The Home-wrecker (The Goode Brothers)
The Home-wrecker: Chapter 25

Trying to focus on work feels impossible.

Ironically enough, my clients tonight are a hetero couple. But it’s nothing like last night.

Work is work, and fun is fun. And while this couple is lovely and very enthusiastic, it’s not the same—not even close.

I’m just a toy for these two. I’m just a thing they reach into the nightstand drawer to retrieve when their relationship needs an extra buzz. I don’t feel wanted. I don’t feel special.

And that’s fine. This is my job. It’s not like a barber wants to feel an emotional connection with his clients. So what the fuck is wrong with me?

I never, ever compare work to real life. But I can’t seem to get Briar and Caleb out of my head tonight. It’s making me bitter and resentful.

It’s mostly that kiss with Caleb that I can’t get out of my head. That brief but powerful moment when our tongues touched, and I know it was a huge deal for him. I found myself caught up in the heat of the moment when I pulled his mouth to mine, but I didn’t stop to think how that felt for him. But he didn’t panic or pull away—he kissed me back.

And I can’t stop thinking about it, even with tonight’s clients.

This couple is nothing like them. The wife likes to watch as I suck off her husband. And he likes to watch as I spank her ass and call her a bad girl. But then that’s it. They both get off (I don’t), and they leave happy. I get paid, and it’s fine.

Everything is fine.

Except Briar and Caleb are everywhere I turn. When it’s another woman with her lips around my cock, I see Briar. When I’m kissing another man, it’s Caleb’s warm tongue I feel.

I knew it was reckless to get into bed with those two. Everything was so personal and real.

And I want more, which is stupid. And dangerous.

I’m going to get all attached to them, and then it’s going to end, and I’ll have that shit to deal with. Right now, that’s the last thing I need. It’s bad enough I’m dealing with being homeless and my dad dying in some nursing home.

Now, I have to worry about getting my stupid, fucking heart broken.

Get your shit together, Dean.

This is why I don’t do relationships.

But whenever I try to focus at work, my mind returns to them.

How Caleb is clearly covering up his own sexuality just because he’s married to a woman.

My underwear in his pocket? He can’t tell me that was an accident.

What I don’t understand is, if Caleb is harboring some deep, hidden desires, then why was he such an asshole to me and Isaac all those years ago? Especially when I thought he’d be the most supportive, was that part of his own personal biphobia?

I know people who struggle with their own identity can be the ones throwing stones at others, but that’s not the vibe I get from Caleb. I just don’t understand.

My shift runs late Saturday night, and I don’t end up getting home until three in the morning. Which means I sleep half the day away on Sunday. Around noon, I wake to a soft knock on my door.

Climbing off the couch in a pair of basketball shorts, I go to the door without a shirt on, expecting it to be Briar or Caleb. But when I open it and find Abby, I glare down at her in confusion.

“Hi,” she says, swaying as if she can’t hold still. “I threw up.”

“Gross,” I reply. “Just now?” With a look of disgust on my face, I glance around the stairs to see if there’s a mess I have to call her parents to clean up.

“No,” Abby says, hanging on the railing. “Yesterday.”

“Did you come over here just to tell me that?”

She coughs. “Yeah.”

“You’re not going to throw up now, are you?”

Wiping her nose, she shakes her head up at me. “I feel better.”

“Good,” I reply. Glancing around the yard, I look for Briar and Caleb, but there’s no sign of them. “Where are your parents?”

“They fell asleep while we were watching Frozen.”

“They did?” I smirk down at her. “Did you keep them up all night?”

“Yeah.” Then, without a pause, she adds, “I’m hungry. Do you have any snacks?” She’s practically hanging upside down on the railing as she talks.

“Depends,” I reply, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “Are you going to throw up in here?”

Hopping down, she stares up at me with bright eyes. “No, I promise. I feel all better now, and Mommy said my fever was gone.”

With a sigh, I press the door open. “Fine. Come in.”

She bounces into the apartment and goes straight for the cabinet. While she’s digging through my assortment of chips, I grab a shirt from the couch and throw it on. Then I find my phone and text Briar to let her know Abby is here. Hopefully, she has her phone on silent so she can get some sleep.

“Will you make me some ramen?” Abby asks as she pulls out a package.

“That’s spicy,” I reply, taking it from her.

“Ooh, I love the spicy one. Please!”

“Didn’t your dad tell you not to beg?” I say, pulling a saucepan from the lower cabinet.

She shrugs with a sheepish expression and watches as I fill the pot with water and put it on the stove.

“Do you have any kids?” she asks innocently.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want kids,” I reply.

“Why not?”

I let out a chuckle as I turn to face her, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Because they’re annoying and ask too many questions. And gross. Wash your hands.”

Her jaw drops as if I’ve offended her. Within a second, she shrugs it off and goes to the sink, stepping on her tiptoes to reach the soap. I watch as she scrubs her tiny fingers and then rinses them before drying them on the gray kitchen towel on the counter.

“How long are you going to live here?” she asks.

“I don’t know.”

“Did your house burn down?”

“Yeah,” I reply plainly.

“Do you have a wife?” she says, hanging this time on the handle of my refrigerator.

“No. Don’t hang on that.”

She lets go and drapes herself over one of the chairs instead. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No,” I say with my brow furrowed. “You know you shouldn’t assume boys only have girlfriends. Some boys have boyfriends.”

She pauses in her swinging and stares at me as if she’s deep in thought. I don’t know if that was inappropriate to say to a kid, but it’s not on me if her family hasn’t prepared her for the real world. She should know that kind of stuff.

Without skipping a beat, she asks, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Chuckling, I shake my head. “No. Do you ever hold still?”

“Nope.” Hooking her fingers on the countertop, she hangs from it like a monkey in a tree.

“You should join gymnastics or something,” I reply as the water starts to boil. Unwrapping the ramen, I drop the noodles into the water and give them a quick stir.

“I want to do karate,” she says.

“Karate is good.”

“My gigi said karate is for boys. She said it’s not ladylike.”

I freeze. “Who the fuck is Gigi?” I ask, realizing a moment too late that I probably shouldn’t cuss around her. But honestly, it sounds like Gigi is saying worse shit than fuck.

“Gigi is my grandma.”

“Your mom’s mom or your dad’s mom?”

“Umm…” She thinks for a moment. “My mom’s mom.”

“Well, Gigi is wrong, and no offense, but she sounds sexist.”

“What’s sexist?” she asks, and I wince as I turn the stove off and start mixing the flavor packet into the noodles.

“It means she thinks boys can do things girls can’t do, and she’s wrong. Plenty of girls do karate, and the term ladylike is utter misogynistic bullshit, so don’t listen to Gigi.”

With that, I set her bowl of ramen on the counter. “Now, sit and eat.”

“What does misogynistic mean⁠—”

“No more questions,” I snap, which makes her giggle.

Leaning against the counter, I watch her pull the noodles from the bowl with her fork, blowing on each one. Her tiny legs are constantly bouncing, and it’s like she’s dancing to music in her head that no one else can hear.

Most kids are annoying, but I have to admit…this one is pretty cute.

It makes my blood boil to think of someone telling her she can’t do something because she’s a girl. I hope Briar and Caleb don’t stand for that shit.

Abby eats her ramen without asking more questions. When she requests to watch TV, I put on Friends because she said she’s never seen it. She laughs when I laugh, even though I know most of the jokes go over her head.

After her ramen is gone, she climbs onto my couch next to me and props her feet on the ottoman next to mine. Her feet dance as we watch, and in the middle of the second episode, the front door opens.

Briar walks in, looking frazzled and apologetic.

“Oh my god, Dean. I’m so sorry,” she mutters. “I don’t know what happened. We just passed out.”

“Relax. It’s fine. She ate some spicy ramen, and now we’re watching TV.”

“She didn’t get sick, did she?” she asks, looking concerned as she runs the back of her hand over Abby’s forehead.

There are dark circles under Briar’s eyes, and her hair looks like she could use a shower.

“Nope,” I reply, ruffling Abby’s brown, messy locks.

“Come on, Abby,” Briar calls. “Let’s go back home and leave Dean alone.”

Furrowing my brow, I touch Briar’s arm. “Leave her. She’s fine. You need a shower and some rest. I’ll let you know if she gets sick again.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she replies, shaking her head.

“I know I don’t.”

Staring into my eyes, I see hers begin to moisten with tears. Then she licks her bottom lip before tugging it between her teeth, and I suddenly find myself wanting to reach out and kiss her.

Of course, I don’t. Not with Abby around, but when I gaze down at Briar’s lips, I think she gets the message.

Her cheeks blush, and she leans in very subtly.

“What would we do without you?” she whispers.

My mouth stretches into a smile because I felt that. I’m not sure if she’s referring to watching Abby or what we did Friday night, but it’s nice to feel needed. For a guy who’s usually alone and likes to be alone, I could get used to being a part of a family like this.

“Go take a shower. Come back and get her in a few hours. We’ll be fine.”

Her hand squeezes my arm. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it.”

After Briar leaves, Abby and I binge a couple more episodes of Friends. She asks a thousand more questions. Then she asks to draw and I pull out a single black pen and some junk mail for her to scribble on.

And when she draws a picture of everyone in her family together on the back of an old bank statement, I definitely should not be so touched by how she includes me—but I am.