CHAPTER ONE
Family meetings suck. I’d rather be any-fucking-where but here, seated on the sofa in our living room while Mum nervously wrings her hands. My little sister, Neriah, sits beside me with her head in a book, like always. Mum smiles as she waits for Dad to arrive.
“What’s this about?” I ask, kicking my foot up on the coffee table. Dad would tell me off if he were here, but Mum has bigger worries on her mind right now than my shoes.
I was about to head out for tonight’s party when she called me and said it was important.
Dad finally walks in, tall and broad-shouldered. He frowns when he sees my shoe on the coffee table, and I roll my eyes as I set it down on the floor.
He claps his big hands together. “We have something we’d like to share with you.”
Neriah reluctantly shuts her paperback, and I squeeze her shoulder. She’s not like other girls her age who are out partying and having sex. A perfect evening for her consists of a good fantasy novel and chocolate.
“We told you previously about our church’s new outreach program. A young man named Arkin Reeve is coming to stay with us for a while,” Dad explains, and Mum smiles. “Arkin is a very special young man.”
That’s not what I thought this family meeting was about.
I frown, glancing between my parents.
Dad continues, “He comes from very special circumstances?—”
Well, that’s ominous.
“What are you not saying?” I ask.
“I can’t discuss the particulars. Let’s just say Arkin didn’t have the best start in life. He doesn’t speak and”—he exchanges a fleeting glance with my mum—“needs a little extra support to get back on his feet.”
“What does that mean?” I prompt, sighing.
Mum answers for Dad. “It means that he’s had a difficult childhood, and now that he is eighteen, he needs somewhere to stay temporarily while other arrangements are sorted out.”
I raise a brow, or perhaps I blink. I’m not sure. “Why is he staying with us? Why are you taking on a charity case?”
“Zachary,” Dad admonishes. “You’re an adult now. Try to show some compassion for once. We have the space and means to help.”
I rub my brow.
This is a bad idea. “Where is he going to stay? We don’t have a spare bedroom.”
Another shared glance. Mum almost grimaces when she looks at me and says, “We thought he could stay in your room with you.”
My mouth falls open. “With me?”
“If we put a single bed?—”
They can’t be serious. What is this? Some mutual midlife crises or something? They’ve got nothing better to do, so they want to try their hands at sainthood? Is that it?
“Do I get a fucking say in this?”
“Language, Zachary!” Dad snaps. “You’re free to move out if it’s such a burden. We’re talking about a struggling young man who needs a helping hand to give him the best chance of a successful life. God wants us to?—”
I laugh bitterly as I stand up. Not this again. Why did I have to be born into a religious, church-going family? This is England, for fuck’s sake. No one believes in Jesus anymore.
Well, except for my parents.
Lucky me.
“Whatever. I’m heading out. Don’t wait up.”
