Steel My Heart Read online

  Quickly J. nodded again. "Yeah, I know the story. The Steelworks. Your dad got real bad."

  "Real bad. Left us a bunch of times. Always broke my mama's heart too. She had six kids clinging to her skirts and no one to depend on. One time he came back after being gone nearly two weeks, and I had had enough. My mama cryin', my little brothers and sisters asking when he'd be back and us not knowing. I called him out."

  "You fought your dad?"

  Teach nodded, his face unchanged, but his eyes registering old and deep pain. "We had a patch of lawn in front of our house. Everyone in the neighborhood had these little iron porches. Evening time, after supper, the whole neighborhood would be sittin' out there watchin' the kids run up and down, tumbling around like puppies. That little grid of streets was the whole world to us. So when my daddy finally came home that day, I sat with him at dinner time, I listened to his apologies. And then I stood up from the table and told him to step outside.

  "Now my dad wasn't a bad man. But he had his pride. I knew I had to hit him where it hurt. I told him to meet me on the front lawn in five minutes to take his lumps. Well of course he's ready to beat me down for my insolence. But when we get out there and the whole neighborhood's watching, he suddenly felt that shame. And I used it. I yelled out all my bad feelings at him, right there in front of the world. I made him hear what I needed to say in the place that would hurt him the most."

  "He didn't whoop you?"

  "Oh I think he wanted to. But everything I said was true. He wasn't being a man, wasn't being a father. From that day on, he never left us again. Found work in a grocery store that didn't pay nearly as good, but I was fourteen by then and could start bringing home some money to help. Started working at the auto repair place a month later."

  J. shifted on his feet. "So what're you telling me here?"

  Teach sat back on his stool. "I'm saying that you need to say what's gotta be said. Your mama may be sick for real this time. But you can't know until you talk to her." Teach leaned against the counter, looking very tired all of a sudden. "I'm saying you gotta decide to move on, J. The past can't define you anymore."

  J.'s mind was blank. There wasn't anything else to say. Teach was right. He knew that.

  But actually going through with it was a different story.

  It was a gorgeous summer's day outside and he had a custom chopper that needed to be put through its paces before delivery. A ride would clear his head, he told himself. A ride would tell him what to do next.

  "What're you thinking?" Teach prodded.

  J. shook his head. "I'm thinking about it," he lied. "But today's not the day. I got that delivery."

  Teach sighed, then nodded in resignation. He went over to the file cabinet where he kept open orders. "How you gonna get back if you ride the customer's chopper?"

  J. scoffed. "The El goes right over our heads. And failing that, my feet work."

  Teach grunted. "You're avoiding."

  "Yeah, a little I guess," J. grinned winningly but the old man wasn't buying it. He grunted angrily and turned his back to J. for a moment, letting the younger man cool his heels. J. waited, familiar with this tactic.

  Teach finally pulled out the white carbon copy and squinted, holding it out at arm's length. "219 South 18th Street," he read.

  J. felt a frission run through his body. "That in Rittenhouse?"

  "Right the fuck on the Square," Teach nodded.

  J. remembered the address on Emmy's ID. He remembered the guard and the glass doors and the stares of the people on the sidewalk. He would be crazy to go back there.

  "Got it," he heard himself say. "Call the guy. I'll have it outside by ten."

  Chapter 14

  Emmy

  Our standoff felt like it had taken hours - me feigning sleep, Robert watching me feign sleep. He had finally left, his heavy tread sounding across the floorboards as loud as thunder. I lay motionless until I heard the ding of the elevator, then lay motionless for even longer.

  When I was absolutely sure he had left for work, I finally dared to open my eyes.

  Panic coursed through my veins like flashes of silver minnows. I thought about calling Sammie, but the shame of confessing my relationship troubles was too much to overcome.

  Then I thought about J.

  The patch on his back had said 'Sons of Steel.' Maybe that was a way I could find him. Maybe he would listen to me for a while. Maybe he would kiss me again and tamp down the fear for just a moment. Maybe he could hold me in those strong arms and keep me safe from the hell of my own making.

  Maybe I was fucking crazy.

  I wracked my brain trying to remember how I got home last night. I remembered the kiss - that I would never forget as long as I lived - and then I remember getting very sleepy. I remembered him telling me to hold on...and I remembered that when he said it he sounded angry.

  Sudden doubt rushed into my fantasy. J. was angry with me. I was suddenly certain of that. Something I had done, or said, was wrong and I had messed up the nicest thing to happen to me in months. Maybe the nicest thing ever.

  I licked the corner of my lips and tasted my tears.

  I was alone.

  Sitting up carefully, a tiny ghost of a plan began to materialize in my head. If I lay in the bed any longer I would go crazy for sure. I would shower and dress. I would go out into the world and be with other people. I would go somewhere for myself.

  Immediately I knew where I wanted to go.

  When I stepped out of the shower I could still hear the rushing water in my ears. The sound followed me through the penthouse as I dressed and gathered my things. I scooped up the box off the floor and shoved it back in its hiding place, wishing the pounding in my head would subside. But as I padded down the stairs and grabbed my handbag, it only grew louder.

  When the doors of the elevator opened, the sound was everywhere. And my head flooded with sudden understanding.

  It was the rumble of a motorcycle parked outside of our building.

  It could be anyone, I told myself. It was the first really warm day of the summer. The bikers would be out in full force. Hearing a motorcycle out on the street was not a remarkable occurrence at all. My heart should really stop beating so fast.

  "Good morning Officer," I nodded to the young guard half asleep in the booth. I was glad Officer Wilkens wasn't here today. He had seen me leave last night. I wondered if he knew how I had gotten home.

  I stepped out of the lobby onto the baking heat of the sidewalk. There was indeed a motorcycle in front of our building, but a pudgy white man with close cropped, thinning hair was straddling it and revving the engine. It was a gleaming chrome chopper, clearly a custom piece and it clearly cost the man a lot of money, because he was absentmindedly stroking the handlebars as one would a cat. I swallowed the disappointment that shouldn't have been there in the first place.

  Then from below the bike rose the figure I had been hoping to see. He looked different in the daylight, but I recognized him immediately and my heart pounded wildly. I shuffled my feet, trying to move forward, but I felt frozen to the spot. It was like he had appeared on command, my wish come true, but I was too terrified to go to him.

  I could only watch. J. had a wrench in his hand and tossed it deftly to the other.

  "Try 'er now," I heard him shout over the din, and the pudgy man revved the engine up to a scream. A wide smile broke across his face and he nodded, then reached his hand into his pocket and shoved some bills into J.'s hand. J. looked momentarily annoyed and shoved the money into his back pocket without counting it.

  The pudgy man roared off into the early morning traffic, grinning like a maniac. J. stood on the sidewalk and watched him go north on 18th. I figured he was probably headed right for the highway. I watched him disappear and a sudden thought crossed my mind.

  "Now how are you going to get home?" I blurted.

  J. whirled around. When he saw me, his face registered several emotions at once. I saw a flicker of anger, a burst
of annoyance, a hint of regret. Then an open, honest eagerness that made my heart leap as well as my feet. Suddenly unfrozen, I danced towards him, unable to hide my excitement.

  "You're up," he remarked.

  "Barely." Seeing him had made me forget how terrible I felt only moments ago.

  "How's your head?"

  I grimaced as I checked my self and realized it was still painful. "I'm ignoring it. What are you doing here?" The little hopeful thought that he had wanted to see me again buzzed around me like a gnat.

  "I swear, I'm not stalking you," he began defensively.

  I froze and held up my hands placatingly. "No, I saw, don't worry. You brought that guy a bike. I think he lives on the fifth floor."

  J. nodded slowly. "Some kind of doctor?"

  "Plastic surgeon, yeah."

  "He must make a lot of money, huh?" There was a look in his eyes that told me to tread carefully.

  "He's done well I think. I've never talked to him, just heard about him."

  J. looked over my head, not making eye contact. "And you?"

  "What about me?"

  "You make a lot of money?"

  "Oh god!" I clapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the laugh. His eyes blazed and I quickly swallowed it down. "Ah, no. I'm a hick from Carbon County."

  "So how can you afford to live in a place like this?" He gestured towards my building, rising high above the square.

  I was suddenly flooded with shame. "I live with my fiancé," I confessed, flicking my engagement ring around my finger. "He bought it."

  "Is he a doctor?"

  I let myself laugh this time, but there was no mirth in it. "Ha, no. I think you have to have some compassion to be a doctor." As soon as I said it I bit my tongue.

  J. looked at me sharply but didn't press. I felt compelled to continue, letting the words flood out in a torrent. "I was going to college, working at a restaurant. We met and I was suddenly in this place where I didn't belong."

  J. shifted his hips a little and looked at the ground. "I never said you didn't belong here."

  "No, you didn't." I sighed and looked up at the building. I couldn't even see our floor from where we stood. "I did."

  He looked up at me, his eyes flicking back and forth across my face. I could tell he wanted to ask so many questions.

  And I suddenly wanted to answer them. My words came tumbling fast and loose, spilling out of my mouth before I could catch hold of them and stuff them back in. I had no time to catch them and form my lies. I was terrified to hear the truth spew forth in a waterfall.

  "I'm living this life where everything I do is wrong, everything I say is stupid. I keep making mistake after mistake and I don't know how to get free of it. Everything I do just pulls me further into this hole and I don't even know which way is up anymore."

  I blushed at having revealed so much and hung my head. When his fingers brushed across my arm, I nearly jumped out of my skin. "It's your life," he said simply.

  "Is it?" I felt tears gathering at the edges of my eyes. People were passing us on the sidewalk, a million eyes there to see me losing my mind. "Is it mine?"

  He pulled back. "If this ain't what you want, then change it. Fight back. Do what you want to do."

  I coughed and looked down at the sidewalk. What I wanted to do was have him kiss me again like he had last night. "So you didn't answer my question."

  "What was that?" He sounded impatient.

  "How're you getting home?"

  He gestured up the block. "The El runs right by my place."

  "Do you have to get back quickly?"

  He raised his eyebrows. "No. Not exactly."

  "I'm going to tell you what I want then."

  He crossed his arms, making the leather squeak. "And what's that." It wasn't a question.

  "I want," I swallowed. "I mean I'd like it, if you'd come with me."

  He blinked. I saw a little smile quicken then die on his lips. He looked wary again. "Where are you going?"

  I grinned. "Art Museum?"

  The tension in his face drained immediately and he burst out laughing. "Are you kidding me? You must be high." He gestured at himself, making me look him up and down, taking in the tattoos, the leather, the muscles. I didn't mind the invitation.

  "Okay fine," I pouted. "Then how about just to the steps?"

  He laughed. "You wanna do that Rocky shit?"

  "We can if you really want," I teased.

  J. nodded, slowly at first, then faster as the idea took hold. "But ain't you got a fiancé?"

  "I do. But I kinda really need a friend right now." I knew it was true the moment I said it.

  Beyond the butterflies in my stomach that fluttered to life the minute I saw him, there was also a calm that came over me when we spoke. He listened to me in a way I had never experienced before. He seemed to consider my words carefully and then choose his own with equal care. I needed to know someone heard me. Especially since I still couldn't figure out what I wanted to say.

  Once more I saw a thousand emotions flash across his beautiful face. I was expecting most of them. I wasn't expecting disappointment.

  "Okay Emmy," he agreed. His voice was low and husky. "I can do that. Let's go."

  "Great! I'll grab a cab!"

  He groaned audibly. "You're gonna take me to a museum and make me ride in a cage to get there?"

  I stopped cold. "Okay, you don't have to go, it's fine." I turned away so he couldn't see my face crumble.

  A warm hand brushed my cheek. "Hey, I'm just messing with you. I'll do whatever you want to do Emmy. That's what friends do. Just promise me one thing."

  "What's that?"

  He pressed his lips together in mock pain. "Please don't ever tell my brothers you got me to ride in a cage."

  Chapter 15

  Emmy

  The ride up the Parkway was the longest cab ride of my life. J. sat stiffly beside me. He looked incredibly uncomfortable. His huge frame barely fit into the backseat of the taxi. His long legs were bent awkwardly and his knee kept brushing mine. I shifted to make him more comfortable, but I hoped it would happen again.

  The cab smelled like Cheetos and body odor. The cabbie had his radio on so loud we couldn't talk, but the air was thick with something besides the scent of unwashed skin. I had asked him to be my friend, and he had agreed willingly. I wondered how long I was going to be able to keep my true feelings in check. It would certainly be impossible if we were smashed together for much longer.

  He shifted again as we rounded Eakins Oval. "Sorry, I can't...." He flung his long arm up on the back of the seat and sighed in relief. His arm brushed my hair and I immediately broke out in goose bumps at his touch. The cabbie zoomed around the Oval, knocking me against J.'s side so that I was momentarily nestled in his arm. He looked down at me nuzzled there and smiled.

  "Should I tell him to go round again?" he murmured softly.

  The low rumble of his voice thrilled through me. I was close enough to him that I could feel his heat and smell the sun-warmed leather of his vest. I looked at it.

  "What do the symbols on your vest mean?" The cabbie pulled up in front of the museum and screeched to a halt before he could reply.

  I reached for my wallet, but J. had already flung the cash from his back pocket at the driver. "Keep the change," he smiled at the cabbie. The old man smiled a wide, gap-toothed grin and sped off.

  "How much did you tip him?" I gasped.

  "Dunno," J. shrugged.

  "It was less than three miles," I protested.

  He frowned. "Dude works hard. Trapped in that metal cage all day long in this hot weather. He looked like he needed a pick-me-up."

  I felt something twist in my stomach. I hadn't even thought about the cabbie, only about how fast he was driving and how bad his car smelled. J. hadn't forgotten that he was a human being.

  I couldn't help but reach out and touch his arm. "That was very nice," I said.

  J. shrugged but didn't say anything. He looke
d up at the grand stairs in front of the museum. "You know," he said, obviously changing the subject, "I've lived here most of my life, but I've never been inside."

  I was shocked. "Really?"

  He nodded. "Only done what they're doing," he explained, pointing at some tourists who were running full-tilt up the stairs. When they reached the top, they all raised their arms and jumped up and down, posing for pictures in the Rocky stance.

  I laughed. "Yeah, I think more people come for Rocky than for the art." I hesitated. "You want to go inside? My treat. Just to see what the steps lead to?"

  He shifted. "Yeah, I think I kinda do."

  My heart leapt. "Okay, but we have to go up the steps first, I guess."

  "Wanna race?"

  "Hell no, you'll beat me for sure. I got all this extra weight to carry around," I said airily. The thought of running up the stairs in front of all these people made me want to hide. My thighs jiggling, my breasts flopping up and down. I would make a spectacle of myself, especially running after J.

  He cut off my thoughts with a dismissive wave. "Then we'll run together," he explained, reaching for my hand.

  His palm was smooth and dry. I could feel the strength in his grip and the rough patches of callouses that came with hard work. He held my hand lightly but firmly. My stomach turned over and a spreading warmth moved through my veins. I fought to keep myself from stammering.

  "Let's start slowly then," I begged.

  Another sharp look from him let me know he heard the double meaning in my words.

  "Ready?" he asked. We started up the first set of stairs. He swung my arms back and forth like a parent with a child and I laughed. When we reached the top of the first set, I paused. He squeezed my hand and said nothing, waiting for me to be ready. I looked down at where we had come from and then looked up to see how many steps we had to go.

  "Let's run," I decided impulsively.

  "Okay, but I'm still gonna hold your hand," he replied. He pulled me closer and I stumbled into his chest. I looked up at him in surprise. "Listen." His voice was low and I could barely hear him over the noise of traffic on the Parkway and the shrieks of the tourists around us. I had to move closer to hear him. He bent his lips to my ear, clutching my hand all the while. "I don't want to hear you talkin' bad about yourself again, got it?"