THE MORNING OF THE BURN FOR MALIBU! FUNDRAISER WAS ESPECIALLY dazzling, even for Santa Monica, where Zack had grown numb to the endless perfect weather. But the first weekend of March followed several days of rare spring rain, and when Zack stepped from his apartment at eight A.M., he was startled by the beauty of the sky, a cornflower-blue dome painted with fat cumulus clouds. The air tasted clean, rinsed of its usual trace of exhaust, and was so clear he could see threads of snow on the San Gabriel Mountains, sixty miles to the east.
Could anything bad possibly happen on a day like this? he wondered, climbing into his Tacoma and heading west on Pico toward the heart of Santa Monica, his adrenaline suddenly kicking in as he cut north toward Georgina Avenue, recalling the menacing look on Adam Goldberg’s face on Valentine’s Day as he’d strode from his house toward Zack’s truck idling at the end of the driveway. Zack had peeled from the curb before Adam reached him—a cowardly move, Zack knew, but what was the alternative? A screaming match? A fight on the sidewalk, with Mister Jiu-Jitsu himself? Zack had already been lucky once, in escaping the scuffle with that pudgy Captain America back at Halloween. As much as he relished the thought of pulverizing Adam Goldberg, of smashing his chiseled jaw, Zack knew he would not be so lucky again.
What had he been thinking, showing up at the Goldberg house? That was the problem: he hadn’t been thinking at all.
He’d simply been weak. He missed Mel. Combined with the news that he would not be able to adopt Andres, the thought of losing his nephew to a foster family—or a dead-end life back in Mexico—was too much for Zack to bear.
He would remain stoic this morning, he reminded himself. At least for the next several hours, during which he’d be co-leading another group workout in Mel’s backyard. He’d thought of bailing, of inventing some airtight excuse for why he couldn’t participate, but Jensen had insisted, reminding Zack that his new job as the head coach of Color Theory Malibu required him to think of yourself as the face of our brand. Which had struck Zack as a little threatening, but the bottom line was, Zack desperately wanted the management job, which was a clear step forward, an actual mark of progress in his otherwise lame-ass “career.”
So, he’d agreed to show up in Mel’s backyard today, telling himself he’d simply teach the class and go home. If possible, he’d talk to no one. That seemed easier than specifically avoiding Mel.
Then yesterday, he’d received Regina’s text: Hey, I know it’s been a while but I’ve been dealing with some stuff. Sorry. I did finally find that laptop of yours and will bring it to the Malibu event at Mel’s tomorrow. Promise. C U there.
He’d stared at the text, shocked. Laptop was her code for cash. She was bringing him the cash she still owed him—just over three grand. To Mel’s house.
He’d considered texting back: Don’t bother, fuck you very much!
But it was a lot of money. Lettie claimed it could not save her from her legal troubles, but what if she was wrong? Practical matters were not her forte—look at how naïve she’d been in hiring that greedy, sketchy attorney off a dang billboard. Surely one more chunk of cash could help her in some way, especially since Zack could not make good on his offer to adopt Andres.
Which Lettie did not yet know. He’d not had the heart to tell her.
Honestly, he’d rather die than tell her, he’d thought more than once since he’d crumpled up the awful adoption refusal letter and tossed it in the trash.
He’d take the money Regina owed him, Zack decided, and hand it right over to Lettie. Perhaps it would ease the bad news about Andres.
OK, he’d responded.
How had he become such a loser? Zack wondered, as he turned onto Mel’s block of Georgina, already clogged with parked cars. Wasn’t LA where you came to reinvent yourself, to shed your old skin for something shiny and new?
The letter from the adoption agency had reminded him that his old skin was still in place, closed in around him like a straightjacket. How foolish he’d been to think that Mel Goldberg had transformed him, that they might actually be headed toward a brand-new life together. That he’d actually let himself picture it—the bungalow in Malibu with the rusty shutters, the lazy nights together by the sea—made him seethe with embarrassment now.
He finally found a spot to park, a good block and a half from the Goldbergs’ Tudor. Carrying his gym duffel, he trailed a giggling cluster of twentysomething women clad in crop tops and micro-shorts, clearly headed to the workout event. Zack steered his eyes away from their high, round bottoms and smooth, tanned legs gleaming in the sunshine. Perhaps he was still a loser, but he would not go back to his old, sinful ways with women. Never. Mel had shown him there was a better way. She had made him a better person.
He was going to see her. Any minute now.
“ALOHA, FOLKS!” JENSEN shouted at the large spandex-and-Lycra-clad crowd of about fifty or sixty—mostly women, many of whom Zack recognized from Color Theory—arranged into rows across the lush grass of Mel’s backyard. “I’m truly humbled by this turnout!”
Zack stood at the front of the group between Bri and Shawn and scanned the sea of faces: Lindsey Leyner was there, of course, jogging in place in the second row, clad in head-to-toe fuchsia. He winced at the sight of Regina, who was uncharacteristically situated in the far corner of the back row, next to Sukie Reinhardt, stretching her arms over her head. Looking at her in her skin-tight mesh-paneled workout clothes, he noticed with petty satisfaction that Regina had put on a few pounds. A few months without Zack training her and she was falling apart.
“What an amazing way to kick off our Burn for Malibu! benefit,” Jensen shouted to the crowd. “As one of our favorite trainers might say, hashtag blessed.”
“Yeah, Zaaaaack!” yelled Bri, and a few people in the crowd whooped.
Zack cringed inwardly as he flashed a thumbs-up at Jensen. He knew Mel considered the phrase detestable, which meant that this very moment, she might be silently laughing at him. He stole a glance at her huddled with Lettie at the long refreshment table on the patio. Seeing her now in her usual all-black clothes, pushing her bangs off her forehead as she rested her palm on Lettie’s shoulder—clearly, they’d become even closer—felt like a blade to Zack’s gut. So much for stoicism; seeing her was torture. Pure want and need.
“The fires of last November were devastating,” Jensen was saying. “Nature unleashing her wrath. But, man”—he pumped his fist in the air and Zack noticed the guy’s arm was as hairless as a newborn—“with discipline and with faith, man can prevail over nature.”
“You mean over climate change,” someone said from the patio, just loud enough for Zack to recognize Mel’s voice. His entire body bristled at the sound.
“Which is what brings us together today,” Jensen continued.
Zack felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Adam Goldberg, dressed not in workout clothes but in some sort of metrosexual outfit—skinny jeans and a tight, pec-revealing T-shirt—like he’d just stepped out Esquire.
Adam lowered his face—the dude had a few inches on Zack—and spoke into Zack’s ear as Jensen continued to warm up the crowd.
“Can I have a word with you?”
Stoic, Zack told himself. You are stone. He checked quickly for Mel, who had disappeared from the refreshment table, leaving only Lettie, who was pouring boxes of coconut water into a large glass dispenser.
“Um, sure,” Zack said, realizing, immediately, that he sounded like a pussy. Where was the hot adrenaline that had been pumping through him that morning when he’d fantasized about pummeling Adam’s handsome face into mush? Maybe this was his chance to show Mel his devotion, or simply prove to himself he wasn’t as much of a loser as he feared.
He followed Adam around the side of the house, trying to stay calm. Surely the dude wasn’t going to grapple with him right here, under the noses of fifty people in his own backyard? And if Adam did go full-blown MMA on Zack’s ass, Zack hoped it would only make Adam look like an unhinged brute; Zack the victim. Would that be enough for Mel to return her love to him?
Adam stopped beside a tree heavy with avocados and crossed his thick arms over his chest.
“Look, buddy,” he said, “I understand you’re at my house today to work. So, I just wanted to remind you to do your ‘work’”—Adam air-quoted—“and then get the hell out of here.”
Zack thought back to the day at the park, the soccer game. Adam must’ve seen Zack pleading with Mel. The humiliation made Zack want to grab an avocado and stuff it whole into Adam’s smug mouth.
“And without further ado,” Jensen’s voice boomed from the yard, “I’m proud to introduce three senior members of my staff at Color Theory Fitness. Together, they’ll lead you beautiful people in an hour of intensive exercise that’ll make your heart rates go crazy! Up here I’ve got Bri Lee, everyone’s favorite early-morning drill sergeant!”
“Look, man,” Zack said, “I don’t know what—”
Adam interrupted, raising his voice to be heard above the cheers of the crowd. “No chitchatting, no lingering, no hanging out near the goddamn coconut water, and above all, no high-fiving my wife.”
Zack imagined swinging at Adam, throwing punches without aim, knocking the taller, richer, more fortunate man to the ground.
“I don’t know what you were doing here the other day,” Adam said, “but I’m going to give you a pass. That pass expires if I see you anywhere near Melissa. You touch my wife again and I will kill you. And I don’t mean figuratively speaking. Do you know what figuratively speaking means?”
Jensen’s booming voice reminded Zack of the announcer at a pro wrestling match. “Shawn Carruthers, aka King of Quads. Let’s hear it for Shawn!”
Zack took a chance—what did he have to lose, now that he’d lost everything?—and took a step toward Adam, leading with his chest, his foot landing close to Adam’s designer sneakers. Just as Zack had hoped, Adam flinched, took a step backward, and stumbled on an overripe avocado split open on the ground.
Zack almost laughed. Then he heard Jensen call his name.
“And last but not least, ladies and gents,” Jensen said, his excitement ratcheting up like a drumroll, “the new head trainer for Color Theory’s Malibu location, coming in June! The one and only Zzzack Doheny!”
While the crowd clapped and cheered, Zack lifted his chin to Adam and spoke. “As it happens, I do know what figuratively means.” He stepped closer still. “It’s the opposite of literally. As in, I literally screwed your wife.”
“Where has the Z-man gotten to?” Jensen called over the mic.
“Let’s get this party started, yo!” yelled Bri.
“Thanks for the chat,” Zack said to Adam. “I gotta get to, you know, work now. My fans are calling for me, bro.” He stepped around a jaw-hung Adam and jogged around the corner of the house, back into the yard, past Bri and Shawn, toward the front of the crowd, his heart rate already up in the red zone. He noticed Mel had reappeared next to Lettie on the patio and was talking to her urgently, her hands cutting through the air as she spoke.
“Yeah, Zack attack!” he heard Lindsey Leyner scream as he reached the front of the group. The opening notes of Flo Rida’s “Good Feeling” blasted over the sound system.
Zack hopped in place, beaming at the crowd.
“Hey hey, happy Saturday, y’all!” he began, launching into yet another version of the spiel he’d done hundreds of times. “My name’s Zack and the first thing we’re gonna do is get those hearts pumping, so everyone, give me some high knees! Forty seconds, on the clock, in three-two-one . . .”
“Get after it, people!” screamed Bri, the Tattooed Wildcat, raising her knees high enough to touch her chin.
Zack was pumped after his showdown with Adam, filled with a surge of hope. He was doing what he loved—making the world a better place by helping each of the people below bobbing up and down at his feet like worshippers feeling the Spirit of God take one step forward on their journey to a better self.
Zack counted to forty as the crowd rose and fell. He was down to five seconds when he saw the side gate to the yard open and a hulking figure step inside the yard, a heavyset man dressed in spandex biker shorts and a neon-yellow tank top. He stood just inside the gate and seemed to be studying the pulsing crowd, looking for someone.
Zack suddenly recognized the man: it was Trey Leyner. Lindsey’s husband. Captain America. The guy whose nose he’d almost broken on Halloween.
“Zack, dude, switch it up!” came Shawn’s voice. “They’ve been doing high knees for over a minute.”
“Toy soldiers!” Zack called out. “Bring your toes to your fingertips, but keep those legs straight. Like this!” He demonstrated the kicks while keeping his eye on Trey Leyner, who was now approaching the group. Surely the guy wouldn’t recognize him—Zack had been wearing a Darth Vader mask, after all. Still, he didn’t like having the racist meathead in the same yard.
“Zack, wake the fuck up!” hissed Bri.
“Sorry,” muttered Zack, and then into his mic, “Okay, everybody, up to your feet! See those blue resistance bands on the ground? There’s one for each and every one of you. Grab one and hike it up around your thighs. Then find a partner . . .”
“Trey, there you are!” yelled Lindsey Leyner. “Finally! Come be my partner, baby!” Zack watched Trey lumber toward his wife. As he waited for the crowd to pair off for the partner exercises, Zack glanced toward the patio and saw Mel leading Lettie into the house, gripping her by the arm.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, sometimes I get a good feeling,” sang Flo Rida.
Zack forced himself to focus on the class, on working the crowd, casting them under his spell. But his magic felt inaccessible today. Time usually sped up when he taught, but with Trey Leyner huffing and puffing ten feet away from him, the workout seemed to crawl by.
After twenty very long minutes, Zack switched to his downtempo playlist.
“Okay, y’all, time for a commercial break! But don’t get excited, ’cause you’ll be working straight through it. We’re gonna do two full minutes of planking, which is basically a big present to your abs.”
“Booyah!” Bri screamed, raising a fist in the air—her cropped Eat Pure, Train Filthy tank lifting so it gave the crowd a view of her six-pack.
“Well,” Zack said, “we know someone is a fan of planking. As Bri’s rock-hard abs will attest!”
The crowd whooped, but a bit meekly, Zack noticed. Did they seem more fatigued than they should be only halfway through the workout?
“Alrighty, folks!” he cheered, adding a bit of oomph to his voice, hoping to keep the vibe from deflating. “We’ll start in the classic forearm position. Everybody, check out longtime Color Theory vet Regina in the back, who’ll demonstrate how it’s done.”
He’d called on Regina partly from habit, partly because he wanted to remind her of her promise to bring his money. Seeing her there, that familiar look of flinty resolve on her sweat-dripping face, had made him decide he did want “the laptop.”
Hell, he deserved it.
Without looking at him, Regina dropped into a perfect plank as Adele’s lush voice spilled over the yard.
“Everyone down on their forearms now,” said Zack. “And don’t move until I tell you to, ya hear?”
The first notes of Adele’s “Send My Love” blared over the sound system.
Fifty bodies dropped and hovered parallel to the ground, clearing Zack’s view between the yard and the back of Mel’s house. Only Adam stood on the patio, staring at his phone. Why was the guy even here, Zack wondered, if he wasn’t working out? Just to keep a hostile eye on Zack? Where had Melissa and Lettie gone? It was unlike Lettie to disappear during an event like this—usually she was scurrying around, working nonstop, anticipating her employer’s every need.
Zack stared hard at the back door while keeping count of the group’s plank time, as if he could will Mel and Lettie to appear, return to the yard. Who knew how long he’d have to wait to be near Mel again after today?
And then, with forty seconds of planking to go, the back door actually did open. Zack almost gasped into the mic when he saw Andres walk out. His nephew. Zack was even more shocked when Adam looked up from his phone to put a hand on Andres’s shoulder, almost tenderly.
What the hell? Zack thought.
What was Andres doing in Mel’s house? Lettie never brought him to events attended by Zack, since it would be a surefire way to expose their siblinghood, as Andres could never hold back from yelling Tío! and leaping into Zack’s arms.
Then Zack saw the boy was crying. And Adam, that douchebag, was comforting his nephew.
Zack moved over to Bri, who was crouched beside the half-naked group of twentysomething friends she’d brought with her, imploring them not to let their shaking knees touch the ground. “You got this, bitches!”
“Yo, Bri,” he said. “Can you take over for a minute? I need to deal with something important.”
“Right on,” said Bri, bolting up.
Zack stepped away from the crowd, still suspended in their planks, some panting and groaning, a few mumbling curses under ragged breath, and made his way quickly toward the house.
Instantly, as if sensing his uncle’s approach, Andres looked up, right at Zack, flinging arrows of pure joy that slammed deep into Zack’s chest.
“Tío!” Andres yelled and bolted off the patio toward Zack, limping as fast as he could across the long wooden deck. “Hey, Tío Zack!”
“Aaaaand, child’s pose!” said Bri. “That was a full-freaking-two-minute plank, you animals! You showed up today like mofo gangsters! Breathe easy for a minute and then we’ll crank it up again.”
The group broke their planks and lifted their heads, just as Andres leapt into Zack’s arms sobbing and sniffling so Zack could barely understand his nephew’s jumbled words. “Tío, help! Someone is here in the house trying to take Mommy away. Miss Melissa is trying to stop them but I’m scared. Come help!”
“That’s him!” bellowed Trey Leyner, and Zack, clutching Andres’s trembling body, saw Trey Leyner’s beefy finger pointing. “That’s the kid who tried to burgle us! And you.” He jabbed the air toward Zack. “You’re that psycho who attacked me. Lindsey, it’s him! I knew there were illegals living here! I was right. I was right!”
“Not now!” hissed Lindsey.
“Why not?” said Trey. “How is it that this low-class gym rat should get away with breaking my goddamn nose? We deserve justice, Linds!”
“Shut up, Trey!” said Lindsey, her voice cracking. “And he didn’t break it.”
The crowd began to murmur with discomfort. Zack tightened his arms around Andres and ran toward the house, holding on to the boy for dear life. Promising he would never let go, whispering into his nephew’s wet cheek, “I got you, little man. Your tío won’t let anyone hurt you. Or your mommy.” Hoping he wasn’t giving the boy yet another empty promise.
He reached the patio and shot past Adam, pulling open the back door with Andres still in his arms.
“Oh-kay!” yelled Bri. “Let’s take this party to the next level! You came here to burn for Malibu, people, and we about to TURN UP THE HEAT!”
“Don’t you dare step inside my house!” yelled Adam, but Zack was already inside, blazing down the long hallway lined with pictures.
“The front door,” Andres said, his voice small and scared. “They’re at the front door.”
Zack tore through house, nearly tripping over the giant hamster cage, until he reached the foyer, where Mel stood with her arms round Lettie, holding a piece of bright yellow paper, both of them swaying slightly on their feet.
“What’s going on?” Zack panted.
“Is everything okay?” came a voice from behind him, and he turned to see Regina had followed them into the house, face flushed with sweat.
Lettie untangled herself from Mel and they both turned to face him. It was the first time he’d seen his sister cry and the tears made her deep brown eyes shine. Mel’s round cheeks were red, like she’d just finished a Color Theory class or, he let himself remember for a second, like she’d just finished climaxing in his arms.
“Oh, thank God, you have Andres,” said Mel to Zack, as if he were a stranger who’d found a lost child in the mall. The hopelessness swallowed him once again. “Thanks for bringing him in. You can go back outside now. I know you have a class to teach.”
Was Mel really going to turn him away like he was a stray dog who’d slipped in the back door? Mel, the woman who, as they’d lain naked on how many hotel balconies gazing at the stars, listened so attentively as he’d shared stories of his lonely childhood, and of all the destructive choices he’d made one after another in his desperate search for love?
“No, let him see,” said Lettie. She took the paper from Mel’s hands and extended it to Zack. He set Andres down.
“ICE come,” Lettie said softly, her voice quaking. “They find me here, just now. They want to take me away but Miss Melissa convince them not to. They give me this.”
Zack read the text on the page:
This Notice to Appear (“NTA”) has been issued to inform you the initiation of removal proceedings against you has begun. You (“LETICIA MENDOZA”) are scheduled for transport to a designated holding facility within 7 days, and will be detained there until the Courts have determined your Eligibility for Deportation to the country where you possess legal citizenship (“MEXICO”). Any minors in your custody (“ANDRES MANUEL MENDOZA” and any others in your legal guardianship) will be placed in the care of an approved guardian until . . .
Zack stopped reading. “No. Lettie. No, this won’t happen. I won’t let them take you. Or let them take Andres away from you. I prom—”
“I don’t want to go away!” Andres wailed.
“Wait, how are you involved?” Regina piped up. She turned to Lettie. “I’ll take care of Andres, Lettie. Don’t worry. He knows our family. He’ll be just fine until we can get this sorted out.”
Over my dead body, Zack thought. No way would he allow his nephew to sleep a single night under that monster’s roof. Zack wished he could pick Regina up, hoist her over his shoulder, and fling her out the back door.
“If it happens, it happens,” Lettie whispered, pulling Andres to her. “Shh, caro. You are not going anywhere. Mommy swears it. Pinky swear, yes?” She offered her finger to Andres, and Zack was relieved to see his nephew link his pinky to hers with a small smile, calming down. Lettie looked to Mel, then to Regina, and, finally, at Zack. “Just promise me you will take care of this boy.”
“We’ll help, too,” said Mel. “Andres is comfortable here. He’s been staying with us for weeks. And it’s been so much fun, hasn’t it, Andres?”
“He has?” said Zack.
Mel put a hand on Andres’s shoulder. The boy ducked away and howled, “No! I wanna stay with Tío! Please can I stay with Tío Zack?”
Zack gathered his nephew into his arms again, his lips pressed to the boy’s gel-stiff hair. Mel flicked her eyes up at Zack, holding his gaze for a beat, and his heart boggled in his chest. Lettie had lowered her face into her hands, and was rocking back and forth in place as Regina slipped an arm around his sister’s trembling back.
“What?” Mel blinked in confusion. “Tío? Andres, how do you know this guy? How do you know Coach Zack?”
“What in the hell is going on here?”
Zack turned to see Adam marching toward them, followed by Trey Leyner, sweat darkening his bright yellow shirt.
Zack considered running out the tall oak front doors, Andres in his arms. Never looking back.
“Adam,” said Mel. “Can you give us a minute? We’re dealing with something here.”
“Oh, are you?” said Adam. Like a sassy little bitch, Zack thought, knowing that if the guy stepped to him now, Zack might actually murder him. “Because we’re dealing with something, too. Namely that your friend Mr. Muscles here assaulted my friend Trey a few months ago. Attacked him on the front steps of his own home. So . . . the situation is, I’d like to ask Coach Zack”—he added a sneer—“to vacate the premises. I don’t care if the workout isn’t over yet. I want him off my property. Now. Or I’m calling the police.”
“Give me a break, Adam,” said Mel. Saving him, Zack thought, wanting to believe it was motivated by love. “Zack didn’t assault anyone. Stop puffing your chest and marking your territory. We’ve got an actual crisis going on here.”
“No, Melissa.” Zack’s sister stood up straight and spoke, Lettie’s voice strong and clear. “Mr. Adam is right. Mr. Leyner did get attacked. By me and my brother. But he was being a bad person and so he deserved it.”
Zack did not move. He felt Andres breathing against him. Felt the eyes of Trey Leyner and Adam Goldberg boring into him.
“What?” said Regina. “Lettie, you’re confusing us. What brother?”
“This man.” Lettie pointed to Zack. “Zacarias. He is my brother.”
The words of St. Thérèse, Little Flower of Jesus, came to Zack now: What a comfort it is, this way of love!
“What?” Mel blinked. “Lettie, your brother is Zack? How is that possible?”
Thérèse to Zack: . . . you may stumble on love, you may fail to correspond with grace given . . .
“Wow, Mel,” said Regina. “Your best friend is related to your boyfriend! What a trip.”
“Excuse me?” said Adam. “What did you just say, Regina?”
“She’s a professional liar,” Mel cut in. “Don’t listen to her, Adam.”
Thérèse to Zack: . . . but whatever offends our Lord is burnt up in its fire . . .
“I don’t care if they’re married, or brother and sister, or brother and sister who’re fucking,” said Trey Leyner. “They’re a pair of violent hoodlums who should go back to Mexico.”
“You’re a pig, Trey,” said Regina. “Just like your wife.”
“How dare you,” said Trey. “I’ll tell Lindsey you said that. You’re like a sister to her, Regina.”
Thérèse to Zack: . . . nothing is left but a humble, absorbing peace deep down in the heart.
“Get out of my house,” said Adam, jerking his hand toward Zack. “I don’t care what sort of big revelation is happening right now. I want you out.”
Lettie looked at Zack and spoke the most beautiful words Zack had ever heard—more beautiful than those by his beloved Saint Thérèse. “Zacarias,” Lettie said. “I mean to say Zack. He is adopting Andres. Making him his son.”
Zack kissed Andres’s damp forehead and set him down on the shiny wood floor. He leaned toward Lettie and kissed her on the cheek. Right in front of everyone.
“I love you, Sis,” he said. “We’re going to fix this.”
Then he flung open the front door and dashed into the front yard and down the path toward the street. He’d just reached the sidewalk when he heard Regina call his name.
“Wait, Zack! Hang on. Don’t you want your laptop?” She rushed down the walkway toward him, ponytail springing in the sunlight.
“Burn in hell, Regina,” he said and bolted away from her, into the sparkling morning.