5. Zach
ZACH
I almost ask Nate not to leave, if only because he’s the only solid thing in my life right now.
But I don’t know him, and although he says he doesn’t want anything in return, I can’t be certain.
The thing I learned fast in LA is that everyone wants something, no matter how nice they seem.
So, I let him go, and then navigate my way through the unfamiliar house to room seven.
I left my phone on the bedside table. I grab it to check my messages and things, but it’s dead.
My charger is in my apartment. In my bedroom.
Cold dread tickles at my insides. I don’t want to go back.
Not yet. Not today. I’ll go back tomorrow, before I outstay my welcome here.
Right now, I need a way to charge my phone.
I leave my room and head to the lounge that Phoenix pointed out earlier.
I figure it’s the best place to bump into an Angel.
I don’t want to go knocking on bedroom doors.
There’s one person inside, curled up on the sofa, watching cartoons on the TV.
He’s slim, short, and dressed in ripped dreams and a white crop top with a Care Bear on the front—I have no idea which one.
He has short, curly, warm mid-brown hair and thick brows.
He’s wearing a daisy chain in his hair and is cuddling a teddy bear.
He has large, striking sky-blue eyes and a delicate silver hoop in his right nostril.
He’s clean-shaven, but with an ever-so-slight shadow.
“Hi,” I say.
“Oh, hi! I haven’t seen you around before. You must be new.”
“I got here last night.”
He bounces to his feet. “I’m Puck. That’s not my real name. I don’t like my real name. It’s too… not me. They/them, by the way.”
They do have Puckish energy and fae vibes. I remember studying A Midsummer Night’s Dream in secondary school. Puck was one of my favorite characters. I assume that’s where they’ve got the name from.
“I’m Zach.”
They flick their gaze over me. “Yes, yes, you are.”
Does that mean Puck recognizes me? I half shake my head, not wanting to read too much into their statement.
They tilt their head, dark eyes wide. “No, you’re not? Because you suit your name.”
Does that mean they don’t recognize me?
“I am. Umm… I use he/him pronouns,” I add, so we’re on an even footing.
“Good to know, thanks.”
“Do you have a charger?” I hold my phone out. “I forgot mine when I came here.”
Their expression brightens. “No worries, I’ve got you.” Still carrying the teddy bear tucked against their chest, they wander past me to the door, beckoning me to follow.
Puck leads me to room four, which is on the opposite side of the corridor to my room. It’s a carbon copy of mine, except there’s a thin, multi-colored blanket on the bed with another teddy bear sitting on top of it, and a mug full of lollipops on the bedside table.
Puck points to a charger plugged into the wall. “It’s all yours.”
I unplug it and coil the cable. “Thanks. I’ll bring it back as soon as my phone is charged.”
Puck plucks a lollipop from the mug. “Want one?”
“Uh, thanks.” I take it and tap it against the back of my hand. I should go. “Do you like it here?”
“Yes. I mean, I haven’t been here long. A month or so?” They take another lollipop, sit on the edge of the bed, unwrap it and pop it into their mouth. “Everyone’s really nice and, well, it’s a lot safer than where I was.”
I wince. Puck belongs here. I’m still not sure I do. My thoughts track to Nate’s friend. If he’d had a place like this to take him in, maybe things would have turned out differently. I guess that’s why Nate helps Halo House out.
“What’s the deal with the caregivers?” I ask, even though Phoenix has already explained. I suppose I want to hear about them from someone on the other side of the equation.
“They want to help. That’s all.”
“But what do they get in return?”
“Nothing. I mean, when I first got here, I thought they might want payment.”
“You mean sex?”
They grimace, nod, and look away. They take a breath, reassert their cheerful smile, and look me dead in the eye. “This place isn’t like that. Didn’t Phoenix tell you that?”
“Yes, but…”
“I didn’t trust it at first, either,” Puck admits. “It felt too good to be true.”
“Right? You don’t get something for nothing.”
“Exactly. But this place is different. It’s safe. Everyone wants to help. They want to get you back on your feet, whatever it takes. And no matter how long it takes.”
“That’s reassuring, thanks.”
Their smile brightens. “No problem. Glad I could help.”
“Speaking of help… Phoenix mentioned we needed to. Do you work at the club?”
Puck’s bright demeanor dips for a moment, like a lightbulb briefly getting cut off from its power source.
“No. I’m not good around alcohol,” they whisper, wincing.
“But there are other things to do. The house doesn’t clean itself, and food doesn’t magically get cooked. Can you cook? I’m a one-meal wonder.”
I can’t help but smile. “I can cook.”
Their eyes brighten. “Then maybe we can cook together, and you can teach me how to make something new?”
“I’d like that.” I really would. “But I won’t be here long.”
Puck does that head tilt thing again, their expression becoming curious. “Oh?”
“I’ll feel better soon and be able to go home.”
They smile. “I hope you do! You’re not alone here. Everyone will help you achieve that goal.”
I run my hand through my hair as tears prickle my eyes.
“You look sad.”
“I’m not sad. Everyone’s being so nice to me, even though they barely know me. It’s overwhelming.”
“I get that.” Puck grabs the other teddy bear. “Hugging a teddy bear helps me feel better. Maybe it’ll help you, too.” They look reluctant to give it to me, but it’s sweet that they’re offering.
“No, thanks. I should let you get back to watching TV.”
“You could join me. If you want to?”
“No. Thanks. I need to be alone for a bit. Thanks for the charger and the lollipop. I’ll bring it back.”
“The lollipop?” they ask playfully, drawing a laugh out of me.
“The charger.” I go to the door and then pause. “Have you ever met a guy called Nate?”
“Yes! He helped out during the last clean-up day.”
“Clean-up day?”
Puck nods enthusiastically. “We picked litter on the beach. It was fun.”
“And Nate… He’s…?”
“Nice. Kind. I like him.”
“Is he your caregiver?” I ask.
Puck laughs. “No!”
I pick at the lollipop wrapper. “Do you have a Daddy?”
“I have a patron who I spend time with who is a Daddy, but he’s not my Daddy, if that makes sense?”
“I think so, yes.”
“He’s helping me get— Stay sober.” They hug their teddy bear tighter and suck on the lollipop more aggressively. “Nicholas is a good man. Kind, patient, and caring.” They stare at me with their huge blue eyes.
“Does he make you feel safe?” I ask tentatively. “Do you feel safe here?”
“Yes. I hope you do, too.”
I smile, and then look away, suddenly far too self-aware, even though I have no idea why. An awkward beat passes between us.
“Are you sure you don’t want to watch cartoons?” Puck asks, although whether it’s to fill the silence or change the subject, I’m not sure.
“No, thanks. Sorry.”
They wave their hand, the damp, red lollipop flashing in the light pouring in through the window. “No need to apologize.”
“I seem to be doing a lot of that. So—” I catch myself by biting my tongue.
Puck stands and pushes the teddy bear into my arms. It’s brown and is missing an eye and the opposite ear. “He’ll help, I promise. His name’s Ted. Not very imaginative, but I was only five when I named him.”
“I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. Bring him back when you feel better.” They stare up at me fiercely. They’re several inches shorter than me, but they don’t seem in the least bit intimidated by my height or my bulk. If anything, I’m intimidated by their feisty, ‘don’t you dare refuse’ stare.
I hug Ted under my arm, which is easier than using my hands when they’re already full with a charger and a lollipop. “Thanks.”
I return to my room, plug in the charger, and hook up my phone. The sad battery-empty icon flashes up, replaced a half-second later by the charging icon. I give it a few minutes, finding homes for the lollipop—on the bedside table—and Ted—on the pillow.
I stand by the window. My room overlooks the conservatory.
I replay my conversation with Nate through my mind, amazed by how steadfastly patient he remained while I dodged his questions and even got mad at him.
I remember how safe I felt while he held me, and how much I wanted to cling to him as I cried.
I’ve never let myself be that vulnerable with anyone.
Not as an adult, anyway. As a kid, sure.
What kid hasn’t cried after falling off their skateboard, or accidentally kicking their ball into the neighbor’s garden while they were out and couldn’t throw it back?
I pull Nate’s business card out of my pocket and prop it on the windowsill, against the glass. Will he really come back tomorrow to check on me? I hope he does. I stifle a gasp. I want to see Nate again.
My phone lights up with the messages I must have missed while it was out of power.
I sit on the bed, checking them. I have a couple of texts from my agent, a weekly catch-up email from Mum, and a text from my boss at the restaurant, asking why I didn’t turn up for my lunchtime shift today.
Shit. I’d forgotten all about it. I’m normally Mister Reliable.
I send her an apologetic, bordering on groveling response, telling her I’m sick and probably won’t make it in for the rest of the week.
I hate lying, but it’s better than admitting the truth.
I won’t get paid for the shifts I miss. She might even let me go. But those are problems for another day.
Next, I open the email from Mum. She’s written War and Peace, as usual.
I take my trainers off so I can lounge on the bed, my elbow knocking into Ted as I rearrange myself.
I pick him up and hug him, hesitantly at first, as I start reading about my family’s antics back in England.
Puck’s right, hugging Ted does help. For the half hour it takes to read Mum’s email, I feel less alone.
I should reply right away, but I don’t know what to say.
Besides, they’re eight hours ahead, so she’ll be asleep.
Instead, I retrieve Nate’s business card and send him a text.
Me: Thanks for earlier. Sorry, I was a bit surly. Zach.
He replies faster than I expect.
Nate: You weren’t. Glad I could help. See you tomorrow?
I take a breath before replying. When I do, I go with simple and to the point: Yes. Before hurriedly sending a second reply: I’d like that.