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 high-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 run away?" Ben asked of the more experienced officer, who just 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, 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 their 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 is kids on the street 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 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 like 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 Zach. Inspired, he scrabbled through the cupboards, locating all the makings of hot chocolate and working 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 description. 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 had even 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 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 far from Ben's type. He was tall but Ben liked guys shorter than him. He had blue eyes; Ben usually went for brown. His hair? Blond was so not his first choice; he much preferred brunets. Ignoring those and other generally useless thoughts floating through his head, Ben pushed his impulses to one side. The boy may be gorgeous, but he was an underage runaway, and gay as Ben may be, 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 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.
"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 discharged on medical grounds. He had high ambitions for me."
"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 was 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 around 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.
"So, a cop then?" Zach mirrored the style of the question Ben had asked him, a shy, almost nervous look on his face as he again ducked his head. Ben felt his heart twist, just wanting to reach out and pull Zach into his arms and hug him and tell him it was okay to ask questions.
"Yep, first year in this town, lowest rung on the ladder. I'm on duty from eight a.m. tomorrow, and I get to cover Christmas Eve, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day, Thanksgiving, and the Fourth, but yeah, it's a good job."
"Ben, can I ask you a question?" Ben nodded, and Zach sucked in a deep breath and blurted the question out. "How old are you?"
"Twenty-four. Though I don't feel like it. Twenty-four, with my own place, and I still come over and steal hot chocolate and marshmallows from my mom," he added, then winced, falling over himself to apologize when Zach immediately retreated into himself, pulling his knees up and wrapping an arm around them in full-on self-protection mode. "Zach, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Hey, no, she's your mom, and she is a cool mom. My mom just stood by and let my dad get on with it. She cooked, cleaned, had me and my sister—that was her role in life. Not sure she ever made me hot chocolate or gave me anything near protection from dad."
"I'm so sorry, Zach."
"Honestly, I am so over what they did. They don't know what they've lost, 'cause one day I am gonna be rich and famous and married to the most gorgeous guy on the planet. We'll adopt three kids and live on a ranch with horses and dogs, and then they will come running back, and I will just tell them all to fuck off." Zach's voice rose in volume with each sentence, until the last profanity was near shouted, before he realized what he had said and buried his head into his knees, his face bright red.
Ben just chuckled.
"Tell you what, Zach, you give me their address and I'll tell them to fuck off for you." Zach raised suspiciously bright eyes to Ben and gave a watery smile, his heart on his sleeve again.
"Thank you."
They both heard the door rattle, and the rush of cold air was a nasty reminder of what was waiting for Zach tomorrow night. Ben looked at Zach, saw that he'd gone pale, and wondered what was wandering through his head. He seemed lost in thought.
"Benny?" Ben saw Zach tense as Ellie came stumbling into the front room, gloves and scarf thrown everywhere and her bright green coat dumped at her feet. Ben checked his watch.
"Two fifteen, Ells Bells, and don't call me Benny," Ben said, looking, very pointedly, at his watch. Ellie had the grace to blush and picked up her coat, probably realizing antagonizing big brother or Mom was not going to counteract a break in curfew.
"Who's your new friend, Benny?"
"Enough with the Benny, and this is Zach. He's our house guest." Ellie waved a hello, and offered a "hey" before declaring herself ready for bed and sashaying off down the hall.
"Is she in deep shit?" Zach asked carefully, eyes widening as Ben chuckled.
"Nah, Mom will tell her to remember her brother is a cop, because if she breaks curfew one more time then Mom will get me to arrest her boyfriend."
"Oh." Zach sounded so damn serious and worried that Ben felt he should point out that his mom had been joking.
"I don't know what is going on in your freaky head, but that is what we call a joke around here, Stretch."
"Oh," Zach repeated. Again with the blushing, Ben thought. He encouraged Zach up the stairs after that, explaining that the town's idea of being on duty was making sure Ben had access to a phone and was in uniform.
"Means I don't miss Christmas breakfast or present opening, but I do need to be up at six."
"Uh huh."
"You okay in this room on your own?" He cast a critical eye around his brother's old room, focusing on the worn furniture and the posters, the cups and trophies that Mom had kept, the boxes in the corner for Goodwill, and wondered what Zach felt when he saw this. "It isn't much," he began, but he didn't get any further as Zach interrupted his flow of conversation.
"It's awesome," Zach said, sounding eager and thankful. He wrapped his long arms around his body, hugging himself. "It's a bed."
Zach's excitement was infectious, like a child's before Christmas morning. Ben smiled warmly. For the first time since he'd started his new job as a cop in his hometown, he felt like he was making a difference in someone's life. He didn't discount finding lost dogs and mediating neighborly disputes, but to have taken Zach in, this sparkly eyed innocent who was lost to his family… Well that made him feel very good.
"Sleep well." He started to leave, then on impulse turned back, taking a single step and pulling Zach in for a quick hug. He released him immediately and left the room, throwing "Merry Christmas, Zach" behind him as he closed the door.
Zach just stood immobile. He wrapped his arms around himself, warm from Ben's touch, and suddenly grinned like an idiot. Leaving his clothes on, with the lessons in his head that he had learned on the street, he climbed under the soft quilt and snuggled down, his heart a thousand times lighter. This could be the biggest turnaround in Christmas history, from church bench to warm home and a family in the space of two hours. It didn't even matter that it was only for one night.
It was a Christmas miracle.