Page 43 of Logan

Clay

Someone was staring at me.

I could feel their eyes, and although it wasn’t threatening, it also wasn’t pleasant.

As I set up the board games in the communal area, I kept my head down and tried to focus on the work, choosing games that required the most set up in order to keep myself busy.

It had been a year since I came to back Maryland and after each of the seasons had their turn, summer had rolled around again. A lot had changed, but at the same time things also stayed the same.

I’d gone through several different therapists over the year. None of them were as bad as the first—according to rumors, the man had his license revoked—but it had taken me two more therapists after him before I finally found one that I was comfortable with. Doctor Coleman was a motherly woman, but in a no-nonsense way that didn’t take any shit or tolerate anydisrespect. I liked it, as it felt more familiar and comforting than the people who tried to coddle me or treat me too gently. Yet, she never went too far or stepped over the line while she was pushing me to better myself, and her efforts seemed to be paying off.

About four months after starting therapy, I’d picked up some volunteer work at a local halfway house for homeless kids. It was technically open to anyone in need, but the number of LGBTQ+ kids who sheltered at the halfway house was staggeringly high, and a lot of them had faced abuse in some way.

At first, I’d worried that seeing so many people with similar stories to mine would cause me to relapse, but I actually found it cathartic. Like facing my demons head on.

My presence there also seemed to give the kids hope that things could get better.

Well, I called them kids, but most of them were only a few years younger than me.

Leslie, one of the other volunteers, stepped up to my side. We weren’t exactly friends, but we were friendly in the way that people who regularly worked together were. She had once taken shelter at the halfway house, and now that she was older and able to support herself, she was returning the favor by volunteering.

She waited for a moment until she was sure I recognized her, before bumping my shoulder. “Looks like someone has a crush.”

“What?”

She nodded in another direction with her chin. I followed her gaze and found the source of the stare I’d felt earlier. A youngman was watching me from the other side of the room, but when he realized I’d noticed him, he quickly looked away.

“What’s his problem?”

Leslie snorted and pushed her round glasses back up her nose when they slid down. “Really? Come on, Clay. He’s obviously smitten with you. Kenneth never used to attend game night, or any other group activity, really. But since you started volunteering here, he’s always the first to sign up.”

I scowled at her. I wasn’t angry, but I was confused, and that usually brought a whole host of other negative emotions.

“Okaaaay. But, like, isn’t that inappropriate? He’s one of the kids.”

“Not really. He is one of the older ones that are still here. I think he turns twenty next month. That’s only three years younger than you.”

“Four years,” I reminded her. “I turned twenty-four a little while ago.” That wasn’t the point and we both knew it. Three years or four years made no difference, but I was still trying to get my head around what Leslie was saying. “Okay. So, he’s not a kid. That still doesn’t explain what you expect me to do about it?

Leslie just shrugged and finished setting up the monopoly game board that I had abandoned. “Well, you could talk to him. Or you could continue to ignore him. It’s up to you and what you feel comfortable with. There isn’t really a right or wrong answer here.”

Before I could answer, Dominic’s ear-catching voice announced the start of the game night and directed everyone to find a seat.

Dominic O’Connor owned the halfway house. He was a large man with an equally boisterous personality. Sometimes so much so that it seemed forced. A middle-aged gut protruded slightly over his belt, but was disguised by his well-tailored clothes, and his thick hair looked like it had never known a split end in its life. Overall, he seemed like the kind of person who’d never known hardship a day in his life, though I had long learned not to be deceived by appearances.

When I’d first met him, I’d been suspicious. A man who surrounded himself with vulnerable kids must have bad intentions, and I’d been hypercritical of every word he said, looking for the signs of a predator.

Yet, my suspicions had slid right off him as if he was Teflon, and he never got upset over my behavior or accusations. Eventually, with the help of Doctor Coleman, I’d learned how to separate my own life experiences from reality and see what was in front of me rather than what I expected. When I did that, I found that Dominic was as genuine as he presented himself, and really just wanted to help as many people as he could.

As I’d eventually found out, my initial thoughts about him couldn’t have been more wrong. Once he got to know you, there’d be times where his façade slipped and the history of his great loss was evident in his face. There was compassion in his eyes that could only be earned through hard life experiences. The loss of his son was his motivator in all that he did now.

We needed more people like Dominic in the world.

It was ironic, if you thought about it. If everyone in the world was like Dominic, then Dominic wouldn’t have been needed, because the halfway house would be empty.

When I wasn’t volunteering at Dominic’s place or going to one of my regular therapy sessions—which had dropped down from thrice a week to only twice—I held down a laughable job at Jason’s construction company.

It could barely be called a job. I knew nothing about construction, so I couldn’t help with the actual work. Instead, Jason had hired me as the company’s unofficial secretary.

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