nick slammed the mug back down, blurting angrily, “None of that has anything to do with—” He paused for a deep breath before calmly insisting, “I know what you’re suggesting, but it wasn’t poor judgment ’cause my head wasn’t on straight, Trudy.”

“Then what was it?”

“It was….” How to explain what he couldn’t understand himself?

While Nick was still foundering, Trudy crisply interrupted his thoughts with, “You should take some time to think it over.”

Nick’s eyes locked with Trudy’s as he asked, “Meaning what? You’re suspending me?”

“I don’t want to, and I won’t have to if you’ll take the FMLA we talked about last week.”

There didn’t seem to be much choice in the matter. “For how long?”

“Why don’t we talk in, say, two weeks and see how much life has stabilized for you? I hope you’ll spend the time wisely.”

“Which in your mind means ‘not with Logan’. Right?”

“Frankly, yes. As you’ve pointed out, you’re not my patient—but he is. I’m going to suggest he spend some time alone, getting his own house in order; first on his agenda has to be an honest talk with Linda.” Trudy paused and leaned forward, her hand stretching across the desk. “And Nick? I think you’ve got some things to take care of, too.”

“And what do I tell my clients?”

“The truth. You’re taking a short leave of absence to deal with some personal matters and you’ll see them when you get back. Anyone who can’t wait, well, Tracey and I can help them.” For the first time all morning, Trudy smiled. “You need to take care of yourself. Then you can go back to taking care of others.”

Nick stood and stretched, dolefully mumbling, “Okay, that’s a plan.”

He gathered his file folders and took his leave, turning back when Trudy said, “I know therapy is a sore subject, but please think about what I said.” He nodded his assent, since he would be brooding about her nagging suggestion for the rest of that day—though that was all he intended to do about it.

After glumly sitting behind his closed office door for a quarter of an hour, a stone-faced Nick finally mustered up enough energy to inform the office manager, who doubled as HR rep for ACC, of his intention to take some FMLA time. He stoically bore Janice’s coo of concern as she found the necessary forms but escaped as soon as he could. Walking out to his Jeep with leaden steps, Nick burned with shame, feeling that he’d failed—failed Trudy, his clients, his calling, and yeah, maybe even Logan.

NEVER BEFORE had Logan been so glad to be handed an ass-busting assignment. Right after he’d clocked in on Monday morning, Mack had informed him that they were short-handed and Logan would be unloading two tractor-trailers of merchandise by himself. Mid-October was a busy time at Scott’s Garden Center. Out front, customers were loading up on Halloween decorations while in the back, all the winter paraphernalia was being staged so it could be whisked into place on November 1st. Logan accepted the job without complaint, since staying as busy as possible seemed the best antidote to the fury still burning in his gut.

Though his hands were fully occupied, the work didn’t really stop Logan from dwelling on his list of grievances against Nick. His anger hadn’t abated one bit since their fight the night before—quite the reverse. New complaints occurred to Logan with each box that he wheeled into the warehouse. He wouldn’t listen, would he? I told him what a bad idea it was, goin’ to that fuckin’ diner, but no, Nick know-it-all Zales had to have it his way. Him and his precious fuckin’ landmark.

Logan grunted as he shoved a box into place on an upper shelf and the sound almost turned to a moan when he spied the label. Holly-Daze 4-pak Christmas Ornaments. He couldn’t help but think of his promise to Krista and Meghan that their dad would be back home by Christmas. A promise that was shattered now, all thanks to Mr. I-Cannot-Tell-A-Lie.

A quick glance at the huge warehouse clock told Logan that it was after nine a.m. already. Nick’s meeting with Trudy was probably over, and Logan’s fate was sealed. Hope he’s happy…. As Logan continued to grouse to himself, an insidious thought occurred to him. Maybe Nick really was happy about this turn of events; maybe he’d had planned it all along. Smart guy like Nick, he had to know how dangerous it was for the two of us to go waltzin’ into The Liberty Grill. Yeah, sure, Nick’s been tryin’ to get me to come clean to Trudy, and now he’s fixed it so I don’t have a choice.

The rest of the morning passed slowly for Logan as he finished unloading the trucks, mired in a fog of resentment. At 1:20, he was taking a late lunch break, desultorily gnawing at a ham and cheese sandwich, when his cell phone rang. He flipped it open and saw that the call was from Nick. Perfect! Logan was sitting alone at the back picnic table and could tell the big-mouth off without an audience. “Yeah?”

The connection was really bad, and Logan could barely make out Nick’s voice as it faded in and out, swallowed by static. “Lo… didn’t expect to get you… just gonna leave… message.”

“Well, too bad for you, then, ’cause now you gotta talk to me direct.”

“Wanted….” More static, and then Logan heard, “I’m sorry.” The sound faded again, though Logan thought Nick added, “I had to tell….” The rest was lost.

“You had to tell Trudy, huh? Is that why you called?”

“You gotta know… goes against my …rinciples… don’t believe in outing….”

“What? Could you speak up?”

“This …onnection sucks… see if they have a payphone.”

Why didn’t the idiot just call from his desk phone? Logan got up and started pacing with the phone to his ear. “Hang up and call from—” Suddenly he heard Nick yelling the question about a payphone. Something wasn’t adding up. “Where in the hell are you?”

“Uhh, …orget the name… this place. Hang on… ask the bartend….”

Logan’s anger melted quickly into concern, and he stopped dead in his tracks. Ask the bartender? Is that what he said? What the…? “You’re in a bar?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck are you doing in a bar in the middle of the day?”

“…ood question.” Static drowned out the tail-end of Nick’s mirthless laugh, and the unease Logan had been feeling turned to full-blown panic.

Fuck, she wouldn’t’ve—couldn’t’ve—fired him? “Trudy didn’t…. Nick, you didn’t lose your job, did you?”

A fresh burst of static came over the line, and all Logan heard was, “…relieved of duty.”

Son of a bitch! Wasn’t that just fancy talk for fired? In a wheedling tone of voice, Logan cajoled, “Hey, listen to me. You stay right there, and I’ll swing by and pick you up as soon as I get off, okay?” A frisson of alarm shot up his spine when a flash of movement nicked the corner of his eye. Logan whirled around to find Mack smoking a cigarette and regarding him with intense curiosity.

He turned his attention back to his phone to hear, “Don’t bother… gonna get go… soon. I really am sorr… ake care, Logan.” There was nothing more as the line went dead.

His heart sinking like a stone in the sea, Logan flipped his phone closed before looking over at his supervisor. With a sheepish shrug, he said, “Buddy of mine. He’s havin’ a rough day.”

Mack nodded sympathetically. “Sure sounded that way.” He flicked his cigarette butt on the ground and stubbed it out while offering, “Look, if you wanta take off now and get him out of that bar, go ’head. Might save his wife some grief.”

“He’s not—” Logan clamped down on that admission and tried to seem unconcerned as he explained, “He’ll be all right. No use anyway, he wouldn’t tell me where he is.”

Mack shrugged and ambled back into the garden center. With no other choice, Logan followed him in and finished his shift, barely aware of what he was doing as he unboxed some of those shiny Christmas ornaments. His self-righteous anger was a distant recollection now, so consumed was he by shame and regret.

The memory of telling Nick that he had nothing to lose stabbed at Logan’s conscience. What a stupid thing to say. Nick had plenty to lose, and it looks like he did. Couldn’t Trudy’ve given him a break? He told her the truth. Wonder if he’s sorry, now? ’Course he is—isn’t that what he said on the call?

Logan suddenly wished he could tell Nick not to be sorry, to be proud that he did the right thing and screw what anyone else thought. Too bad I pretty much came right out and told him to lie; can’t believe I did that. What was I thinkin’? I was just as bad as Daisy. For the first time ever, Logan saw the situation with his sister from the other side, and he didn’t like the view at all. No wonder Nick don’t wanna see me right now. The idea of his friend sad and alone in an unfamiliar bar disturbed Logan on several levels, not least of which was the thought of some strange guy jumping at the chance to comfort Nick.

At three p.m., Logan finished up work and practically ran out to his truck. In the privacy of the cab, he punched in Nick’s cell phone number. The voice mail came on immediately every time he called, which meant the damn thing was probably turned off. Maybe he’s home by now. Logan immediately tried that number but got only the answering machine. “Hey, Nick? It’s me. If you’re there, pick up.” No response.

The next number he dialed was the last person he wanted to talk to but the only one who could tell him what had happened with Nick. Unfortunately, when he asked to speak with Dr. Trudy Gerard, he was informed that she was with a client. “How much longer do you think she’ll be?”

“I’m not really sure. I can take a message for her, if you’d like.”

Logan stifled the urge to curse at the receptionist and instead left a message for Trudy to call him on his cell phone as soon as she got a chance. He sat lost in thought for a moment and then, with no better idea, headed for Nick’s house. Just because he ain’t pickin’ up the phone don’t mean he’s not there.

AFTER NICK ended the call to Logan, he stared down into his half-full mug, trying to decide what to do next. A fourth beer on an empty stomach would make driving a dicey proposition, and Nick felt no desire to spend the rest of the day in this dark and dank bar. He wasn’t even quite sure how he’d ended up there.

He’d left ACC and moped around the house for a few hours until the walls had started closing in on him, but for once going for a run or shooting hoops held no appeal. Looking for a source of cheer, Nick had headed to the hospital to see his mom, thinking a visit would surely buoy both of them, especially as this was her last week in Allegheny Suburban. Three days earlier, Nick had made arrangements with the social worker to transfer Agnes to the Heartland Healthcare Center.

Sadly, the visit ended up only adding to Nick’s gloom. His mom looked more frail then he’d ever seen her before and seemed more incoherent than not. After twenty minutes, Agnes had drifted back to sleep, prompting Nick to go out in search of sustenance. While driving around aimlessly, he’d made an impulsive stop at Slim and Ernie’s Tavern, an establishment where serving food didn’t appear to be a priority or, judging by his time there, even a possibility.

A growling stomach reminded Nick of his original mission. He slowly finished his beer, weighing the options. The idea of heading home to an empty house tempted him not in the least. In all honesty, Nick knew where he wanted to go. Been feelin’ the pull all morning, just can’t admit it. Why? It ain’t like it’s gonna make anything worse. Mind made up at last, Nick paid the tab and headed outside.

Twenty-five minutes later, he walked through the door of The Liberty Grill, finding it unusually quiet. Of course, he was there smack-dab between the lunch rush and the early bird special crowd. The afternoon hostess, Sharon, greeted him like the old friend he was. “Nick! What’re you doin’ here?”

“Looking for somethin’ to eat.” He swept the entire restaurant with a cautious glance. “Is Larry around?”

“He’s busy in the kitchen, hon. You want I should get him?”

“Nah, don’t bother him,” answered Nick, unsure whether he was disappointed or relieved. “I’ll just take a seat at the counter.” He hopped on a stool at the far end of the restaurant and waved the menu away. “I know what I want. Medium-rare cheeseburger, loaded, and a double-thick chocolate shake.”

The waitress, a new girl Nick didn’t know, nodded as she wrote his order up, asking, “Fries or potato salad on the side?”

“I wanna substitute macaroni and cheese.”

With raised eyebrows, she confirmed, “You want a side order of macaroni and cheese with your cheeseburger?”

“Actually, I want a full order,” Nick corrected, smiling in spite of himself at her disbelief.

“Okay.” She winked and smiled back. “You got it.”

Nick snatched a discarded newspaper from a nearby booth and paged wearily through it as he waited. A little while later, the clunk of a heavy stoneware plate hitting the counter signaled that his food had arrived. Nick lowered the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette to find Larry shaking his head while sliding a tall, frosty glass next to the plate.

“Sharon told you I was here?” he asked, reaching for his half-pound burger.

“She didn’t have to. You think I don’t know that order? I heard it being fired in the kitchen and figured either you were here lookin’ for comfort food or some other customer was trying to commit suicide by calorie.”

“Yeah, well, I need some comfort.” After taking a huge bite, Nick muttered, “My order wasn’t the only thing that got fired today.”

Larry drew a mug of coffee for himself and tsked at his young friend. “Is that what you call taking a voluntary leave of absence?”

“Ha, voluntary,” Nick scoffed, slowing his assault on the burger to tackle some macaroni and cheese. “I guess you talked to your wife today?”

“No, I listened to her last night after we dropped Dave off—for over an hour.”

“Sorry ’bout that.” Nick sighed at his plate before looking back up at Larry. “She knew as soon as she saw us?”

“Didn’t even take that long,” Larry harrumphed. “When Dave saw the car and started talkin’ about you and Logan workin’ so hard on it, Trudy got real quiet. I looked over and could see the wheels turnin’ in her head. I’ll admit, I didn’t get what was up ’til she started ranting about it later.”

“She was really pissed off, huh?” Nick picked up his glass and tried to drown some guilt in chocolate shake.

“Son,” Larry drawled, the deep rumble soothing to Nick’s ears. “I think she was more hurt than pissed.”

“She thinks I went behind her back?”

“There’s that. But she seems to think it’s a bad idea all around—bad for both you and Logan. As she put it, ‘Nick could have any gay man in the city, but he has to fuck around with one of my abusers.’”

Nick devoured his burger with renewed vigor, objecting, “It wasn’t like that. We aren’t just ‘fucking around’.” He swallowed and added indignantly, “And Logan is more than just another abuser.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” A deep chuckle erupted from Larry. “What is it you’re tryin’ to say?”

“What?” Nick asked. His annoyance spiked when Larry just laughed harder.

“Did you just hear yourself? You practically came right out and told me you were in love.”

“I did not.” His heart sped up as he examined his admission. To cover his confusion, he wolfed down more food, but his mind wasn’t distracted. Shit, what did I mean? Am I… in love? Around a mouthful of macaroni and cheese, Nick mumbled, “I don’t know… maybe.”

He looked up at Larry, expecting more amusement but instead finding dark brown eyes filled with gentle compassion. “I thought Nick Zales didn’t believe in love.”

Nick wiped his mouth with a paper napkin, then squared his shoulders and looked Larry in the eye. “Yeah, well… could be that love believes in Nick Zales.”

Larry nodded, saying with some satisfaction, “It’s about time.”

“Are you crazy?” Nick threw his napkin down on his nearly empty plate. “Do you know how fucked up this whole thing is?”

“As fucked up as some fry cook fallin’ in love with a fancy PhD from Bethel Park?”

“That hardly compares, Larry. And you’re not just ‘some fry cook’.”

“And you told me Logan wasn’t just another abuser.”

“He’s not.” Nick sighed and ran a hand across his forehead. “Still. There are too many complications and repercussions here—”

“This is why you and Trudy drive each other crazy sometimes,” said Larry as he leaned a shoulder against the coffee urn. “You two are so much alike.” Nick shot Larry a quizzical look, prompting him to explain, “You both analyze everything to death.”

”Not lately,” Nick laughed.

“You are now—”

“Larry,” Nick interrupted, leaning forward and lowering his tone to explain. “Me falling in love with Logan could mean… mean….”

“So deal with your daddy issues and then—”

“How did you know…?”

“Do you think I’ve lived with that woman for over twenty years without pickin’ up a thing or two about her business? Like I was sayin’, deal with what you have to and then, if the feelings are still there, find a way to make it work.” He faced Nick, hands braced against the counter. “Love is worth fightin’ for.” Larry’s smile flashed white against his dark skin as he added, “Looks like I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

LOGAN WAS so relieved to see Nick’s Jeep in the parking lot of The Liberty Grill, he could have kissed the damn thing, even though his stomach twisted at the thought of going in that restaurant. He took a deep breath, slipped through the double glass doors, and was immediately greeted by the ebullient hostess. “Hi, hon, booth or table?”

“Umm,” Logan stalled, looking around for Nick. He spotted him sitting at the counter, deep in conversation with Larry Gerard. Nodding towards the two men, he said, “I’m meetin’ him.”

“Okay,” she answered gaily, stepping aside.

Logan walked slowly down the aisle and slipped onto the stool next to Nick. “Hey, there.”

Nick swiveled around and regarded him with apparent shock. “Logan, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“Lookin’ for you.”

“Why didn’t you call?” Nick asked, pulling his cell phone out.

“You have it turned off.”

“I do not,” Nick said. He looked down at the phone and said, “Oh, looks like the battery died.” He shrugged, asking, “How did you know I was here?”

“Trudy told me—”

The glare Nick shot Larry would have stung a lesser man, but Larry was clearly unabashed. “It wasn’t me.”

“You didn’t let me finish. Trudy told me this was the best place to look for you.”

“I gotta get back to work,” Larry said. He turned to Logan, asking, “Can I get ya anything?”

“Cup of coffee.” Larry efficiently grabbed a mug and filled it, putting it in front of Logan in the blink of an eye. “Thanks.”

“Sure thing,” Larry said as he picked up Nick’s plate and strode back towards the kitchen. “See ya ’round.”

Logan breathed a sigh at being left alone with Nick but then found himself at a loss for words, so he said the first thing that popped into his head. “Returned to the scene of the crime, huh?”

His weak jest backfired as Nick’s face fell. He grimly answered, “You think me bringin’ you here was a crime?”

“It was just a joke. I guess this place really is kind of special to you?”

The smile Logan’s question evoked seemed a little sad, but at least it was a smile. “Yeah, it is. Why were you looking for me?”

“After you called me, I was worried you got fired, but Trudy said you just took some time off. Is that right?”

“Yeah.” Nick stared down at the Formica countertop, adding, “I’m gonna take a couple’a weeks and get my mom settled in the nursing home. Stuff like that.”

Trying to catch Nick’s eye, Logan pushed his coffee aside and leaned on the counter. “You didn’t sound too happy about it on the phone.”

Nick looked at him, saying, “What do I have to be happy about, Logan? You said it yourself last night—”

“I said a lotta stupid things last night.”

“Maybe. But it doesn’t immediately follow that you were wrong.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that…. I guess it means I should’ve handled things better. A lot better.” Nick reached for Logan’s untouched coffee and took a sip as he swiveled to face him directly. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Especially you. It looks like I have a habit of doin’ that to people that I….” He trailed off and looked out the window. “That I’d never wanta hurt.”

“Jesus, Nick.” Logan thumped his hand on the counter, insisting, “You didn’t hurt me. You were right to tell Trudy the truth, and I was dead wrong to want you to lie.” With a sigh, he added, “I just got a bunch of stuff to… to deal with, now.”

“Like your wife?”

“Yeah. That’s first on my list. One of the few things me and Trudy—” Logan shrugged as he ran his thumbnail along the bright chrome edging of the counter. “Fuck, I ain’t lookin’ forward to tellin’ Linda.” He glanced at Nick, searching for understanding in those dark eyes. “This is gonna hurt her awful bad.”

“I know, but the longer you wait, the worse it’ll be.”

“Is this week soon enough?”

Nick’s mouth fell open. “You’re gonna talk to Linda this week?”

“Yes. Trudy wants me to do it at her office.” He rolled his eyes, adding, “She says it’ll be best in a neutral place, plus she’ll be there to offer her support….”

“But?” Nick prodded, apparently reading him well.

“But that don’t seem right to me. I think Linda should be in her own home so she can… yell or holler or throw things at me if she wants.” Logan reached for his tepid coffee, taking a gulp before he added, “I think Krista and Meghan have Girls Scouts some night this week. I’m gonna see if I can do it then.”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

Nick’s smile seemed more genuine this time, and he found himself smiling back, but the air between them hung heavy with the unspoken question: Now what?

Logan took a deep breath and forced out the other decision he’d made on the way to Pittsburgh. “Nick, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I’m gonna need some time to… some time.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Surprise and alarm replaced the trepidation in his gut. “You are?”

“Yeah.” His voice dropped a full register as Nick added, “Coming out is a hard thing, Logan, I know that. Everyone should be able to choose their own moment, and I’m real sorry it got forced on you. If you didn’t need some time to deal with that, I’d think you were nuts.”

“It was hard for you?”

“Of course. Why are you surprised?”

Logan was too astounded to offer anything but the truth. “I didn’t think anything was hard for you.”

His reply drew a real, honest-to-God belly laugh from Nick. “Yeah, right. If you only knew.”

When they parted in the parking lot a few minutes later, Logan drew some solace from the hug they shared; however, the embrace was not only too brief, there was a new awkwardness marring it as well. Wanting to end on an up note, Logan called out to Nick’s retreating figure, “Hey, Nick!”

“What?”

“I might take the T-Bird and get it painted this weekend. I’ll call you if I get it done.”

A patented Nick Zales grin beamed at Logan from ten feet away. “Sounds great. I can’t wait to see it.”

Logan drove home feeling slightly better but wondering why he hadn’t told Nick he was planning to take the Thunderbird to Elco. It didn’t take too much soul-searching to find the answer. He’d wanted an out in case facing up to Linda turned out to be all he could handle in the space of a week.