by Dawn Sister
“I’ve a good mind to call the other guy and fill him in on a few details, but I’m not that vindictive,” Zak muses.
He sighs and leans against the door frame, picking at a hang nail on one of his slender fingers. I doubt he has a vindictive bone in his body, and the thought of someone cheating on him makes me feel sick. Oh my god, how could anyone ever do something like that to Zak? How could anyone ever think about being anything but completely faithful to him? I feel bad for him, because it’s something I realise we have in common, and I wish we didn’t. I know how much it can hurt.
I suddenly want to make it all better for him, but I just don’t know how. I stand and join him in the doorway, laying a hand on his arm in sympathy.
“Is there anything I c-can do?”
He looks down at me and gives me a weak half-smile, shaking his head.
“No, not really. I always knew that guy was bad news, so it’s my own fault. We split up just after mom sold our house. A lot of the trouble I had at the apartment was because of him, so his assholery isn’t news to me really. People warned me about him when we first started dating, but I didn’t listen. Maybe I should take some lessons in listening from you, huh?”
I chuckle, rubbing my thumb over the firm muscle of his forearm and trying not to react to the feel of his skin beneath my fingertips. I think I hear him catch his breath, but I’m not looking at his face so I can’t see if he’s noticed my inadvertent caress. God, I hope he hasn’t. I got carried away there. I squeeze past him before I do anything more that might be construed as inappropriate.
“I-I’ll make some t-tea.” It’s my excuse to get away from the temptation to wrap my arms around him and just hold him. That’s not what he needs or what he wants from me.
A second later, Zak follows me, leaping across the hall to catch up.
“I think I’m beginning to like the English solution to everything, Niall.” His bright smile is once more, firmly in place.
The English solution to everything is quite effective, especially when it can restore Zak’s smile.
Chapter 9
In which Zak seems to have lost his voice,
or maybe I’ve gone deaf
Zak is strangely quiet this evening as we walk Zen together. The evening walk has quickly become a daily after-dinner routine. However, his silence is definitely not routine.
Usually, he’s talked the hind legs off a donkey by the time we reach the end of the street. I swear he takes one breath in the morning and another before he goes to bed—on a normal day, that is—and I’m happy to listen, except he draws me out of myself and listens to me as well. He has the patience of a saint, since I get frustrated with myself, but he never shows any kind of irritation when I get stuck on a word. He just waits, as if what I have to say is the most important thing in the world.
Tonight, he remains quiet, pulling at leaves as we pass bushes and throwing Zen’s ball for him without so much as a grunt. Is he sick? Has he talked so much he’s given himself laryngitis? Something is definitely not right.
“T-tell me w-what’s wrong,” I urge him gently.
He shrugs but doesn’t look at me. He seems very unhappy about something. I suppose I just have to wait until he’s ready.
We walk through the park and around the lake, and Zak stops to throw some stones into the water. Usually, he laughs at Zen, who goes to jump in after them but then at the last minute thinks better of it, because he’s a little dog and it’s a big lake. Not even Zen’s antics are lifting my friend’s spirits tonight. What can the matter be?
“I got a job,” Zak eventually admits, as if this is some terrible confession he’s been dreading telling me.
“Th-that’s g-great,” I say, because it is, isn’t it? He should be happy. “Y-you w-wanted one, you s-said so.”
“I know. I do want one, and I need the money to save up for a car, but it means I can’t walk Zen during the day anymore.”
Is that why he’s unhappy? Because he can’t walk Zen? It’s not as if Zen is his responsibility. Oh, wait—does he think I’ll be unhappy about it? I don’t want him to feel obligated just because he’s been doing it all these weeks. I was happy to let him, since Zen seems to think the sun shines out of his backside, but Zen is my dog and my responsibility. Zak shouldn’t feel bad about getting a job, not in this day and age, when unemployment is so high and I’m—god, I’m proud of him. It takes some determination and guts.
“I’m sure Zen will c-cope,” I assure him.
He smiles and nods but still doesn’t seem as happy as he should be.
“W-well done, b-by the way.” I pat his arm, and his smile broadens then disappears again. He still doesn’t look content. In fact, he looks even more worried.
“It also means I might not be able to do the evening walk.” He waves his hands about him, and the pride I feel is tainted with disappointment, which I quickly quash. Zen and I have no right to any of his time. It’s been a privilege, and I knew it wouldn’t last forever. “The job is at a twenty-four-hour store,” he continues, “and I start late and finish later.” He frowns. “I took it because it means I can still help Mom in the mornings.”
He sets off round the lake again, his expression strangely conflicted. I don’t understand why. It’s admirable that he’s looked for a solution that would suit both him and his mother. I shouldn’t factor into this, but it seems I do, or at least the time he spends with Zen does. I catch him up.
“W-what t-time do you f-finish?” Maybe he doesn’t have to miss out on all of his time with me…er…I mean Zen.
“Nine p.m., five days a week.” He huffs. “I had to take it, Niall. I’ve got no money and I can’t keep taking money off Mom. There isn’t an endless supply. I mean, I got money, from my dad, but I’m keeping that for when I really need it, you know? I want to get a car, so I need to save up. I’m not planning on dipping into Dad’s money when I can get a fixer-upper for a couple hundred pounds.”
“S-so what exactly is your p-problem?” I am confused, but also pleased he seems to be back to his old talkative self. “F-five days a week still leaves t-two days free.”
“Yeah, but I like this evening walk with you and Zen, Niall. It’s like a wind-down before bed, you know. I love it really, but I guess you’ll’ve walked him by the time I get in most days.”
I shrug and shake my head. “If it means that much to you, w-we can walk Zen later. H-h-he doesn’t care as long as he gets a walk and to play fetch with you.”
Zak stops in his tracks and stares at me. “You mean that?”
“Of course.” I stop too, and turn to face him. “The n-nights are getting lighter. L-later walks are n-no problem.”
My god, you’d think I’d given him the earth. His eyes are so bright and his expression so full of gratitude. All I’ve said is that we can walk Zen later so he can still come with us. It’s not as if I’ve put myself out or anything. Zak is acting as if it’s this massive gesture. But if he enjoys it so much, why wouldn’t I want to make some sort of compromise for him? I enjoy his company as well.
“Wow, thanks, Niall, that’d be great.”
“N-no p-problem, Zak.”
The rest of the walk Zak resumes his usual role, and once again the hind legs of that donkey are in danger. He regales me with stories of the other candidates for the job he was just offered, and how he thinks he just got the job because the others all looked like crackheads, whereas he just sounds like one. I laugh hard at this, since he does sometimes talk so fast it sounds like he’s on speed or something similar. He fits more words into one breath than most people fit into an entire conversation.
Chapter 10
In which Zak finds out I am a nerd
“Hey, are you busy?” Zak walks past me—with Zen trotting at his feet—when I answer the door. He doesn’t wait for me to reply.
He never disturbs me anyway, even if I am busy. He just entertains Zen and watches my TV because I have more channels than he does; plus I have the movie
and sports package, which I pay for but rarely watch, so he’s welcome to. He also logs on to my wi-fi, which I suppose he could conceivably do from his own house, since I’m sure my wi-fi reaches that far.
Anyway, he always asks, but I never say no.
Today, I have quite a bit of work to get through, so I leave him to channel hop while I go to my office to put my nose to the grindstone.
Zak appears at my office door about twenty minutes later, casually leaning against the frame, one hand hanging effortlessly from the top. I’d have to stand on a stool to reach that high. He’s not that bulky, but he’s lean and firm and wiry. I can tell from here that he works out, and I know he runs, so he’s fit. He has a hint of a six-pack pushing against his T-shirt. I fight the urge to lick my lips.
“Want a coffee?” he asks, completely oblivious to the thoughts in my head. Thoughts that I quickly dismiss and bury deep.
It’s all right to look, I tell myself about a hundred times a day, but not all right to touch.
“Y-yes please.” I smile, meeting his eye briefly before looking back down at my laptop screen. I still manage to get the full force of his brilliant smile.
He disappears to make me coffee. He doesn’t have to ask how I take it. He knows; he’s done this dozens of times now. Not for the first time, I wonder what he’s doing here. He could be anywhere. His job seems to be broadening his horizons and widening his circle of friends, which means I don’t see him as often. But still, he comes whenever he’s free, which is at least four times a week, plus most weekends.
We now walk Zen a little later in the evening, as promised. My dog thinks he has two homes. He’s just a mutt slut. I laugh at my rhyme as Zak walks in with my coffee.
“And what has you so cheerful today?” He smirks at me, and I narrow my eyes.
“N-nothing.”
He places my mug down on the coaster by the side of my laptop and perches himself on the edge of my desk.
“What is it that you actually do, Niall?” he asks, craning his neck to try and get a good look at my screen.
He’s asked me before, but all I could stutter out was that I worked from home. He guessed it was something to do with computers. I suppose that was enough to satisfy his curiosity at the time.
“C-c-computer c-c-coding,” I manage to get out this time. I wait for the inevitable yawn, but he actually looks pretty impressed.
“You are kidding me!” he exclaims, jumping down from the desk and crouching beside me so he can see the screen better. He manages to manoeuvre himself so one arm is resting on my lap. His head is tucked beneath my arm so I am almost forced to hug him as I try to type. Okay, so I said he didn’t usually bother me, but this is a bit beyond a joke. I can smell his clean, just-showered scent, and it’s doing crazy things to my senses. “What kind of coding do you do, Niall? Is it like for games and stuff?”
“No!” I chuckle, since this is probably the source of his excitement. “Websites mostly. S-sorry if that doesn’t appeal to your g-gaming generation!”
He clicks his tongue. “You make me sound like a kid.” He arches one eyebrow, and I can tell I’ve insulted him.
I know he isn’t a kid, but he is quite a bit younger than me: a different generation, in actual fact. I don’t want him to be offended, though.
“S-sorry, Zak.”
“That’s okay.” He waves away my concern. “Besides, you act like I should be disappointed that you code for websites. You’re a nerd, and nerds are pretty damn cool.”
I chuckle and shake my head, sometimes he says the funniest things.
“You must be hella clever. I wouldn’t know where to start with computer coding.” He continues, “I did some coding at school, but nothing so complicated and intricate as website design, and I’d love to be able to create games, but I’m a bit of a dope unless I’m actually playing them, then I’m fucking awesome.” He nods and smiles proudly, and I can’t help laughing.
“Tsk!” I click my tongue and roll my eyes. “Younger generation!”
He gasps, then sees I’m teasing and laughs, but I can tell he isn’t exactly over the moon about the fact I’ve just pointed out our vast age difference.
Zen decides to break the tension and barks and snuffles at Zak’s feet.
With a chuckle, Zak scratches Zen’s ears. “Hey, buddy, what ya doin’ down there?” Zen drops a ball at Zak’s feet and backs away, looking expectantly at the toy. Zak chuckles again and jumps to his feet, smiling brightly at me. “I’ll leave you to it, Niall. Zen and I will play quiet, I promise.”
I know he’s left in order to let me concentrate on my work, but all I can concentrate on is the way he smiles at me, and the way he spends more time here than he does at home, and the fact that my dog seems to like him better than me now, and the way his presence here makes my life seem somehow more colourful when I didn’t even know it was so grey before. It’s certainly filled with more noise, but not in a bad way, because I could listen to his enthusiastic, cheerful chatter all day.
I hope he wasn’t too offended by my gaff about our age gap.
Chapter 11
In which Zak has something wrong with his face
“W-what’s wrong with your face, Zak?” I frown as I watch him scratch away at his chin—something he’s been doing constantly since he came through the door ten minutes ago.
He doesn’t look up. He’s using the fact that he’s playing with Zen as an excuse, but he’s just had his hair cut, and his ears are flushed pink. Well, that’s kind of funny.
“Zak?” It’s not like him to be so quiet.
I try to get a look at his face as he continues to writhe at his chin. I haven’t seen him for a little while, because he’s been busy with his new job. He’s called a few times, which was kind of awkward; telephone conversations aren’t my forte. Texting is better, and he’s sent me some hilarious texts.
He told me he picked up a few extra shifts in order to save a little more money for his car. I worry that he’s working too hard, but it’s not really my place to say anything, is it?
His first day off for a fortnight and he’s here, making a fuss of Zen—just in case the dog forgot him, he says. I doubt that would happen; Zak is not that easy to forget.
“There’s nothing wrong with my face, Niall. it’s just a bit itchy, that’s all.” He still hasn’t looked up at me, but continues to scratch. I decide I’m not going to get a proper answer so I change the subject.
“W-want some dinner?” I was making enough for two anyway. Whilst I cannot understand why he spends so much time here, I have come to accept that he does, and that he’ll be here whenever he has some free time, so I cook for us both.
I have no idea what his mother thinks of this, although I get the impression he is left to fend for himself most evenings, because his mum is working hard to get her new business off the ground.
I’m surprised to find I have missed him over the last fortnight, and that I’m actually happy to have him spend time here. He’s good company for Zen and he talks enough for the both of us. He doesn’t expect me to answer—like he reads it all in my expression, or maybe he can really read my mind. Sometimes I think I can read his. Beneath the chatty, noisy exterior, there is a deep, thoughtful young man who sometimes has profound observations to make on life.
“Niall, do you ever wish you could lick your own balls like Zen?”
“What?” I try not to snort into the sauce I’m stirring.
What was I saying about him being profound? He’s looking up at me from his position on the floor where he’s been playing with Zen. He has an innocent expression on his face, but I’m not fooled. He isn’t a kid. He’s twenty-three. He says things like that to get a reaction from me, I’m certain.
I can now see the reason he’s been scratching at his face so much, however.
“What is that on your face?” I want to laugh until I see the hurt expression and the embarrassment as he tries to hide the fact he’s growing a beard.
�
��Jeez, Niall, you’d think you’d never seen a beard before.” He stands and moves out into the hall, rubbing his chin as he regards himself in the mirror that hangs on the wall out there. “Does it look okay? I never had one before, and it itches like hell. I think I should shave it off. Do you think I should shave it o—oh!” He looks down at me, startled, as I slide up beside him and study his reflection in the mirror.
“I don’t know. It looks okay—a little blonde, but it’ll darken as it gets thicker.”
“Do you think so?” Zak turns his head from side to side, “It’s only been a few days. Do you really think it’ll darken? Get thicker? Because right now it looks like bumfluff. That’s what mom called it anyway. She laughed at me, Niall. I’m almost twenty-four, and she made me feel fifteen again—when I first started shaving and cut my face so bad I still have a scar.”
I can’t help it. I hiss in sympathy, then burst out laughing.
“That is so not funny.” He huffs.
“I know, I’m sorry.” I take a better, closer look at his face now, taking hold of his chin and turning his head. “What made you decide to grow a beard?” I ask, narrowing my eyes in concentration as I scrutinise his handiwork.
He’s frowning, but I’m not sure why. I’m suddenly aware of the fact that his breathing rhythm has changed. His lips are slightly parted, and the frown is lifting gradually, as if he wants to ask a question, but then, with a shake of his head, he thinks better of it. He answers my question instead.
“I, er, I got ID’d again on the weekend. I told you, right?”
I don’t remember him telling me but I nod anyway, because I know how annoyed he gets when it happens. He’s five years above the legal age for buying alcohol in this country, but he does sometimes look and, admittedly, act like a much younger man. That question he threw at me about Zen’s nether regions just proved how immature he can be—I’m never sure if he’s for real or he’s putting on an act.
