4. Nate
NATE
Eventually, Zach goes still in my arms. No more sobbing. No more shuddering. But he doesn’t move, so I don’t either. I keep doing what I’ve been doing. I’m happy to be whatever he needs me to be.
He pulls away, wiping his damp cheeks with his palms.
I glance around, locating a box of tissues hidden behind a plant pot.
I pluck two tissues out of it and hand them to Zach.
I’m not sure he’d let me dry his tears for him.
Not yet, anyway. He blots his cheeks with the tissues, dabbing furiously.
It dries his skin, but blotches remain. His eyes are red and puffy.
“I made a mess of your jacket,” he says.
I don’t bother to look. I can feel the patch of dampness seeping into my shirt. His face was warm against my shoulder, but his tears are already getting cold. “It’ll clean. Besides, I have a spare in the car.”
“You do?” He widens his eyes. “Why?”
“Believe me, I’ve been caught out too many times not to take a spare everywhere I go.”
“Do men make a habit of crying on your shoulder?”
I shrug. “Sometimes. But I do make a habit of spilling mustard on my jacket. I like hot dogs,” I add. “There’s a place downtown that does the most amazing ones. I can give you the address if you want to check it out?”
He replies with the smallest of smiles. “Thanks, that would be nice.”
“Are you Brits always so polite?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes, it’s a habit. We can’t help it. Don’t hold it against me.”
I chuckle. “I think it’s sweet.”
A pink blush creeps into his blotchy skin, illuminating it from within. Beautiful. He looks around and then strides to a trash can and drops the used tissues into it. He hovers there, tucking his hands into his pockets as though he doesn’t know what else to do with them.
“So… This is what caregivers do? Hug guys they don’t know while they cry their heart out.”
“Among other things.”
I debate sitting again, to make myself smaller than him. Will it make him feel more comfortable? It’s hard to tell. We’re similar heights. If anything, he’s a touch taller than me, and he’s got more muscle.
“Like listening?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“You protect actors?”
“Not me personally, not anymore. But I hire and train people who do.”
“I bet only the biggest stars can afford that, right?”
I bob my head from side to side. “There are levels of protection, but, yes, it comes at a cost. Do you need protection?”
He hunches his shoulders. “Me? I’m practically a nobody.”
“My niece would disagree with you.”
“I can’t afford you.”
“Forget money for the moment. Would knowing you have protection make you feel safe enough to go home?”
He shakes his head.
“Could you tell me why?”
He nibbles his lower lip. He probably shouldn’t do that if he’s got any casting calls coming up.
“After Confessions blew up, I started getting fan mail. Via my agent, obviously. I don’t hand my address out.
” He paces, keeping his distance and not meeting my stare at all.
“I was excited. I mean, who wouldn’t be?
Fan mail? A movie everyone was talking about?
Magazines calling via my agent to arrange photo shoots and interviews.
I was invited onto radio shows and even some late-night talk shows.
All my dreams were coming true.” There’s no excitement in his voice, only sad resignation.
“I was so wrapped up in it all that I didn’t notice some of the fan mail was coming from one person.
” He rubs the back of his neck. “A lot of it, actually. By the time I did realize, it had started getting creepy. Really creepy.”
“Did you go to the cops?”
“I told my agent first. Then, yeah, I went to the cops. They took some samples from me and said they’d look into it, but that there probably wasn’t much they could do.
It’s not like there was a return address or anything.
No one seemed concerned, so I tried not to be.
” He slumps down in an armchair, hooking one ankle over the other, before switching them over.
He sighs heavily, stands, and goes back to pacing, using his thumb to rub the back of his opposite hand.
I keep my face neutral. Inside, I’m screaming. Not at him, but at his agent, and at the cops who were dismissive. I’d never be so blasé if any of my clients came to me with fan mail like that. It’s a huge red flag.
His body is tense, his muscles bunching beneath his T-shirt, his jaw rigid. I want to hold him again, wrap my arms around him and tell him it’s fine, he’s safe now. It’s clear he doesn’t feel safe, not even here, in what’s arguably one of the safest havens in the whole of California.
I could prompt him to go on, but he needs to talk in his own time. If this is all he can tell me for now, so be it. I’ll be as patient as he needs me to be.
“Last night, I got home and found her in my apartment.”
“You’re sure it’s the same person?”
“Yes. She was wearing perfume. It smelled the same as the perfume on the letters.”
“It must have been scary, finding her in your home.”
He nods and stares at me miserably.
“Thank you for telling me.”
“That’s all you need to know?”
“Is that all you’re ready to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t force it. The words will come when you’re ready.”
“But you won’t be here then,” he mumbles.
“Yes, I will.” I take my wallet out of my pocket, slide a crisp, white business card out of it, and hand it to him. “Now you have my number, so you can call me. And I’ll come and check on you.”
He stares at me, eyes wide. “You… You’d do that?”
“Yes. As often as you like.”
“Why do you do this? Help Angels, I mean.”
“A long time ago, I had a friend I couldn’t help. I can help Halo House’s Angels, so I do.”
He edges closer. “What happened?”
I rub the back of my neck. Even now, the memories hurt.
“I’m sorry,” Zach says. “I shouldn’t have asked. It’s not my business.”
“It’s fine. It was a long time ago. My friend came out to his parents and they kicked him out. He sofa surfed between me and some other friends for a while, until his dad found out and came around, fists flying. I stood between them and ended up with the scars to tell the tale.”
“What did he do?”
I point to the scar beside my right eye. “This was from a punch. He was wearing a huge signet ring.” And then the thin one across my forehead. “This was when he knocked me to the floor. I hit my head on the edge of a table.”
Zach winces. “And your friend?”
“I told him to run. I was terrified his dad was going to beat him up, or worse.” My chest feels hollow.
“To this day, I wish I could have done things differently. I shouldn’t have tried standing up to his dad.
We should have run together. I should have persuaded him to go to the cops.
Anything, but let him go alone.” My voice has become rough, and my eyes prickle.
My chest is tight. Even after all these years, it hurts to talk about it.
“He didn’t come back?” Zach asks.
I shake my head. “About a month later, his body was found in the river by some men who were fishing.” I stride to the box of tissues, pluck one out, and dab my watery eyes.
“So, that’s why I support Halo House—why helping Angels is so important to me.
It’s also the reason I got into kink. I needed a healthy release for my pain. But that’s a story for another time.”
“His dad sounds like a nasty piece of work, but it wasn’t your fault.” Zach’s voice is almost as rough as mine. His words are earnest, and there’s a fierce fire in his eyes.
I smile sadly. “Logically, I know that, but emotionally I do still blame myself. At least on some level.” I clear my throat.
“You shouldn’t.”
“We can’t always control our feelings, Zach. Sometimes they get the better of us.”
He looks away. “That’s true. Mine are getting the better of me. Thank you for being so kind and for telling me about your friend, but could we stop here? I’m tired and raw and just want some time out.”
“Of course.”
His chin wobbles. “Thank you. I haven’t found anyone I can count on since I moved to LA, let alone talk to. And my family… They’re so far away, and I don’t want to worry them, and…”
I squeeze his shoulder. “I promise you can count on me.”