Page 89 of Our Own Light

While Oliver took the coal elevator into the mine the following morning, his stomach started rolling like he might throw up. In only a few hours, Oliver would press Floyd to talk. And then he would know the truth. God, it was terrifying to be vulnerable like this, to know Floyd was holding Oliver’s heart in his hands.

Floyd was waiting for Oliver by the brass board.

“Hey, you,” Oliver said with as much tenderness as he could muster, hoping he could somehow silently communicate the word “sweetheart” in public.

“Hey, Ollie,” Floyd said with a sigh, one that maybe suggested that he was tired of Oliver’s presence already.

Jesus.

“Uhm...” Oliver swallowed, pushing past the feeling of unease. Maybe, before they talked, Oliver could try to remind Floyd of his commitment to their relationship. And his commitment to Rock Creek, too. He could show Floyd how far he had come. “Do you think you could show me how to work with the black powder today?”

“Ollie—”

“Please,” Oliver begged. “I want to try. Let me try.”

Floyd rubbed his chin in that way he always did when he was thinking something over.

“Yeah, you can try.”

Oliver let out a breath, relief washing over him. Even though this offer would have probably seemed inconsequential to others, Oliver knew how important this was. Until now, Floyd had been so resistant to Oliver working with the black powder. Oliver could hardly believe that Floyd had finally relented. He had to be careful not to let Floyd down.

After they reached their workstation, Floyd let Oliver make the holes in the coal seam, and once Oliver was finished, Floyd showed him how to roll the black powder into the paper cartridge before helping him insert the copper needle. Oliver’s hands shook the entire time. Even though Floyd must have noticed, he never let on, neglecting to offer even one word of comfort or encouragement, which was so completely unlike him that Oliver had to bury the urge to cry.

Later, once the needle had been removed and the fuse had been set, Floyd let Oliver be the one to call out “fire in the hole!” three times and then light it. He and Floyd took cover. Ears covered, Oliver braced himself for the blast, every single second seeming to stretch on into eternity. He couldn’t wait for it to be over, like maybe the blast would not only obliterate the coal wall, but whatever barrier Floyd had erected between them, too.

BANG!

After the smoke cleared, Oliver looked to Floyd for approval.

All Floyd said was, “Well, then, time to shovel.”

He walked away, leaving Oliver by himself in the darkness, save for the light of his own headlamp. For a few painful seconds, Oliver considered leaving. He wondered why he was bothering to fight for what they had—or what they had once had—when Floyd clearly wasn’t willing to do the same. He wondered how and why he would ever fight alone.

But then, when Oliver looked over at Floyd, Floyd paused his shoveling and looked back at him, and thanks to the focused light of Oliver’s headlamp, Floyd was the only thing Oliver could see in the darkness. And, Christ, he was beautiful. He was standing there, illuminated, his small smile shining like a beacon of hope. Oliver’s breath caught. He knew, then, that he couldn’t stop fighting for their relationship. Not yet, and maybe not ever.

“What are you waiting for?” Floyd asked, sounding a little like his old self again. “Come help me with this.”

“Sorry,” Oliver said, walking over. He came next to Floyd and leaned in close, heart hammering, unsure how Floyd would react to what he was about to say because who the hell knew what had been running through the man’s mind for the past week. “Guess I lost myself in you.”

“Yeah,” Floyd said, his sweet smile broadening the tiniest bit. “I know how that is.”

Just like that, everything seemed perfect again.

Their lovesick stares were broken by the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Hey, Floyd. Hey, Oliver,” Roy said, John following close behind.

“Hey,” Oliver said, scooping up his first shovel’s worth of coal.

Roy asked, “Did you hear what happened over by the county line?”

“No, what?” Floyd asked back.

“Some of the union miners from outside of Charleston were marching over here.”

Oliver’s stomach seized. Jesus, not now, not when it seemed like he and Floyd were finally mending their bond. Wasn’t there a better time for Roy and John to spread this news? Or, well, maybe not considering the subject matter. Underground, they were out of earshot from the folks who might have been Chafin’s spies. Still, the timing was terrible. Couldn’t they talk about this tomorrow?

“Over to Logan?” Floyd asked.

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