Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela (14 page)

the kiss deepened. Nick‘s blood ran hot and fast towards his rapidly

swelling cock; every screaming nerve felt the answering wildness

ripping through Logan. Not even the faint ray of sunshine poking

through the dirty window could wedge its way between them—not

until Logan wrenched them apart, sending Nick stumbling backwards.

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Logan shook himself like a wet dog and drew a shaky hand across

his bruised lips. Stunned by the sudden loss of heat, Nick stood dazed,

in shock and confusion as Logan stammered out, ―I gotta go,‖ and fled

the scene.

Nick finally recovered enough to look around questioningly at the

cluttered shop, as though the stripped-down motor or empty car had

any answers for him. He glanced at the door through which Logan had

escaped, murmuring, ―Well, fuck me a running…. So
that’s
his

problem.‖

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

81

Chapter 7:

A Hard Beginning

A hard beginning maketh a good ending.

—John Heywood

LOGAN woke Monday morning to a grade-A hangover; not surprising,

since the only things he‘d had in his mouth the previous day were

coffee, a doughnut, too much whiskey—and Nick Zales‘s tongue.

It was that last item that had led him to stop on his way home

from Acken‘s shop and grab a bottle of Jack Daniel‘s. He‘d spent the

rest of the day pretending to watch a baseball game and attempting to

drown out any deliberations on that kiss with a steady stream of

whiskey. After a few shots, it had worked—sort of. Logan had

managed to work himself into a muted, drunken fury, blaming Nick,

and to some extent Trudy, for unlocking the impulses he‘d kept neatly

caged for more than half his life. He nursed the whiskey and his anger

all night before finally falling into a dead sleep and waking to the angry

buzz of an alarm he rarely needed.

Logan drove to the garden center after forcing down some plain

white bread and downing a pot of coffee. He knew full well that those

palliative measures could do nothing for the real source of his lingering

queasiness—the fear that Nick was preparing to spill his guts to Trudy

Gerard.
Shit, could’a already done so, for all I know. He could’a called

her up right after….

For a second he was buoyed by a quickly-formed plan to issue an

unconditional denial. After all, it was just his word against Nick‘s.
And

who’s gonna believe him? He’s nothin’ but a….
Even in Logan‘s mind,

no epithet came.
He’s nothin’ but… but… a pretty good guy. Who you

attacked.

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Fuck, seemed to like it well enough… and it’s his fault! Why’d he

have to go on about bein’ attracted to me and then… then go an’ take

his damn shirt off?
Logan pulled into the employee lot and viciously

slammed the Ford into park, closing his eyes against that last reflection.

But that only made matters worse when the vibrant picture of a half-

naked Nick swirled into view, prompting Logan to pull out a red

bandana handkerchief and mop the sweat from the back of his neck.

Logan clocked in, thankful that he was apparently too sick and

weary to get hard—unlike his experience on Sunday. His mutinous

cock had sprung to life as soon as Nick had started talking about

finding Logan attractive.
That bastard. He knew exactly what he was

doin’… sure did. Didn’t he?
Logan tried to blot out the memory of that

short but unmistakable pang of disappointment he‘d known when Nick

had declared that he would never hit on a straight guy—like Logan.

Diligently unloading a truckload of fall mums, Logan earnestly

tried to halt any further recollection of Sunday‘s events. Easy enough

for that time between Nick‘s surprising confession and his own loss of

control. That period was pretty much lost under a red haze of fury and

frustration.

But that moment when he had grabbed Zales, oh, that was as clear

and persistent as the cartons of burgundy and orange flowers in his

hands. Attacked over and over by that phantom sensation, Logan

attempted to convince himself that he‘d actually meant to throw a

punch. But it was a futile effort. There was no blocking out the memory

of joy and relief surging through his veins, the pure unadulterated

euphoria he‘d known when he‘d finally given in to his tormenting,

demanding, aching need.

By day‘s end, Logan had managed to wrench his focus onto the

most important matter as he saw it: how to handle Trudy… and Nick.

There was no way he was going to wait until Wednesday to find out

what Trudy Gerard knew. And there was no way he was going to let

one stupid fucking moment of madness get between him and

reclaiming his family.

He asked for and got a later shift on Tuesday, and he went to bed

only after digging out two business cards with the ACC logo on them.

He laid the small white rectangles next to his rarely used cell phone;

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

83

Logan was determined to start the next day with a couple of very

important calls. For once in his life, Logan Crane intended to head off

trouble before it came his way.

NICK‘S Monday did not prove any easier. It had started with him

fixing himself a quick breakfast even though he was anything but

hungry. The lack of appetite he chalked up to atypical nervousness

about his upcoming one-on-one with Trudy. He forced down a few

spoonfuls of cornflakes while musing that the source of anxiety was not

Trudy, really, but rather one troublesome mechanic—no denying that.

After leaving Acken‘s shop, Nick had stewed for hours about Logan

without reaching a single conclusion.

On Sunday evening, he had attempted his usual cure of sweating

out his troubles, but with every bounce of the basketball on the cracked

blacktop of his driveway, a different question had pounded into Nick‘s

head.
What am I gonna do about Logan? Pretend it didn’t happen?

Confront him about it? Is that really what’s been his problem all

along? Should I tell Trudy?

That last question had left him tossing and turning Sunday night

and had him dumping his barely-touched bowl of cereal down the drain

on Monday morning. The bimonthly meeting with his boss was less

than an hour away, and he still didn‘t know what—if anything—he was

going to tell her about that kiss in the garage. To withhold the

information from Trudy seemed unethical, yet telling her felt like a

betrayal of sorts.
Betrayal? Of a guy I barely know?
It seemed seven

kinds of wrong to Nick that he felt a stronger loyalty to Logan in this

matter than he did to the woman who had mentored him for years, but

he did.

Maybe I don’t need to tell her because… because I’m blowing

this outta proportion. Maybe he’s just bi…. Could be. Could be that

kiss was no big deal to him.
Even as that last thought flitted through his

brain, part of Nick was already rejecting it. Though he was a mass of

confusion about the encounter with Logan, there was one thing of

which Nick was certain. That kiss had been a seminal moment for both

of them. The dark truth that followed that concession was one Nick had

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been avoiding all morning. Maybe telling Trudy didn‘t appeal to him

simply because a full divulgence would surely block any continuation

of that tantalizing journey he had glimpsed on Sunday afternoon.

Why do I care so much? Why has this guy crawled under my skin

this way? Shit, in the end am I just like Cheryl, attracted to an abuser

just like my mom was?
While he packed his briefcase, Nick shook his

head at that notion. Six short weeks after meeting Logan, a man he had

originally dismissed as an unrepentant wife-beater, Nick now recoiled

from branding him as nothing more than just another abuser.

The sound of his mom shuffling down the hall provided a

welcome diversion for Nick. Agnes wandered into the kitchen and

pecked her son on the cheek, the dry cough that had been plaguing her

for over a week still in evidence. ―Good morning.‖

―Morning, Mom. That cold doesn‘t seem to be easin‘ up any.

Maybe Polly should get you to the doctor?‖

―A doctor? For a little summer cold? I don‘t feel poorly, an‘ Polly

said it‘s nothin‘ to worry ‘bout.‖

―Maybe we should let a doctor tell us that.‖

―Huh, that las‘ doctor I saw was still in diapers when Polly was

nursing at Mercy General.‖ Agnes picked up the enamel teapot and

carried it to the sink while continuing, ―If you think some wet-behind-

the-ears kid—Nicky!‖

―What?‖

―Did you dump this cereal here?‖

―Yeah, I‘m not that hungry this mornin‘.‖

―That‘s no excuse for wastin‘ good food. You know that drives

your father crazy.‖

―And I care because…?‖

―Don‘t get smart with me. Your dad works hard for the money he

brings in and—‖

―Mom, the only thing Dad‘s earnin‘ these days is nineteen cents

an hour stamping out license plates. Anyway, I‘m the one who paid for

that cereal, and I can waste it if I want to.‖

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

85

Agnes‘s mouth twisted in annoyance, and she filled the kettle in

irritated silence. Nick was left to wonder if his response had brought

her back to reality or if she was still lost in some foggy version of life

in Kittanning where she needed to worry about Sam Zales‘s reaction to

some soggy cornflakes. A few minutes later Polly‘s arrival released

him for the day, and he left them both clucking over the tale of wasted

food.

On the drive to ACC, Nick finally decided that telling Trudy

anything without first talking to Logan would be unfair. That decision

lightened his mind considerably and allowed him to start the meeting

with Trudy with at least an outward air of calm, aided by her starting

the discussion with a subject of passionate concern for him.

―Did you manage to arrange a session with Sheila Palmer last

week?‖

―Yes, saw her on Friday afternoon.‖

―How‘d that go?‖

Nick pulled Sheila‘s file out as he answered, ―Surprisingly well.

She really opened up to me. It took a bit of work at first, but then the

floodgates opened.‖ Combing his fingers through his hair as he recalled

the intense couple of hours with Sheila, Nick flipped through his notes

and continued. ―Her husband has been emotionally abusive for most of

their marriage, going on eighteen years. Classic case—the man was

controlling, domineering, withheld affection yet demanded sex at his

whim, kept up a constant stream of criticism, you name it.‖

―Any physical abuse?‖

―Lots of threats but no actual incidents. Though he apparently

liked to give her gifts and then destroy them in front of her—often

violently.‖

―So what was the break point for her?‖

―He bought her a puppy for her birthday last May, and then

whenever he was mad at her, he‘d tell her he was going to kill it. Two

weeks ago he went so far as to hang the little guy up by his collar

because Sheila took too long doing the grocery shopping. She came

home and found the poor thing crying and choking, ready to pass out.‖

―Oh God!‖

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―I know,‖ offered Nick, nodding in validation of Trudy‘s horror.

―Sheila rushed him to the vet—over Dean‘s objections, of course. The

dog‘s okay, by the way. The very next day, as soon as her husband left

for work, she packed up and moved in with her cousin. Thank God.‖

He closed the manila folder but tapped it on the table pensively.

―Though I can‘t help but wonder….‖

―What?‖

―Why she could do it for a puppy—get away from him, I mean—

but not
for herself
?‖

―I could give you one of my lectures on the psychology of

abusive relationships, but I know you already understand all that.‖

Trudy‘s smile took on a weary cast as she shifted in her chair and re-

crossed her legs. ―I get what you‘re
really
asking, but the deeper

answer has to come from Sheila herself. How many sessions per week

did you decide on?‖

―I was thinking two, but I also want to get her in Life Skills right

away, so we‘ll see how much we can fit in without overwhelming her.

I‘m definitely starting the Finance Module with her. She never handled