Bending the Iron - 9. Chapter 9

He sat on the idea for several days, and would’ve procrastinated longer if keeping his distance from Eric hadn’t been so hard. He wanted to be ready with his answer when they saw each other again. At the very least, he needed to be leaning in one direction or the other. But whenever he turned his brain to the idea, it flooded with a dozen impossible complications.

By Friday his yearning for Eric sent him heading southwest, away from temptation, traveling the familiar route to Pittsburgh. Hickory was a quagmire of negativity, and Michael’s default outlook had been grim for years, bogged down with thoughts of a lifetime of punching his card at the glass plant. He needed a change of scenery.

Hooking up with Route 279, he joined the masses bolting toward the city on the six-lane highway. The next several miles wound the traffic between dome-shaped hills, some blasted out of solid rock that hovered over the road like a collection of sharp knives. The signs grew more frequent and complicated. Left lane for one bridge, right line for another. Bear slight right for Downtown, slight left for PNC Park. But it wasn’t until the truck pulled through the last curve and the city came into view in brilliant sunlit glory that some of the weight on Michael’s shoulders fell away.

The sight, usually viewed in twilight or full dark, triggered the obvious physical response. He’d spent the past several years traveling this route for vastly different reasons. His hands twitched to take his usual turns, but he listened instead to the crisp voice of the GPS instructing him toward the main campus of the University of Pittsburgh.

There was little to account for why he felt a stinging behind his eyes as he trudged out of the astronomically priced parking garage and up Forbes Avenue. Or why his chest grew tight at the sight of the Cathedral of Learning. Majestic, the forty-two story building speared the sky in front of him—the university’s centerpiece.

He turned a corner and the student union loomed on his left. Stunned, he stumbled to a stop, staring up at the structure. His heart beat a brisk rhythm from the hike, and it picked up even further as he studied the building’s fine brickwork and sculptures.

“It’s quite amazing, isn’t it?”

Blinking his eyes clear, Michael turned to the voice, finding an older gentleman at his side, brown hair receding over his forehead. The man pushed a set of wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose. “You know it used to be a hotel? One of the finest of its time.” He shot Michael a tentative smile.

Michael found his voice with effort. “I knew that. It was the Schenley Hotel.” The sun glinted off hundreds of sharp angles and graceful curves, and he shaded his eyes with his hand, pointing in the general direction of the stonework above the main entrance. “It’s the most famous beaux-arts structure in the city.”

The man’s eyebrows rose at the reference. “That’s right. You’ll not find a more beautiful example of Louis XV architecture anywhere in the downtown area.”

And it was right under Michael’s nose. It would greet him morning and evening if he came to school here. The thought carried a wave of trepidation, neatly swamping the enchantment.

Am I good enough for this?

The stranger tapped his arm. His soft-sided briefcase was stuffed with papers, the edges of which ruffled with the slight breeze. “You’ve been inside?”

“No.” Swiping a hand over his mouth, Michael shook his head.

“So you don’t attend the university?”

“Not...yet.” And probably not ever. It was becoming hard to breathe between the dual press of fear and inadequacy. Michael swallowed hard.

“I see. Good luck, in that case.” The man winked and gave a short wave as he walked away. “Don’t miss the ballroom. The moldings and artwork are impressive.”

Michael stared after him, battling anticipation, just as he normally did during his visits to the city, but for entirely different reasons. He’d go in. He had to. This was what he had come for. To see whether he fit.

He’d stepped onto the first marble stair leading to the doors when they flew open, spilling kids into the late-morning sunshine. They were kids. At twenty-six, he was allowed to call them that. They flaunted their youth and freedom exactly how Michael had always dreamed of doing, with bedraggled, bulging backpacks, a bounce in their strides, and the eager conversation of privileged optimists.

He froze, one foot above the other on the steps, and allowed the group of young men and women to pass. Their chatter confused him. He heard no references to pay raises or promotions, or who scored the early shift. No one discussed the merits of additional fans in the batch house or how they deserved a better brand of coffee in the break room. No, what flew forth and hovered over them was a jumble of words and phrases Michael suspected were part of the modern college student’s special language. A discussion on how Tuesday/Thursday classes ruled over their Monday/Wednesday/Friday counterparts. How it was impossible to get through a lecture without an iPad, and what in the hell were any of them going to do come graduation with job opportunities becoming scarcer by the day.

“You absolutely have to go to Cairo,” a bouncy blonde said as she brushed past. “It’s my second favorite after Madrid. Maybe we can travel together this summer.”

Michael waited until they were gone, then retreated to the sidewalk and turned the opposite way down the street. Eight years since he’d left high school, but it might as well have been eighty. How selfish and frivolous to think he could ever harness that potential again. This was no place for a man with responsibilities and a secure, decent job.

The Cathedral of Learning blocked a slab of morning sun, throwing a spindly shadow across the road and onto the sidewalk. Head bowed low and hands fisted tight in his pockets, Michael shivered as he passed into it.

* * *

He saw Ed in the long hall that led to cold-end operations, walking away from him, toward his office. Michael slowed, matching the other man’s ambling pace. Ed turned at the end, taking the steps to the second floor at a jog.

Michael carried on, pacing the final length of broad hallway with slow, even strides, but still arrived at the stairs too soon. In an eerie reenactment of that morning, he placed a foot on the first riser and stared upward.

“Hey.” Delaney appeared at his elbow, stuffing the remnants of a salami sandwich into his lunch bag. “What are you doing?”

It was a fair question. Michael gestured upward to where the string of management offices sat in all their elevated symbolic glory. “Checking in with Ed on something.”

Delaney frowned at the polite brush-off. The kid had trouble minding his own business. “About what?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” Michael nudged him aside. “Promise.”

His explanation did little to smooth the worry from Delaney’s expression. Legitimate worry, if things panned out upstairs the way Michael hoped. He started up, leaving Delaney to stare after him, crumpled lunch bag in hand.

Michael’s knock initially drew a distracted glance, until Ed’s brain caught up with his eyes. A wide smile spread over his face, and he stood. Actually stood to greet Michael. Getting caught up in these types of mind games was dangerous, but today Michael let himself enjoy the rush of pride. If Ed wanted to treat him like an equal, Michael wasn’t going to stop him. “Mind if I have a word with you?”

“Not at all.” Ed gestured for him to shut the door, and Michael swung it closed behind him. “I hope you’re here about what we discussed. I’ve been on pins and needles waiting for your decision,” Ed said as Michael sat.

“I am.” He swallowed the last of the rebellion boiling inside of him. “I have to admit, I was shocked by the offer. But if the position is still available, I’d like to take it.”

“Excellent!” Ed clapped his hands together, rubbing them like an eager toddler. “I can’t tell you how excited I am about this. We’re breaking new ground here. I have the utmost confidence that you’re the man who can make this work.”

The praise sounded genuine, which might have been wishful thinking, but that didn’t matter anymore. He’d ditch the bad attitude, the ambivalence and the past. Start fresh. A new day, a new job, a new future. That it didn’t feel as bright as it should have was just one more detail he was willing to overlook.

Back in the parking lot an hour later, he dodged the raindrops that had crept in with the low gray clouds. The first thing he saw after climbing into the cab was the packet of applications Eric had gathered. Just a handful of paper, nothing more. Yet it had the power to bring down the giant, didn’t it? To sneak hope in, when Michael had resolutely put the dream behind him once and for all. Lunging across the seat, he grabbed the folder and bounded out of the truck toward the nearest dumpster, then stood there, looking the fool, his hand hanging over the opening while he willed his fingers to relax.

Let go! Time to let it all go. It was the hanging on that made everything worse. Why not just put the issue to bed once and for all? He shook his wrist, hoping to jog loose one paper. Just one. Once one fell, the rest would too.

They stayed stubbornly inside the manila folder. “Let go,” he whispered. “Just let it go.”

If anything, his fingers tightened. Red-faced, breath hissing through his teeth, Michael stomped back to the truck. “Fine.” He twisted in his seat. “I’ve got a place for you.” With a growl, he stuffed the folder under the seat behind him, feeling it crumple as it met metal. A sharp rip made him wince, but he shoved harder. This time, the folder went, sliding into that no-man’s land between the rear seat and oblivion. He wouldn’t be seeing that anytime soon.

Out of sight, out of mind.

* * *

It was the right decision. That thought carried him down the hill from the plant and through town to the railroad crossing in front of the museum. Except for Eric’s jeep, the parking lot was empty, and the front doors were locked tight, lights off in the vestibule beyond the glass.

Lips pinched, Michael skirted the building to the back door. Eric had a habit of propping it open rather than wrestle with the key every time he came and went. Maggie found it horrifying, but her horror was Michael’s good fortune. He slipped inside and ran up the stairs to the model room.

Work had progressed to the East Erie Line, one of the more modern loops. In the far corner, Eric stood stooped over the diorama, twisting a set of wires together. He didn’t glance up, even though the door made a clang when Michael closed it. Eyes on Eric, Michael circled the diorama.

Five days since they’d seen each other, and no matter how long this thing between them lasted, Michael vowed never to let that much time pass again. Across the room, Eric shifted on his stool, pouting at whatever he held in his hands. A low, bass-heavy beat leaked from his headphones, and his body moved with it in a subtle rocking motion as he worked the wires. Engrossed in his work and music, he missed Michael’s approach, even when Michael took no pains to be quiet or unobtrusive. He made more noise than usual, actually, stumbling a few times in his rush to circle the room.

A craggy mountain range separated the two corner circuits, nestling the Oil Creek line in a makeshift valley. A mill of some sort—grist, maybe—took up one corner, and the small town that supported it, the other.

Typical for this area. For most of the state. It could have been Hickory. Similarities he’d never noticed before were suddenly plain as day. Even the lay of the tracks matched the town. A small two-story building at the junction of two lines at the very corner of the diorama might have been this very museum.

Mesmerized, Michael halted, watching as Eric touched two wires together. Lights came on all over town, and the train, currently parked at the grist mill, came to life, chugging slowly toward the depot on the other side of town.

Eric pumped a fist in the air. “‘Bout time, you son of a bitch.”

The moving train could have been a swinging stopwatch considering how quickly it hypnotized Michael. Only his eyes moved as he tracked its progress around the loop. Through town, to the few outlying farmhouses, then back around the edge of the valley to the mill. Again and again, without stopping.

What finally tore his gaze from the train was the sensation of being watched. Michael lifted his eyes to find Eric staring at him, chin propped in his cupped palm. He offered a smile, soft around the edges, and the pain in Michael’s chest eased even as a second, more pressing ache spun to life low in his stomach. “Hey, stranger,” Eric said.

Michael’s feet carried him to Eric’s side. It felt natural to slip an arm around Eric’s waist, lift him off the stool and pull him close. Eric made a contented purring noise, nuzzling into Michael’s neck. Despite those distractions, Michael’s eyes continued to play over the diorama. “This isn’t Oil Creek. It’s Hickory.”

“No, it’s not.” But Eric smiled against his throat.

Michael swatted his ass. “It is. The mill’s grain, not glass, and the mountains to our east aren’t as dense. Our river’s a bit wider, but it’s Hickory, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Professor.” Eric pulled far enough away to smile at the tiny chugging train. “I figured that out about a week ago. Looks like the original architects succumbed to a wee bit of creative license, as well as sentimentality.”

But Michael hadn’t heard much past the first couple of words. “What’d you call me?” He drew back, leaving Eric weaving on the stool.

“Professor?” Eric’s smile faltered, then recovered. He steadied himself on the platform’s edge. “You figured it out pretty quick, that’s all.”

Inhaling and releasing a deep breath eased none of the tension squaring Michael’s shoulders. Forcing nonchalance, he shrugged. “Whatever.” The round and round of the train was beginning to stir up some nausea. Something about where it slowed on the track—once at the mill, once in town, and once at a cluster of farmhouses. The parallels to his own life were impossible to ignore. “So where is everyone?”

“I’m not sure I’d classify Maggie and Pete as ‘everyone,’ but if you must know, Maggie closed the museum today because she thought some of the cleaning chemicals I used yesterday were still too concentrated. I guess the fumes drifted right through the ducts to the rooms downstairs.”

Michael took an experimental sniff. “I can’t smell them.”

“Me either. Honestly, I think she just wanted to spend the day with Pete.”

Michael’s stomach rolled again. “It’s bad that I can’t seem to wrap my brain around that, isn’t it?”

“Don’t think about it then.” Swiveling, Eric swung his legs around Michael’s hips and locked his ankles together. “Think happy thoughts.”

Eric had invited the touch, so Michael took advantage. He slid his hands beneath Eric’s T-shirt and up over his back, sneaking up through the collar to tug on a few wayward curls. The maneuver bared Eric’s neck. Perfect. Michael ducked for a taste. “Happy thoughts?” he asked between long, slow licks up and over Eric’s Adam’s apple. “I can do that.”

His body was already ahead of the game, pulsing hot and hard against Eric’s stomach, at a fever pitch within seconds.

“Hey, Mikey,” Eric whispered. “Want to call it a day?”

That earned him a snort. Michael rubbed his nose into the dip of Eric’s collarbone. “It’s barely noon.”

“Stop splitting hairs, man.”

The way Eric writhed against him made a pithy response impossible. “Yeah, okay,” Michael rasped, latching onto Eric’s hips to yank him closer. “In a minute.”

He accepted Eric’s moan as acquiescence and wiggled his hands between them to lower the zipper of Eric’s jeans. “Just need to take care of something first. ”A few ungentle tugs had Eric lifting his hips until he was bared to mid-thigh. His cock curled temptingly toward Michael’s mouth. Michael splayed his palms over Eric’s legs, soothing the quivering muscles. “Relax.”

“Oh, sure. Right.” With a breathy laugh, Eric tilted his head back. “Like that’s gonna happen. With you standing there and me bare-assed. I’m totally going to be able to relax. In fact I might fall asleep I’m so relaxed.”

The guy really did know how to talk. Michael waited just long enough to deduce there was no actual protest, then slid his lips over the tip of Eric’s cock. The soliloquy ended in a stuttered gasp, and Michael smiled around the hot flesh in his mouth. He’d remember this trick for the future.

“Oh God, Michael. Oh, babe. Yeah.” Eric lifted his hips and tried to push himself deeper. “More. Please.”

If Michael could have stemmed the tide of words, he would’ve. Since his mouth was occupied, and his hands were clamped low on Eric’s hips, guiding his thrusts, that wasn’t possible. But Eric’s voice, rough with lust, saying his name, was going to undo him before he was ready. This wasn’t going to be the solo event he’d planned. He felt Eric tense, heard his breathing quicken, and his own body revved in response. Giving over to the need, he pressed one palm against his trapped erection, rubbing hard as he sank low onto Eric’s cock and swallowed.

Eric’s shout split the air. It was Michael’s name that he called, and that, as much as the rush of salty liquid in Michael’s mouth, pushed him over. He knew he was making noises of his own, and that Eric was responding to them, but little else penetrated the hot pulses of pleasure rocketing through him. He held Eric in his mouth until the other man pulled away with a whimper, then Michael set his forehead against Eric’s bare thigh, squeezing and pressing at the crotch of his jeans, wringing out the vestiges of his own orgasm.

“Don’t let go. I’ll fall right off this stool,” Eric mumbled.

Michael nuzzled the bare skin beneath his cheek. “No worries.” Rather than try to stand, he drew Eric down off the stool and onto his lap.

“Okay.” Eric wound his arms around Michael’s neck. “My stamina is normally way better. You’re going to ruin my reputation.”

“Hmm.” Michael sank back on his heels, settling Eric against him. It wasn’t a position he’d be able to hold forever, but at the moment, it was perfection. Eric’s fingers brushed the front of his pants, and Michael huffed a breath. Gently, he pushed the questing hand away. “I’m good.”

“That I know.” Eric leaned away to lock their gazes. “Let me. I want to make you feel like that.”

“You already did.” To Eric’s arched eyebrow, Michael added, “Came when you did.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of Eric’s stunned expression until the other man crawled out of his lap and offered a hand up. “Okay, because that’s just about the hottest thing ever, we’re going home now.”

He wasn’t kidding. His cock had plumped a bit, filling quicker than it should’ve, considering the blowjob less than five minutes before. “Nothing wrong with your stamina,” Michael mumbled. Together, they pulled up Eric’s jeans and smoothed his T-shirt.

“Which I plan to demonstrate as soon as possible.” Eric started to turn away. “Oh wait, I forgot.” He spun back, and again his arms latched around Michael’s neck. “Missed you,” he whispered before sealing their lips together.

The kiss itself felt chaste compared to the possessiveness of Eric’s hold. With one hand, he cupped the back of Michael’s head, sifting fingers through his hair. Romantic sentiments boiled up in Michael. Not lust but everything it complemented. Protectiveness. Comfort. Safety. And a sharp sting of something else. An emotion that eclipsed all those things in its intensity, swelling his throat closed. He twisted away from the kiss. “Eric, I—”

Eric spoke over his strangled whisper. “How’s it going with the applications?”

The next breath Michael drew in felt arctic. He shivered. “Okay, I guess.”

“Do you need any help? I could give you a few tips. I’ve got a new printer if you want help getting your portfolio scanned in.” Eric slipped from his embrace and turned to flip the switch on the train set. The lights in the tiny town died. The engine ground to a halt.

“Can we talk about it later?” Michael asked in a soft voice.

“I’ve probably done more of those things than the average person. God knows I like to cover all my bases. I think I must have applied to at least twenty schools for my grad degree.” Gathering tools into his canvas bag, Eric continued to speak. “You’d be surprised what parts of your application get the most attention. It’s not what you’d think. Last year—”

“Later!” Michael slashed at the air between them. “Later. Okay?”

The shout echoed through the room, and the soldering iron slipped from Eric’s hand, clanging onto the table. His face paled in the space of two heartbeats. “Okay,” he said after several seconds, more breath than voice, and reached to pick up the soldering iron with a trembling hand.

Shame bit into Michael. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”

“It’s okay.” Face blank of emotion, Eric placed the bag of tools on the floor at his feet. “Ready to go?”

Was he? His fantasy of a long afternoon of lazy sex had taken an ominous turn. Edginess made him angry all over again. Eric had no right to judge him. But he wouldn’t, would he? It wasn’t his style. Michael would come clean about his decision, his reasons behind it, and that would be the end of it. For good.

He caught Eric’s arm as he sidled past. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. Long day.” He dragged a finger across Eric’s cheek. “I’m an idiot.”

A thin but genuine smile played over Eric’s lips. “Come on.” He took Michael’s hand and led him toward the stairwell. “I said it’s okay. I told you when we met that I talk too much.”

And had been hurt because of it. Michael understood everything unsaid in the flippant remark. His initial burst of shame inflated until his head pounded, but the moment had passed, unchangeable and unforgettable.

Like so many others in his life.

* * *

Eric gave him five minutes, enough time to hit the bathroom and clean up, toe off his shoes and grab a beer from the fridge, before mentioning the applications again. His voice rang with challenge, and Michael cringed. So much for procrastination. Eric knew something had set Michael off at the museum and was going to fish until he found it.

He didn’t answer right away, choosing instead to circle the main room of the apartment while he prepared himself. Eventually he made it back around to the bar stools and dropped down next to Eric. “Listen...thank you. Nobody’s ever put their faith in me like that.”

Eric grinned as he lifted the bottle to his lips. “We’ll see if we can’t get you used to it.”

“The thing is,” Michael said, closing his eyes, “it’s not going to work.” He opened them to another of Eric’s carefully blank expressions.

“Oh? And why not?”

“I thought about it. A lot. There are obstacles. I knew there would be, but that’s not the reason.” He cleared his throat. “Staying in Hickory is what works best for me. I took the promotion at the plant today.”

Eric tilted his head back and scratched his chin. “So that’s it? You’re not even going to try?”

A slow lava flow of anger and resentment bubbled over, but Michael kept it at bay. “It’s not about trying. It’s about weighing all the options and choosing what’s best for me. I have a decent job here. Who knows where this new position will lead? To just pick up and leave it… it’s irresponsible. A degree doesn’t guarantee anything.” He pointed his bottle at Eric. “Including happiness.”

Eric slipped off his stool and walked around Michael into the kitchen. He set his beer on the counter and, taking a deep breath, raised his gaze to Michael’s. “You’re making a mistake.”

“You don’t—”

“Please let me finish.”

Michael shut his mouth. When he realized his hands were shaking, he clamped them around his near-empty beer bottle.

“Everything you’re saying, it makes perfect sense.” Eric looked to the ceiling, shaking his head. “And believe me, I’m the king of common sense. But I saw you this past weekend. You were happy. This is what you want,” Eric implored, hands stretched toward Michael. “Don’t give up your dream.”

“I’m comfortable.”

“You’re comfortable and trapped,” Eric snapped, spinning away to the sink. “I know about that too.”

Michael didn’t like the sound of that. “What are you talking about?”

“I was just like you.” Eric poured a tall glass of water from the spigot. “I lied to you before. I didn’t get out when I should’ve. Being strong or brave had nothing to do with it. I was comfortable. Do you get it?”

Leaving the glass untouched, Eric marched back across the tiny kitchen. For the first time, Michael understood why he’d instinctively put the countertop between them. It was a barrier, and that Eric felt he had to have it there made Michael sick to his stomach.

“I was caught up in how much trouble it would be to leave. I kept measuring that against the bad stuff, thinking it wasn’t worth it. That I could make it work.”

Eric reached for his hand, covering it with his own. “I was wrong. Making it work isn’t good enough. Not for me. And not for you.”

No, he couldn’t listen to this. He’d made his decision, and it was the right one. But he had no idea how to make Eric stop. Desperate, he bit into Eric’s confession, tearing the conversation to shreds before it could do the same to him. “I get it.” He slid the bottle away and stood. “This is about you, isn’t it?”

Confusion swirled in Eric’s eyes. His rant derailed. “What?”

“You stuck around with a guy who took pleasure in cutting you down, in hurting you, because you didn’t have the balls to leave. Now you think you can right that wrong, balance your scales by saving me. Except I don’t need saving. I’m fine. Don’t sugarcoat it, Professor. If a blue-collar worker isn’t up to your standards, just say so and save us the money on condoms.”

Eric’s mouth fell open. “Michael.” He stumbled back a step, wrapping his arms around himself. “That’s not true.”

Michael bit back a bitter laugh. “Sure it is.” He stalked to the front door and stabbed his feet into his shoes. Eric followed as far as the kitchen doorway, pale and trembling.

“Please stay. We need to talk about this.”

“We already have. I told you what I decided, and you made it clear that wasn’t good enough for you. Sounds like we got everything out in the open.” Michael shouldered roughly into his jacket, and his hip knocked the small foyer table. The books stacked there crashed to the floor.

Eric jumped and took a step back. But in the next moment, his face hardened, and he squared his jaw and stood straighter. “Don’t let this go.”

Michael’s hand had been on the doorknob. He paused in the process of turning it. “Don’t let what go?”

“Your dream.”

The ache that had started as a ball of anger changed. Michael turned away before his expression betrayed him. Unable to speak, he screwed his eyes shut and tried to breathe.

“Michael—”

Michael wrenched the door open and fled.