Page 23 of Beneath the Indigo Sky

I bow slightly and gesture to the door.

“After you, sir.”

He chuckles as he pulls open the door, and once I’ve locked up, he follows me to my truck without hesitation.

With jackets, it’s not terribly cold, but I crank on the heater anyway. I don’t want Namid to be uncomfortable, and I’ve noticed that he always dresses slightly warmer than I do, which makes sense as he’s lithe and lean, whereas I’m bulky and a bit hairy.

“So, do I get to know where we’re going?”

Namid’s hands are tucked under his thighs, and I realize I’m smiling at the fact that I’ve come to know him well enough that I figured he might be cold even though I’m not.

I fish around the back seat with one arm as I reply.

“I want to show you something that not many people know about. It’s a bit personal, and I don’t have many close friends, but I thought maybe you…” I trail off, not quite sure how to finish the sentence.

He must be colder than I realize because when I glance over briefly, his cheeks are flushed and red. I keep searching the back seat awkwardly.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were propositioning me.”

His voice is light and filled with laughter, but I find myself sputtering as I panic to come up with a reply that somehow steers clear of the fact that I am indeed gay and that, yes, I think he’s an attractive man, and that I suppose if I really stop to think about it, propositioning him might be something I could see myself doing at some point.

I manage to find what I’ve been searching for, and I thrust the small blanket toward him without shifting my eyes from the road.

“Bad joke, I’m sorry.” He saves me from my spiraling panic as he continues, seemingly unfazed by the stroke I’m suffering through next to him.

“I’m honored that you consider me a close enough friend to show me whatever this is that’s so personal for you. I shouldn’t have made a joke instead of telling you that…and thank you for the blanket.”

I risk a quick glance and find that he’s looking at me the way he did so often when we first met, with something bordering genuine concern. He’s clearly afraid that I’ve taken his joke the wrong way. He has no way of knowing that I’m not homophobic; it just hit a little too close to home.

“It was a good joke.” I manage to find words and offer him a quick smile. “I just wasn’t sure how you’d respond if I joked back in the same way.”

His smile is blinding.

“If we’re close enough for me to see your top-secret, friends-only…something, I’m going to say we’re close enough for you to return a barely sort of kind of dirty joke.”

“Deal.”

It’s the only response I can manage as everything else running through my head still feels like it would lead me down a road I don’t want to follow. I don’t want to risk losing this man who’s become my friend. I don’t want to lose him the same way I lost the only two people outside of my family I let myself be open with when I was too young to know any better.

He’s quiet as I pull up to the large metal shop that stands on the edge of my property. I’ve never had him out to my house before, and somehow, I still don’t feel ready for that, but this workshop is a couple of acres away from my small home, and I want him to see this. I don’t really understand why, but I want him to know who I am.

“This looks like a good place to murder someone,” he jokes as he hops out of the truck. The sound of the gravel under our feet seems loud in the crisp afternoon air that hangs heavy around us, threatening rain.

“Probably would be, but I promised I’d save that for another time.” I grin and find myself standing perhaps just a little too close to him as I pull open the door and offer him an exaggerated, “After you,” the same way I did when we left the shop.

It’s not fancy inside. It’s anything but. The place is nothing but a large sheet metal room, cold and echoey and impersonal. He stops only a few feet inside the door. He’s staring at the machinery and steel that fills the space, sculptures that I’ve poured my heart into since I learned how to weld at fourteen. I watch silently as he takes a few more steps, his eyes darting around as he tries to take in everything at once. I’m staring at him, and I’m not moving, and the moment is growing, and my stomach feels twisted, and my chest is getting tight. I’m holding my breath and wondering if this was a mistake…if he’s going to think I’m an idiot for spending my time thinking that I might somehow be able to offer glimpses into my soul simply by cutting and bending and putting fire to steel.

He’s not looking at the sculptures anymore. He’s looking at me.

“Jayce.”

His eyes are bright, and he says my name in a whisper that feels laced with awe.

Joy and relief spread through my chest, and I’m able to breathe again as I step closer, my shoulder brushing his as he surveys the room once more.

“This is…”

I follow him as he steps closer to the nearest piece - a sharply angled, swirling work that towers over him at nearly fifteen feet.

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