Page 14 of The Star in Room 7

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.

4

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.”