3. Zach
ZACH
“Nice to meet you, too,” Nate says.
He has an easy-to-listen-to voice—warm and friendly.
In fact, ‘warm’ seems to fit him to a T.
His skin has tanned to a deep gold, which makes his hazel eyes pop, and a small scar near the corner of his right eye stand out more than it probably should.
He has another scar—a long, thin one, running across his forehead.
His hair is dark, short, and spiky, and he has a neatly groomed mustache and beard.
His white shirt and suit jacket make me feel underdressed, even though I’m wearing nice clothes from the closet.
I’m not sure how old Nate is, other than older than me by at least ten years.
Maybe closer to fifteen. His skin isn’t lined, and he doesn’t have a trace of gray in his hair.
But this is LA—he could be investing in dye and Botox for all I know.
I don’t think he is, though. He has a natural, healthy air about him.
I can tell he works out by the way his arms fill out his suit jacket.
He’s handsome, in a makes-you-breathless kind of way.
I immediately turn away, focusing on a plant instead. I have the opposite of a green thumb, so I’m impressed at the number of flourishing plants in the conservatory. I shouldn’t be ogling a guy I’ve only just met, especially after what happened last night.
Phoenix touches my arm lightly. “Would you like me to stay, or give you some privacy?”
“Umm…” I don’t think Phoenix would have introduced me to someone I can’t trust. Besides, he must have more important things to do. “I’ll be fine with Nate, thanks.”
Phoenix smiles at me, nods to Nate, and then goes, leaving the door between the conservatory and the house slightly ajar as he goes.
I return to thoroughly investigating the plants.
“Phoenix said you want to talk,” Nate prompts gently after a few minutes have passed.
Do I? I said I did, but now that I’m here, I’m not sure I do.
“So… Uh… You’re one of the patrons Phoenix told me about?”
“Yes.”
I glance over my shoulder. “You’re a caregiver?” I ask, shocked at the uncertain wobble in my voice.
“A Daddy, yes, but Phoenix said you only wanted to talk.”
“I do. Want to talk. I don’t know why it’s so hard.”
“Phoenix mentioned a home-invasion,” Nate says gently.
“Yes.”
“That must have been traumatic. You’re probably still processing it. It’s not surprising your fight or flight response is kicking in and making it hard for you to talk about it.”
“Or I’m overreacting.” I hug myself.
“I don’t think you are.”
I take a deep, shaky breath. “I should go home.”
“It doesn’t sound like you want to.”
I shudder. Will my apartment still smell of her? Probably. It’s not like I left any of the windows open.
“Could you tell me why you came here.”
“A police officer—” I squeeze my eyes shut for a heartbeat. “—A cop suggested I should. Officer Vale?”
“I know Aaron. And I know what a police officer is, too,” he adds with a chuckle.
“You do? On American TV shows and in films, they only ever use ‘cop’.”
He chuckles. “TV shows and movies aren’t that realistic.”
“No, I suppose not. Do you do this a lot?”
“Help Angels?”
“Yes.”
“Sometimes. When Phoenix thinks I’m the right person to help.”
“Do you normally act as their Daddy?”
“If that’s what they want. Most of the Angels who end up here have been let down or hurt in some way.
Filling that void and finding someone they can connect with and trust, can help someone more than you know.
Whether that’s someone who will listen, someone who will care for them, someone who will give them some structure, or someone who will spoil them. ”
I stuff my hands into my pockets. “I… guess.”
“So, tell me, Zach, what is it you need?”
I hunch my shoulders. “I don’t want to feel so scared and pathetic.”
“That’s the second time you’ve called yourself pathetic. You’re not.”
I wheel around, glaring at him. “How would you know? You know fuck all about me.”
“I know you’re an actor.”
I suck in a breath. I hadn’t realized he’d recognized me. He is one hundred percent not the demographic for the film I was in. Maybe Phoenix told him who I am.
“You’re British, so I’m assuming you’re a long way from home—correct me, if I’m wrong?”
“You’re not.”
“You’re scared. You’re being self-deprecating. And, for some reason, you’re on the defensive.”
I can’t argue with anything he’s said. “Phoenix said you’re a bodyguard.”
“Close enough. I run a close protection agency. My clients are mainly actors.”
He’s the boss? “I bet your clients are all bigger stars than me. With more money,” I mumble. Rich enough to afford bodyguards.
“I’m not here fishing for work. I want to help, Zach. I’m happy to answer any questions you have, but most of all I want to help you feel safer.”
“And talking will help?” I snap. I release a long breath and wipe my hands over my face. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize. Talking might help you process what happened.” Nate leans back in his seat, hooking one leg over the other. “But if it’s still too fresh and raw to talk about, that’s fine, too. We could try something else.”
“What?”
“You called yourself pathetic. Why?”
“Look at me.” I gesture to myself. “I’m not exactly a wimp. I work out. I played an American football jock in a movie, for fuck’s sake. I shouldn’t be scared. I’m the kind of guy people avoid in the street, not the kind of guy who should be cowering because… Because…”
“Because?”
Tears flood my eyes. I turn around sharply.
“Why do you work out?” Nate asks.
“I thought it would be easier to get roles.”
“Your American accent was good. Good enough that I didn’t even realize you were British until Phoenix introduced us.”
I gasp and half-turn to study his face. “You’ve seen my film?”
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Because you’re—” I gesture to him, waving my hand up and down.
“I’m—?”
“Too old to watch a teen rom-com.”
“I have a thirteen-year-old niece. She dragged everyone she knows to see Confessions of a Teenage Jock for her birthday.” Nate unhooks his leg and leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.
“Working out doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to be afraid.
It also doesn’t mean you know how to defend yourself.
Have you ever taken self-defense classes, done a martial art, or boxed? ”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Then what do you think you could have done differently? Be honest.”
“Nothing… I guess.”
“Everyone is allowed to be vulnerable, Zach. There’s no shame in it.”
“Are you ever afraid?”
“Yes.”
I arch an eyebrow, unsure if I believe him or not.
“I’ve done my fair share of adrenaline-seeking in the past. Surfing, skydiving, and rock climbing.
Anything that got my heart rate pumping and made me feel alive.
But I always had a healthy sense of fear.
If I hadn’t, I would have made silly mistakes.
I’d have become complacent about checking my equipment or letting people know my plans.
I still let my PA know what route I’ll be jogging each morning, just in case. ”
“It’s not the same,” I mumble. “You chose to take those risks. I didn’t choose to have a stalker. I didn’t choose for her to break into my home.” I sigh. “Except, I did.”
“How so?”
“By wanting to be an actor. I basically gave everyone a permission slip to invade my privacy.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I go back to inspecting the plants, running their velvety leaves carefully between my fingers.
“What happened?” Nate asks in that gentle, patient tone that makes me want to crawl into his lap and tell him everything.
Except I can’t. “You’re right, it’s too fresh and raw right now. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
“You’re not. Would it help if we talked about something else?”
I nod. “What’s your niece called?”
“Cassie.”
“You don’t look old enough to have a thirteen-year-old niece.”
“I’m old enough to have a thirteen-year-old daughter.”
“Do you have kids?”
“No.”
I narrow my eyes. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-nine.”
I was close. He’s fourteen years older than me.
“Do you want kids?” Why did I ask that?
“Not at the moment. Maybe never. Do you?”
“I don’t think I’d make a good parent.”
“Why?”
“Because I can’t even take care of myself right now.”
Nate raises an eyebrow. “Asking for help isn’t taking care of yourself?”
I have no answer to that. “I’m not honest about who I am.”
“Oh?”
“I pretend to be a tough guy. Strong, stoic. Pretty much like my character in the film. Chase would have never cried at the start of the film.”
“Crying isn’t a sign of weakness. If I remember correctly, Chase realized that by the end of the movie. He had this whole transformation and redemption arc that allowed him to get the girl by the end.”
“You really did watch it,” I mumble.
“And I paid attention. You’re being too harsh on yourself, Zach. You might have adopted a persona to get roles, but that’s all it is.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. If you need to cry, cry.”
My tears burst out of me, like a dam breaking. One moment I’m staring at Nate, blinking, and the next I’m sobbing into my hands.
“Can I offer you a hug?”
I start. I hadn’t realized Nate had stood up, let alone moved so close to me. He’s a couple of footsteps away, giving me space, but offering me comfort. I want to refuse, but I do want a hug. I want him to hug me. I nod.
He moves closer, slowly. He wraps his arms around me and guides my head onto his shoulder, allowing me to cry into his probably expensive jacket. He rubs my back, his chin resting against my temple as I sob uncontrollably.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.” I keep repeating it, over and over, my voice increasingly broken and disjointed by tears and hiccups. “I’m sorry.”
I cling to him, surprised by how damn comforting his embrace is.
He’s strong, but gentle. His chest is firm, his shoulder more comfortable than it has any right to be.
And he smells nice, of sea salt and citrus.
I feel small in his arms, and yet somehow buoyed, like he’s a life raft in the middle of the storm I’ve found myself in.
I haven’t cried like this since I was a kid.
Maybe my shame and fear will get washed out along with the tears.
“I don’t want to be afraid,” I croak. “I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never felt so powerless.”
Nate strokes my hair, holding me tighter still. “You’re safe here,” he promises.
I do feel safer, especially in his arms.