Forged in Steel

By Layla Dorine

Losing his parents in a train crash was bad enough, but having the bank seize their home, leaving him homeless in his final weeks of high school was almost more than Trace could bear. He got that diploma though, and then headed to Minneapolis, hoping to find work. Little did he know how difficult it would be for a young man with no job experience and no place to live. Instead of working, he finds himself foraging for food, sleeping in alleys, and doing his level best to simply survive. It isn't the life he'd imagined for himself, but there is little he can do but take it day by day.

When industrial artist Finnigan Marlow finds Trace rummaging around in the dumpster behind his shop, he takes pity on the wretched young man and offers him food and a job cleaning up around his shop. It's not as if he has the time to pick up after himself when there are sculptures to finish making, exhibits to organize, and metal to forge. Finn might enjoy creating but the business side of things has him wanting to pull his hair out so Trace might be the answer to his prayers.
What neither expected was for their days spent together to forge an attraction between them there in that hot, sticky room. As Trace learns skills like soldering and how to bend metal without causing it to snap, he is also learning the more sensual art of seduction. Finn can't help but be drawn to Trace's eager smile or his need for gentle correction. But can he give Trace the one thing he desperately needs: A home?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Desolate Press
• Release date: Oct 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223112075

Book preview

Forged in Steel

Layla Dorine

Published by Desolate Press, 2023.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

FORGED IN STEEL

First edition. October 11, 2023.

Copyright © 2023 Layla Dorine.

ISBN: 979-8223112075

Written by Layla Dorine.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Forged in Steel

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Walls lined the highway, so high Trace could barely see the treetops above them. He’d always wondered why they built them so high. Was it to keep out the prying eyes of the foreign travelers who speed up and down these four lanes, north, south, east, west, heading somewhere beyond the Twin Cities with their too-clean concrete façade? The first time he’d seen Minneapolis he’d marveled at how it gleamed, with its high-rise buildings and all that shimmering glass. Concrete and glowing neon, towering sports complexes and intricately designed cathedrals rounded out the city’s feel.

But it hadn’t taken him long to learn about the other side of the city, the places that even industrial-strength bleach couldn’t clean. The stench of garbage and oil, the grease-stained, grimy crevices of alleyways and pay-by-the-hour motels. Some days, those two to three hours of sleeping on scratchy, threadbare sheets had been a bigger treat than the meals he’d cobbled together from handouts and dumpster scraps. Just the act of laying his head down and closing his eyes behind a door that locked allowed him to feel safe for a little while.

Inside those four walls he could pretend he was home again, with its cheery yellow kitchen and those little bears his mother had managed to place everywhere. If he closed his eyes and listened hard enough, there were times when he could make out his father’s voice, dim over the traffic and light rail, telling his mother what a long day it had been, thanks for keeping dinner warm, let’s sit and watch a movie, hon, even if most nights he’d be asleep with his head in his wife’s lap before the movie was halfway through.

One thing that had always been clear to Trace was how much they loved one another, a love that had always stretched to wrap around him, locking him firmly as a central part of their world. They were the parents who never missed games: the father who volunteered what little free time he had in order to coach, the mother who baked for the team and came to all the PTA meetings. He’d grown up feeling lucky—not because they had a lot; they didn’t, but because they had love and time for one another. Picnics, weekend fishing trips, camping out beneath the stars, rainbow trout and s’mores cooked over the open flames; his mom was never afraid to stick her finger into the fish’s middle and scrape the guts out herself.

So, when the day came when all the scraping and saving had added up to enough for a family vacation, he’d insisted they go by themselves instead. The honeymoon they’d never had. Of course they’d been reluctant, but seventeen was plenty old enough to be on his own for the week; he could cook simple things, he assured them he wouldn’t starve, and it wasn’t as if he had enough friends for a wild party. He’d been proud and a little bit thrilled when they’d finally relented, looking forward to the chance to prove he could handle things on his own. He’d hugged them both the morning they left, kissed his mom on the cheek, then headed off to school like normal, never imagining that his entire world was about to end.

It was around lunchtime when the