Chapter 7 - JayceNamid

Chapter 7

Jayce

It's been three weeks since we sat together in the little hidden meadow and Namid listened as I spoke about Jordyn for hours, and even though he's only been at the shop twice during that time, we've had breakfast each Saturday.

The world feels different somehow. Lighter perhaps. The darkness that still clings to the edges of my existence seems slightly less oppressive, and there are times when it isn't a struggle to simply remember to breathe. I hadn't intended to talk to Namid like that. I never meant to tell him about Jordyn, never meant to make him listen to me ramble for hours. But he had, and as he smiled and laughed along with me, something changed. I hadn't realized just how much I've missed the easy comradery of friendship since I lost Jordyn. I know that I miss his presence and his light and his love every day, but I hadn't understood just how much I miss simply having someone to talk to.

How has Namid lived here for a decade without that? He seems to enjoy my company as much as I enjoy his. He feels like my friend. I want him to know that I care for him and that I support him. I want the town to know that too. He's so thoughtful and kind, and even though he's often quiet, he's clever and smart, and on the rare occasions he chooses to exercise his wit, I find myself shaking with laughter. It's something I never expected to experience again after losing Jordyn, and I can't imagine Namid having lived so long without it.

He's been an outcast for too long.

I know he doesn't like being around people, but the way I've noticed everyone treating him, who can blame him? I know I can't single-handedly change opinions that folks have held for a decade overnight, but I can try my best to help in small ways. The past two Saturdays he's been at the shop, I've deliberately scheduled small appointments so that my customers can see him there, so that word can spread that even though it's been months, he's still working with me. So that they can see me smile at him and welcome him openly into my life and my business.

He's not technically working today, but we've been meeting at the shop every week to have brunch whether he's working that week or not. I've been here since seven, and he's in the office waiting for me by the time I hand Mrs. Jackson back the keys to her beat-up old jeep whose spark plugs I just changed for the third time this year. The door to the office is open, and he's leaning back in the chair with his feet on the desk, poking at something on his phone. It's strange how comfortable it's become for me to see him sitting there. I still see Jordyn's absence as if it's a physical hole in my space on days Namid isn't here, but when he is, his company grounds me somehow, and the presence of ghosts in my life is just a bit fainter. He reminds me that maybe, just maybe, it's okay that I'm still here even if Jordyn isn't.

It takes him a moment to notice that I'm leaning in the doorway. Either that, or whatever he's staring at is so entertaining that he doesn't care.

An uncertain smile twitches across his lips when he glances up. He seems almost embarrassed to find me watching him.

"Must be something pretty good in there."

He chuckles and stands, slipping his phone into his back pocket.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" he teases as he rounds the desk, and we both make our way toward the coat rack by the door. He's been helping me for a few months now, and while we're heading into the peak of summer, this is Alaska, and some days are still chilly.

"Can I take you somewhere other than breakfast today?" I ask as I shrug on my leather jacket, the one that apparently smells like cinnamon. "There's something I'd like to show you."

A wickedly playful grin lights up his face, and small wrinkles I've only seen a handful of times crinkle into the skin beside his eyes.

"Only if you promise not to murder me. "

Laughter I don't even try to hold back slips its way out of my lungs as he offers the same condition I used the first time we strayed from the beaten path and walked together in the woods near the park. I do my best to return the exact words he'd offered me.

"I guess I can change my plans."

As he flicks up the collar on his lightweight grey trench coat, his eyes sparkle in the sunlight that streams in through the shop's glass fa?ade. I'll never stop wondering about his eyes. How they're somehow the dark blue of the deep sea or night sky, and how it feels like I can tell what he's thinking just by looking into them.

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.

"These are…yours?"

He turns to face me, his blue eyes searching my soul as he asks, and he's so close to me I can smell his grapefruit shampoo, and his body seems to radiate heat that sinks into my skin even through my jacket in the cold metal room.

"They're mine."

His fingertips reach out and trace along the steel's gentle curves and harsh edges.

"They're amazing."

I feel myself blush. I haven't blushed since I was a teenager.

My words catch in my throat, and I can barely manage to mumble a quiet, "Thanks."

I stay close to his side as he wanders through the sculptures, touching them, examining them from every possible angle.

"Do you sell them?"

I shove my hands into my front pockets, unsure what to do with them in my embarrassment.

"I've sold a few. I started dabbling a few years before my parents died. Dad was a painter, and he still had a couple of friends at his former gallery in Seattle. One of them, Max, came out for a visit once and expressed interest. I wasn't ready then, but a couple of years ago, I reached out to her, and she loved them even more than she had when I was younger. The couple of pieces I let her take sold fairly quickly, and once in a while, she pesters me for more."

The deep blue of Namid's eyes seems to shimmer like sunlight bouncing off deep water in the bright warehouse lights, and with no warning whatsoever, I suddenly realize that I want to get lost in them for the rest of my life.

"You don't want to sell them?"

There's no judgment in his tone; he's simply curious.

"They're like little pieces of my soul, I guess. I can't just sell them because the gallery is interested. I have to be ready to let them go."

I kick at a small piece of steel that has found its way onto the floor, despite the fact that I sweep regularly.

"Not sure that makes sense."

His hand falls onto my forearm. His touch is tender and warm, and it reminds me of the first time he touched me the day he first came to help me in the shop. The way the heat from his skin sinks into mine, even through my jacket, makes me wonder what it would be like to feel his skin against mine.

"It makes perfect sense." He smiles at me as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

Three hours have passed by the time I drop him back off beside his truck in the shop parking lot. He'd wandered my studio slowly, taking the time to study and touch each piece. He'd asked insightful questions and smiled gently at my answers. I've never seen anyone look at my work like that, not even Jordyn. It had felt like it wasn't my art he was examining. Like it wasn't sculptures he was touching. It was me.

We sit in silence for a long, weighted moment before he turns to face me instead of getting out of my truck.

"Thank you, Jayce…for everything."

His hand flicks out, and for the briefest of moments, it rests on my thigh just above my knee. His eyes search my face, and he seems to be looking for something. If I knew what it was, I'd offer it to him. I'd give him anything.

The silence drags on, heavy around us in a way it's never been before; then, with one quick pat, his hand is gone, and my skin is cold in its absence. By the time I realize what's happening, he's shut the truck door behind him, offering a quick wave through the window before hopping into his own truck.

Fuck.

It's not the first time I've started to develop feelings for a straight guy in town. Fortunately, I'm a quick learner and I know not to repeat past mistakes. I sit in my truck and watch through my rearview mirror as he drives away. For a single moment, I allow myself to remember what it's like to want someone before I sigh and remind myself that he's my friend, and that's all there is to it.

I shift into reverse and force myself to let go of the impossible dream that had begun to take shape at the edges of my universe. Back to reality it is.