Bending the Iron - 11. Chapter 11

Michael rolled into the museum’s parking lot, shutting off the headlights before they swept over the second-floor windows. Dark came early this time of year. Only six o’clock, yet the gray sky was rolling over to black. Eric’s jeep was in its usual space, the only car in the lot.

Like every other night these past two weeks, Michael sat for several minutes while the truck idled, feeling relatively safe from discovery in the near dark. And like every other evening, his courage melted away as the minutes passed. Their month apart had only deepened his feelings for Eric, but he wasn’t a fool. There was no guarantee Eric felt anything but anger, or worse, indifference. Honestly, there was no guarantee Eric didn’t hate him. Finding out for certain was more terrifying than a folder full of college brochures.

Still, he’d conquered those, hadn’t he?

He’d sworn Pete to silence on the topic of his decision to go back to school. It wasn’t information he wanted Eric coming by secondhand. Not when it had been the thing to pull them apart. Plus it wasn’t something Michael had been ready to share right away. His decision felt as fragile as a newborn baby, and he guarded it jealously.

He’d completed the last of the online applications two weeks ago and had immediately gone to the museum to see Eric, only to panic and drive away before the engine had finished cooling. Tonight felt no different than that first visit, and no different from any day since. Chest tight with equal parts anticipation and dread, he stared up at the backlit windows and quietly lost his nerve to go inside.

He’d hold on to his hope for one more day. Shuddering through a sigh, he shifted into reverse, glancing over his right shoulder as he eased out of the parking space.

Somebody knocked on his window, a sharp tap tap tap. Michael jumped, not quite swallowing a startled shout. His foot slipped off the brake, and the truck bounced backward a few feet. Swearing, he slammed his heel onto the pedal and swung toward the window, squinting for a glimpse of the idiot he’d nearly run over.

A set of white knuckles appeared out of the gloom and tapped again on the glass. Michael knew those hands. He fantasized about them enough. Feeling his stomach twist, he swung the gear shift into park and rolled down his window. The glare from the internal dash lights disappeared, and Michael set eyes on Eric for the first time in a month.

He stood on the blacktop—in short sleeves with no jacket, of course—hands slung into his pockets and mouth set in a firm line. “Were you just going to take off again?”

“Again?” Michael croaked, distracted by the vision in front of him. Eric looked exhausted and upset and absolutely gorgeous. His hair had grown a little shaggier, and he’d been neglecting a razor recently, something Michael had never known him to do before.

“Yes, again.” Eric held up a hand, ticking the days off with his fingers. “Like last night. And the night before that. And the night before that, when you sat here for twenty minutes before slinking off.”

“Shit,” Michael mumbled.

“Yeah. Pretty much.” Turning his back to the icy wind, Eric wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. It was the shiver that did it. When all else had failed, the sight of Eric shaking in the cold got Michael moving. He turned off the engine, slid out of the cab and took hold of Eric’s arm. “Get inside before you freeze.”

Eric shook loose, and Michael tripped back a step. He hadn’t meant to touch, and the way Eric had recoiled made him wish he hadn’t. “I’m fine,” Eric said. “Are you going to answer my question?”

Michael rewound the conversation in his head before taking a fortifying breath to answer. “Yes. I was. Going to take off again,” he clarified when Eric’s eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t want to hear you say...”

Eric’s voice gentled. “What?”

“Goodbye,” Michael admitted. “At least not for another day.”

His confession prompted nothing but silence. Michael risked another touch, to Eric’s elbow this time.

“Can we take this inside where it’s warmer?”

He tried to stay unaffected by the contact, but the way Eric’s eyes went wide, and not with fear, and his sudden shiver that had nothing to do with the cold, revived Michael’s burning need to take more. Unable to help himself, he curled his fingers around Eric’s arm.

“Michael.” Eric closed his eyes but didn’t protest.

“Right here.” He turned them both toward the rear door, walking as close to Eric’s side as he dared, soaking up the heat of his body.

“We need to talk.”

“That’s why I’m here.” They pushed inside the building, and Michael closed the door behind them. The pitch black gave him the courage to add, “To see if you’d give me another chance.”

“For God’s sake.” There was no missing the exasperation in Eric’s tone. “You left. Not me.”

The stairwell became suddenly inappropriate for what Michael needed to say. Even if the dark made it easier, too much was getting lost in translation. He needed to see Eric in order to gauge his reactions. Now wasn’t the time to guess at what was being left unsaid.

“Upstairs,” he said gruffly, steering Eric ahead of him.

Eric went with a soft sigh but no real complaint, and a minute later, they were in the model room. The overhead lights faded as they stood there, and miniature lamps brightened into life across the broad expanse of the diorama. Nighttime on the railway. In the gloom, the details of Eric’s expression were once again lost. He took a step back, straining Michael’s grip on his arm. Michael bit back a wordless protest.

Was this what addiction did to a person? Made it so that nothing but the craving controlled them? “Do you want me to let go?” he whispered.

Eric took several seconds to answer. “What do you think?”

He didn’t know. Even when Eric shifted his weight, leaned toward Michael, and the pull in his shoulder eased, he wasn’t sure.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Eric prompted.

“Yeah.” They had privacy. Eric hadn’t told him to get lost the moment they’d laid eyes on each other. Circumstances were perfect. Even so, Michael had trouble forming the words he’d been practicing.

“Michael?”

Was that a touch of humor he heard? “Sorry.” Michael cleared his throat. “That’s most of what I came to say, actually. Sorry. For what I said. And did.”

Eric tilted his head. The soft lights behind him framed him in a shining halo. “What’d you do?”

“Acted like a jerk. Scared you.”

“You’re not responsible for my emotional hang-ups.”

The hell he wasn’t. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “It won’t happen again.”

Eric’s shoulders sagged. He stepped closer, and Michael reached for him, curling an arm around his waist. It wasn’t enough, but when he tried to close the final distance, Eric placed a hand on his chest. “Wait. I need to apologize too.”

“What the hell for? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes, I did. You had it right that night. I was projecting a little. Probably more than a little. I didn’t have any business telling you how to live your life.” His fingers tightened on Michael’s shirt. “It won’t happen again.”

The declaration sounded final, but unless Eric came out and added “because we’re through,” Michael would assume the exact opposite—that they’d just made a new beginning. Enough relief barreled through him to make his knees tremble. “Come here.” He coaxed with gentle tugs until they were pressed together. Michael turned his face into Eric’s hair and breathed deep. “Missed you like fucking crazy.”

Linking his hands behind Michael’s neck, Eric pressed a kiss to his throat. “Missed you too.”

They hadn’t touched each other in a month, and when Michael had spent time envisioning this moment these past few weeks, there had always been more touching and less clothing. Strangely, when faced with the reality of Eric in his arms, he couldn’t let go long enough to manage any of it. Instead, he nosed Eric’s hair out of the way to nip at the shell of his ear. “You still think I should go, though, don’t you?”

Eric tensed. “I—”

“The truth.”

“It’s your life.”

“Will you please answer the question?”

Some of his amusement must have penetrated. Eric melted back into his embrace. “Okay, yes. I do. Does that piss you off?”

Behind them, tiny street lamps winked out across the model, and the overhead lights began to brighten. “Not anymore. Actually, I needed to hear that you still believe in me.” Michael took a deep breath. “I did it.”

Eric leaned away to look him in the eye. “You did what?”

“The brochures for the schools you gave me. I went online and applied.” Amazingly, Eric floundered at the news, and Michael smiled. “Nothing to say, for once?”

Eric stepped back, gaze sharp. “Which ones?”

He hadn’t considered picking and choosing. “All of them.”

The sharp whistle of a passing locomotive drowned out Eric’s laugh. It chugged past, sending small puffs of white smoke into the air around them. “You don’t do anything by halves, do you?” he asked, grinning.

“No.” Michael snagged Eric’s sleeve and pulled him tight against his chest. “And it’s past time I reminded you of that.”

***
Epilogue
***

If fall was Michael’s favorite season, then spring had to be the one he hated most. Buds took forever to appear on the trees, and the slightest frost could cause them to curl back up and stay dormant for days, making the wait even more excruciating. It rained endlessly, until the creeks were cresting their banks, and the drainage canals in town flowed fast and dangerous behind the rows of houses.

Michael splashed through a half inch of water as he ran through the downpour to the door of the Hickory Hotel, then ducked under the metal awning and shook the loose droplets from his hair. Late April and the air was still cold enough to condense his breath, even if it dissipated with a brisk wind. It was as he was reaching for the door handle that he heard it—a train whistle, close and approaching fast. He turned just as the engine rocketed by in the ravine below the hotel, moving briskly along the track for a freight train, but not so quickly that Michael had trouble keeping track of its length.

He blew into his chilled hands as he kept count, reaching twenty-seven before the caboose flashed by, swaying back and forth after the larger cars. The silence it left behind felt even deeper than before. Michael glanced around the half-filled parking lot and crossroads before
pushing through into the bar.

“Hey, Rob!” He lifted his hand in a wave.

Rob finished loading the cooler with beer before he tossed the empty cardboard box into the corner. He sauntered up the rubber mat to shake Michael’s hand. “Mike! Long time, no see. How’s it going?”

“Can’t complain.” Michael set a boot on the brass rod that circled the base of the bar. “Just picking up some dinner.”

“Did you call ahead?”

“Yep. Whoever’s in the kitchen took the order.”

Rob held up a finger and crossed to the swinging door that led to the kitchen. “Yep. Think I see it,” he said, squinting through the round, high-set window. “Hang on.” He pushed into the kitchen, wiping his hands on his apron and calling out to the cook. “Hey, is this the takeout order for Mike?”

Michael put his back to the bar and looked out over the dining room. About half the tables were in use. He saw groups of four at each of the pool tables, and quick glances to his left and right revealed about ten other people nursing drinks. Most were watching the ancient television mounted on the wall above the kitchen door. A good crowd for a weeknight. The mood of the place was different than usual, more upbeat.

Or that might have been him.

Rob returned with a set of greasy brown paper bags and stacked them precariously in front of Michael. “$17.50. Someone’s got an appetite tonight.”

“That would be Eric,” Michael muttered, counting out bills. “I think he skipped lunch.”

Rob nodded with a knowing gleam in his eye. “Pete said the final touches went on the model today. I’ve got to admit, I’m kind of excited to see it after all the hoopla.”

“It’s been a long haul,” Michael agreed. Nearly seven months, some of it backbreaking and some just plain tedious. But Eric’s enthusiasm had never flagged, even when all Michael could see was a disorganized, disassembled mess. When they realized the entire model would have to be rewired, Eric had smiled and shrugged. When an infestation of mold meant they’d had to demolish two whole loops and start from scratch, he’d brought the local Cub Scout troop in and fed them pizza in exchange for free labor, although Michael secretly believed they would have done the work for nothing. He’d never seen so many sledgehammer-happy boys.

All in all, it was a journey he’d never forget, and not all of that fondness revolved around the physical labor or finished product.

“So, Mike.” Rob transferred the money to the register. “A little bird told me you put your notice in at the plant.”

Those little birds must fly at the speed of light. Michael had submitted his resignation only that afternoon. Pulling in a fortifying breath, he nodded. “That’s right.”

“What the hell for?”

Michael hefted the bags off the bar, grinning in spite of his every effort to look serious. “Going to college, Rob. I start at CMU in the fall.”

“No shit!”

“No shit,” Michael echoed. “It’s time to move on. Be happy for me, man. This is a good thing. A very good thing.”

Slack-jawed, Rob shook his head. “Pete never said a word.”

“I asked him not to. It’s my personal business, you know. No offense or anything.” And he hadn’t wanted word getting back to the plant before he was good and ready to leave it behind.

“But...what...you start in September? It’s only the end of April now.”

Which was the other reason for his stupid grin.

“Yeah, well...I’m taking some time off before the semester starts. There are some places I want to visit.”

Rob blinked as though such an idea had never occurred to him. “Where?”

Everywhere. As many places as he could get to before September. Or until his funds ran out, but Eric kept boasting about knowing how to stretch a dollar, so with any luck, it would be a long trip down as many roads as they could find. Roads that didn’t loop back on themselves but ended somewhere meaningful before starting the next leg of their journey. Those were the paths Michael was ready to travel.

Rob was staring at him with a horrified expression and, giving in to an evil impulse, Michael said, “I thought Oregon would be a good place to start.”

“Ore—” Rob choked, but accustomed to taking surprises in stride, swiped his hand over his apron before reaching over the bar and offering it to Michael. “Wow. Okay. Good luck. And don’t be a stranger.”

“I’ll be around,” Michael said, turning before Rob could detain him with more questions. That part was the truth. Come September, he’d be back at least every other weekend until he was sure Pete was doing all right on his own. Until then, he’d rely on Maggie, and as she seemed keen to do the job, he’d do his best not to worry.

Outside, the rain had yet to let up. A betting man might say it was coming down even harder than before. He sheltered the bags as best he could with his jacket and made a break for the truck. The door swung open a few seconds before he reached it, and he flung himself up into the cab, handing the bags over as he slammed the door behind him. Water dripped down the back of his neck, making him shiver. “Damn. I hate cold, wet Aprils.”

“Aren’t cold, wet Aprils a given in Pennsylvania?” Eric asked around a mouthful of fries.

Michael rolled his eyes and reached for his seat belt. “You seriously couldn’t wait until we drove the two blocks to your place?”

“Dude, I’m starving.” Eric groped unapologetically in the bag for another handful. “Don’t begrudge me a little appetizer.”

The windshield wipers flew back and forth across the glass but accomplished little. The skies had opened up while he’d been inside. Michael strained for a view of the parking lot through the streaming water. “I can’t see a damn thing.”

“Luckily, we have something to sustain us through the flood.” Eric grinned at Michael’s scowl. “Don’t be grumpy.” He waved a French fry in the air. “Come here.”

“I don’t want one.”

“A what?”

Michael pushed the damp hair out of his eyes. “A fry.”

“Silly boy. I wasn’t offering you my dinner.” Eric popped the potato into his mouth and, as far as Michael could tell, swallowed it whole. “Come here. I want to kiss you.”

“Didn’t anybody ever tell you to chew your food?” Michael asked, but he slid across the seat and into Eric’s space. The rainfall might as well have been biblical; they had as much privacy as they needed.

“My mom might have mentioned it once or twice. She also said I’d meet a nice girl and have lots of children one day, so you can see why I didn’t always take her advice to heart. Also—”

Michael kissed him. Sometimes it was the only thing that shut him up.

“Excited about tomorrow?” he asked a few minutes later. His fingers had found their way into Eric’s hair, and one of his hands cradled the back of his head where it had fallen against the seat. Face glowing with pleasure, Eric blinked at him before smiling slowly.

“Yeah. I hope everyone likes it.”

Michael had a feeling that when the museum’s trust had hired Eric, they’d had no idea just how seriously he took the project. What he’d created rivaled the most complex railroad dioramas still in use across the country, with so much added detail a person could spend hours looking and not catch it all. Complexity is true to life, Eric had told Michael. Why dumb down reality? People have a right to see things as they are.

Michael knew the opening would stir a lot of attention, but to Eric, the only thing that mattered was that it was a job well done.

Another reason to love him.

The rain slowed. On the metal roof of the truck, the pounding faded to a light patter, and the world came back into view—the hotel, the museum across the street, and the railroad tracks climbing out of the ravine to mark the crossroads in front of them.

Michael put the truck in gear and pointed it toward home.

END