The Christmas Throwaway (3 page)

She didn't speak straight away, just looked at the mug between her hands before asking the next question.

"Can you tell me why you're not at home with your family?" She hesitated, tilting her head to one side. "I guess I shouldn't be assuming you have a family."

"No, ma'am, I have a family. A mom, dad, and a sister. They —my dad— didn't want me in the house any 23

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more."

"What did you do to deserve that? Was it the wrong crowd? Drugs? Drink?"

Pain shot through him at the options she was giving him. The reasons why young people were generally

homeless. She thought he was an addict? He had never even touched a cigarette, let alone drugs, and as for drink…

He closed his eyes briefly. Why wouldn't she think he was at fault? He knew he looked ill enough for people to suppose he was on something that was harming him. He averted his gaze, as if fascinated by his soup, his hair falling again to hide from her far too perceptive gaze.

Should he tell her the whole story? Would she want to hear all the real details? Other people had asked but they didn't really want to hear.

Should he give her the details of the strict ex-army father who felt lessons were learnt through corporal punishment? Or of the home schooling and the fact he had no friends? Maybe he should just go for the easy option, the truth at the base of what had happened to him. He didn't want to lie to her. It wasn't in him to lie. He looked up and directly at her, the soup unsteady on his stomach.

"It happened because I'm gay," he said simply and so softly she had to lean forward to hear, then she frowned 24

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as he pushed the chair back from the table.

"And you ran away?" she asked simply.

"No!" Zach's reaction was instant. "They tried to fix me, but it didn't work. I didn't want it to work. They told me to go."

"I see," was all she said. He didn't hear disgust in her voice, but it wasn't like she immediately jumped up and gathered the gay throwaway in a hug.

"Thank you for the soup, ma'am. I appreciate your help, and your son's." He stumbled to stand, pins and needles in his legs, and moved into the hall, only stopping because the officer was blocking his way. The man was fresh from the shower with his dark hair spiky and his hazel eyes focused intently, looking less like a cop and more like a normal guy.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his head tilted in question. Zach saw the puzzled look in the guy's eyes then looked deeper, to a compassion such as he hadn't seen in a long time.

"I'm leaving, Mr… Officer. Look, thanks for your help. I'm sorry." Zach's words were shaky, but he made sure his intent was obvious. He was determined to leave.

They wouldn't want him under their roof either now. At least he'd gotten a hot meal in his belly, and he was damned 25

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if he was going to give back the warm clothes. He only had to find his shoes, and he would be gone. He could probably outrun the cop if he had a good enough head start since the other man was standing in the hallway with bare feet. Zach lowered his gaze and shuffled to move past, but he was stopped by a strong grip on his arm.

"Momma? Did he do something? Are you okay?"

Ben ignored Zach, who was nearly hopping from foot to foot trying to loosen Ben's grasp, anxiety and panic building inside him. He hadn't done anything to the cop's momma; he wouldn't. Weakly he pulled his arm, but the damn cop had a grip of freaking steel.

"It seems Zach's parents threw him out because he's gay," she offered simply. Zach yanked away to gain maneuvering room. Ben's face suddenly twisted in anger.

Shit,
Zach thought immediately,
here it comes,
and as the cop brought up a hand, Zach found himself cowering from the imminent hit. Instead, the cop laid his hand gently on Zach's shoulder and appeared to choose to ignore the fact that Zach had slunk back in fear.

"That happens a lot," the cop said simply, his face clear of any kind of telling expression, "but in this house, it isn't a problem. Momma has a straight son, married with two kids, and a daughter with two boyfriends at any one 26

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time." He paused, clearly letting the first part sink in. "Then she has me, her gay cop son."

"Oh," was all Zach could say, rubbing the arm Ben had grabbed to relieve the pain.

"You being gay isn't going to be one of the things that might affect your stay with us. Okay?"

Zach twisted to look at Ben's momma, still sitting at the table. She was nodding in agreement. It felt odd. It was some kind of surreal afternoon chick flick with

exceptionally pretty people being nice to extremely lonely young throwaways. He blinked, eyes then widening as it all sank in, too good to be true, but somehow very real.

"I'm going to go to bed, Ben. Why not sit a while with Zach, and then maybe show him to Jamie's old room.

There's fresh linen in the closet." She rose gracefully, placing bowls in the sink and crossing to pull her son into a hug, "Ellie will be in by two. She promised. So keep an eye out for her for me."

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Ben knew his mom wouldn't sleep until Ellie was

home. He also realized that she was giving him time to settle Zach, who seemed as highly strung as a racehorse, quivering with nervous tension. Their guest constantly checked the front door, and he could imagine the kid's brain calculating distance, speed, and direction for escape.

During his police training, Ben had attended a

training seminar in Richmond. It was designed to give new recruits a feel for various career paths and specializations.

He had spent a few hours listening to the juvenile liaison officer who touched briefly on stories of throwaways, his particular area of expertise. It intrigued Ben enough for him to search out the officer after his speech. He wanted to know more.

"What are the main reasons that they runaway?"

Ben asked of the more experienced officer, who shook his head.

"Not run, throw. These kids are literally thrown out of the house. They didn't choose to leave by running away; they were just kicked out."

Ben remembered the horror stories of kids turning to prostitution, turning tricks to survive, often dying young, 28

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the victims of disease or drugs or starvation.

"I asked one boy," the liaison officer had started the conversation straight in with the stark realities, "
why
he made his way to the city and he told me, 'Every gay kid around knows about the right streets and alleys in Richmond
.
' When they get thrown out of home, that's where they head." Ben had gone back on his own time to ask for more information. The lives of throwaways horrified him, but some chord in him had been struck by the entire problem.

"So why don't we have infrastructure in place to help these kids?" His question had shown his own ignorance, something he realized when the senior officer sighed resignedly

"There is support here in the city for the kids. Like hostels and other subsidized rooms, and there are charities that try to help. But the economics of life on the street are just as precarious here as they are across the country.

Financial aid is cut, and volunteers are thin on the ground.

The reality of it is that for kids on the street they find themselves in very desperate and often dangerous

situations. "

"You mean drugs, prostitution, that kind of thing."

"Kids come here, and to the other big cities, for a lot 29

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of reasons. Some think they're old enough to make adult decisions. They have this fantasy, this idea that they can survive on their own. And then there are the throwaways.

No matter what they say, most of them run because they're desperate or have nowhere else to go. A lot of them don't know anything further than the next meal. Some of them make it. Too many of them don't."

The officer's words rang in Ben's mind now as he

looked at the picture of innocence that stared back at him, Zach's eyes as wide as those of a deer caught in the headlights. He had scrubbed up well, this throwaway from the city, his face pink from shaving and the shower. A good-looking kid, he was whip lean, with soft blond hair drying into curling waves around a gaunt face. His eyes were a fascinating shade of blue, small flecks of gold near the pupil, but he looked out at the world with the fear of the hunted. He was tall, at least two inches taller than Ben. Ben himself was no slouch at nearly six feet, but the youngster stooped, slumped like he was exhausted, hiding if Ben was to hazard a guess.

What the heck could he do to convince the kid to

calm down and relax? Wait. Hot chocolate. With

marshmallows. Ben considered it one of the best comfort foods ever devised. If it worked for him, it might work for 30

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Zach. Inspired, he scrabbled through the cupboards, locating all the makings of hot chocolate and making busy until the smell of chocolate filled the kitchen. He said nothing and still Zach remained nervous and rabbit-scared.

Well, this is going well, Hamilton. Convince him to sit
down before he falls over.

Finally, he guided Zach with a casual wave of his hand to sit on the sofa opposite the tree in the living room.

After a few seconds of careful consideration, Ben sat down next to Zach. Not touching him. Not the chattiest of people most of the time, Ben wasn't quite sure what to say. An awful lot of what had happened in the past few hours was way out of his job spec. He should have reported finding the boy asleep on the bench, taken him to the station, and gotten him some help. At his first look at the sleeping vagrant, his skin as icy gray as the wooden bench he lay on, Ben imagined he would have to call an ambulance.

However, when Zach spoke, he had spoken clearly,

if not without one hell of a lot of fright in his voice.

Thing is, when Ben saw that fear in the boy's eyes, something inside him, maybe his own soft heart, or Good Lord, maybe it was Christmas spirit, just wanted to make him safe. It was, after all, one reason why he joined the force, to make the people in his hometown safe, no matter 31

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who they were.

Dirt and stubble and greasy lank hair had served to disguise the boy's features, and he had smelled rank. He had needed a shower, clothes, and somewhere warm to sleep.

And then, when Zach had emerged from that

bathroom, dressed in a pair of Ben's sweats, his hair clean and the scraggly stubble shaved off of his face, Ben struggled not to say something inappropriate. The younger man was gorgeous, all doe-eyed and innocent, anxiety bracketing his mouth, fear in his eyes. He was also so far from Ben's type. He was tall and Ben liked guys shorter than him. He had blue eyes: Ben usually went for brown.

As for his hair? Blond was so not his first choice; he much preferred brunets. With those and other generally useless thoughts floating through his head, Ben had pushed his impulses to one side. Gorgeous the boy may be, but he was an underage runaway first, and gay Ben may be, but he was a cop first.

"So, you're a senior, I guess?" Ben started as safely as he could, quirking an eyebrow when Zach shook his head.

"Home schooled," Zach offered. "Dad blamed the school I was at for making me gay." The last he added with 32

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a quick shrug. "So he pulled me out. I haven't been to school in like four years."

"Making you gay?" Ben had heard these words before. It wasn't new, and it wasn't strange to know these things happened. It still shocked him to hear these things coming from the mouth of a boy so damn young.

"Yeah, who would have thought public school

could turn you off girls, eh?" Zach deadpanned, offering up a small smile, before bowing his head with a flush of embarrassment on his high cheekbones.

"So why didn't you get thrown out at fourteen?"

Ben knew that was kind of a personal question, but he really did want to know as much as he could.

"Interventions. Camps I attended to quite literally straighten me out. Army buddies of my dad's that would take me on weeks away, running, walking, guns, all kind of shit to counteract the gay."

"Shit."

"I took it all, the interventions, the orders, the lack of a life. I was part of my dad's future plans for me without having a choice."

"He wanted you in the army?"

"Special Forces, like he was until he was invalided out. He had high ambitions for me."

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"So, clearly you are not in the army. What

happened?"

Zach sighed, shook his head and hesitated, as if he couldn't find the right words.

"I was told in no uncertain terms that on my eighteenth birthday I would be enlisting. There was no way that was happening. I don't want that. I want to learn and to write. Write books." Zach peered shyly through his bangs, and Ben didn't see one sign of temper in them.

"You told him?" Ben really wasn't sure if he wanted to know what happened next.

"First time I ever stood up to him. I told him, I'm choosing my own life, didn't matter if I was gay or not. It was my life."

"That was incredibly brave."

"It was stupid. He's six four, muscles on muscles.

He beat me, and I was out of the house in under an hour, at the business end of a hand gun."

They sat in silence for a while longer, Ben trying to get his head 'round how, as an officer of the law in this small sleepy town, he could help an underage street kid.

Zach clearly wanted to change the subject.