How long could Zack hope to hide his relationship with John? He didn’t talk to most of his coworkers, but if Colette had noticed something was up . . . Zack had seen enough prime-time TV to know that secrets always got out eventually, and the tighter you locked them up, the more explosively they burst from their cage. Zack had thought he’d prepared himself for that before he agreed to date John, but thinking about something and being faced with the reality of it were very different things.

Zack needed to answer one simple but crucial question: was John worth risking his livelihood for?

His brain failed to supply an easy answer, but a small voice coming from his chest—his heart or maybe his soul—said the risk was nothing compared to what he stood to gain.

He got off work shortly before two in the morning. He made the commute home mindlessly, and when he entered his apartment, even Ziggy wasn’t awake to greet him.

If Zack were smart, he’d go to bed and sleep off his anxiety. Everything would probably seem clearer in the morning.

He stood motionless in the middle of his living room. He debated with himself for a full minute before he tossed his keys onto the table, reached into his pocket, and pulled out his phone. His background was still a picture of John making a silly face at an onion ring on the Santa Monica Pier.

That was all he needed to see to finalize his decision. He scrolled to John’s name in his contacts and hit Call.

To Zack’s surprise, the line clicked after just the second ring.

“Zack,” John greeted him, sounding pleased.

“Hey,” he answered automatically. He’d expected John to sound groggy, but his voice was clear. “What are you doing still up?”

“I’m a law student. When do you think we sleep? At night?”

Zack snorted. “Fair point. I wasn’t expecting you to answer, I guess.” He hesitated. Now that he had John on the phone, he had no idea what to say.

John waited for a few seconds and then said, “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” He faltered again, which did nothing to strengthen his case.

“Something’s wrong.” It wasn’t a question. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Zack insisted. “Nothing like that. I just . . . wanted to hear your voice.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Really, there’s nothing to talk about. I just had a long day.”

There was a pause. “Do you want me to come get you?”

Zack’s heart swelled at the idea, but then it deflated.

“No, no,” Zack said, “I can’t leave Ziggy again. I’m already in the running for Worst Father of the Year.”

“I can have you back early in the morning. Ziggy won’t even know you’re gone.”

Zack stopped to consider it, and that seemed to egg John on.