You Can Let It Go [ZARRY]

Thirty Three

Harry:

Dammit,” I muttered.

In the hallway outside Dad’s rooms, I ducked into the linen closet. The one where I’d cornered Zayn on his first day.

I sucked in deep breaths, because holy shit, being in this house after everything Zayn and I had said and done felt like returning to the scene of a crime I hadn’t committed but had been convicted of anyway.

Zayn was freedom from a prison of lies, and yet I was walking right back in it.

Just a little longer. I only have to do this a little longer. . .

But Christ, my skin was broken out in gooseflesh, and that old familiar numbness wanted to creep back in. Worse, my old baggage was hurting Zayn too.

Twice in one day, I’d hidden or ignored him.

I tucked the file folder of data Sylvia had given me under my arm and tore out my phone to shoot Zayn a text. The irony of texting the guy I wanted from inside the same fucking house—and in a closet no less—was not lost on me, but there I was.

U OK?

No reply. I waited with mounting anxiety, and then finally a text popped up.

Been better. Lunch w/sibs was rough, tbh.

My thumbs flew. I saw UR face in the kitchen. Want to C U tonight.

I need to make it up to you. I need to touch you, to be seen by you. . .

Made plans with friends.

I sagged against the shelves with disappointment while jealousy stabbed me in the gut.

Another text followed. I’d invite U to come but not sure UR up for that.

Where?

Smoke & Mirrors in Capitol Hill. A pause, then: It’s a gay bar.

I blew air out my cheeks. It was like walking a tightrope to wrangle control back from Azoff while not fucking things up with Zayn.

While I pondered how to take my next tentative step, he texted again.

Gay bars are safe spaces, but if it’s too big of a step, I get that.

Too big of a step. Christ. As if he were reading my mind.

And of course, he understood. That’s what Zayn did. He was the only person on the planet who saw me as I was. Living in that reflection was the best thing that had ever
happened to me. But he was only going to put up with my shit for so long before his integrity told him I wasn’t worth it.

I can’t. I want to but if I’m recognized, game over w/ Dad.

I know, he replied, which was almost worse than him chewing me out.

I’ll call U later, I wrote.

OK

I hated ‘OK’ but I had to leave it for now. I heaved a breath, tucked my phone away, and put on my game face.

I slipped on the mask of a cold, calculating asshole whose only concern was the bottom line and went to Dad’s room.

The curtains were open and gray, watery light filled the room. Dad was sitting up in his bed, reading a newspaper while his favorite news channel blared from the flat screen across from him. His hands holding the paper hardly trembled at all.