Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela (26 page)

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.‖

158

Felicia Watson

―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.‖

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

159

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

160

Felicia Watson

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

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela

161

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.

162

Felicia Watson

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

Where the Allegheny Meets the Monongahela