Page 5 of The Liar in Room 5

“Nice to meet you.”

If I’d ever felt more awkward, I couldn’t remember the time. It was surreal. I got up this morning thinking I had a boyfriend and home, but it turned out I had neither.

“Same to you. I’m Phoenix. Welcome to my home.”

He called it home, but the foyer was set up as a reception area more than a house. From inside, I heard the bustle of people in other rooms and saw them through the back windows. It was a halfway house for the people with nowhere else to go. Almost forty and homeless. How special for me. Effing yay.

“Thanks for letting me stay.”

“It’s why we’re here. If there’s a need, we try to step in and help, so let’s get you situated.” Phoenix continued talking about food and visitors and things I wouldn’t remember and knew I’d ask about later anyway.

Phoenix’s running commentary was likely designed to be a distraction from the fact that I’d been kicked to the curb by Jonathan. He led me up the stairs, down a hall, and our trip ended at an interior door. He pushed the door open, and I followed.

The room was dominated by a full-size bed on the far wall with a little sitting area over by the windows. Somehow, I’d lucked out with a room overlooking the backyard, and before me, men of all shapes, most younger than me, played some kind of game of tag on the lawn. Their giggles reached all the way to the second floor, and despite my mood, I had to smile at their antics. It must be amazing to be free while not questioning everything.

“I’ll let you settle, but I hope you’ll join us for dinner.”

Phoenix let himself out of the room, and I flopped back on the bed. Unfortunately, the ceiling refused to provide any insight into my dumpster fire of a life. I was staring down middle age and staying in a homeless shelter—though it was an extra nice one—with no clue how I’d ended up at this point or where I was supposed to go next.

There was only one solution.

Sleep from now until this nightmare was over.

2

Henry

“I swear on all that’s holy, you best not ditch me today,” Marc said through clenched teeth.

“I won’t⁠—”

“Ben, stop biting the dog’s tail. If he bites you back, I’m gonna be on his side,” he interrupted. “Henry, I mean it.”

“I prom⁠—”

“Benjamin! Leave the damn dog alone… Baby, come here. I’ll protect you from that gremlin…”

“Should a father call his child a gremlin?”

The enormous clatter in the background sent my brother off the phone one more time to deal with whatever disaster was happening yet again.

“A father who’s about to lose his goddamned mind would… Baby, gimme kisses… Ben, you’re sticky. Give me your kisses later, please…”

“Well, if you’re going to kiss your dog, then I’m going to hang up,” I interjected.

There was only so much of my brother and his spawn I could take before I needed to peace out. Baby, who looked like a bear with sawed-off legs, could stay because she was quieter and better behaved than the aforementioned spawn.

“Yeah, yeah. Park at four, and you promised… Ben, I swear to⁠—”

The line went dead, but I was going to hope Baby survived. She was my favorite in that house.

The timing worked, though, because I arrived at Halo House with five minutes to spare.

When Phoenix called to say he had a new guest he’d like me to meet, I’d been intrigued.

Halo House was one of my favorite charities that I’d started supporting over the last several years. Phoenix ran it as a kind of halfway house for queer men who needed a place to stay while they got back on their feet after whatever circumstances had brought them down. The house itself sat on a hill, isolated and absolutely gorgeous. I always expected a movie production crew to pop up out of nowhere every time I pulled through the gates. Thank God none actually had.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I refused to look at it. As an entertainment attorney, there was no shortage of people trying to get my attention at all hours of the day and night: agents, actors, studios, production companies. None of them maintained a nine-to-five schedule, and they expected the people who worked with them to do the same. If I didn’t establish and enforce rules for business hours, I would never stop.