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Emphatically, she shakes her head. “Absolutely not. You’re already putting in eight sessions a week. Your dick is going to fall off if we add any more.”
I smirk at her as I lean against the wall. “I appreciate your concern for my dick.”
She playfully punches my arm.
“And you know…your mental health,” she adds. “How’s that block going?”
My face screws up at the mention of it. My inability to climax has become a public topic of concern at the club. Not that I mind. I’m not ashamed. “It’ll pass.”
“Things like that don’t just pass, Dean. You’re working too hard.” She puts her hands on her hips as if that makes her look more authoritative. She’s far too adorable to come across as assertive, but that’s what I like about her. Sage doesn’t give a shit about most things people concern themselves over. Images, norms, expectations, reputation.
Which is why she’s less worried about my performance as one of her employees and more about my health as her friend.
“I’ll figure it out, Sage. I promise.”
She delicately rests her fingers on my forearm as she leans toward me. “Please take care of yourself. If you need time off, say the word, and we’ll move things around.”
“Thanks,” I reply with a tight-lipped smile. I’m brushing off her offer before she can even get the words out.
Behind Sage, I notice the club manager, Sadie, rushing toward us with an expression on her face I don’t like. Her eyes are wide and pointed directly at me.
“Dean,” she says, sounding exasperated. “There was a call for you.”
My blood runs cold as my spine straightens. Immediately, I think of my father. Ever since his lung cancer progressed to stage four, he’s been staying with me.
“Who was it?” I ask, bracing myself for the news. But what comes out of her mouth takes me by surprise.
“It was the fire department. There was a fire at your house.”
“Oh my god!” Sage replies, lifting her hand to her mouth. “Was anyone hurt?”
My teeth clench as I wait for the answer, but Sadie is quick to shake her head.
“No. Your dad got out okay. Everyone is fine, but they need you to go therenow.”
Maybe I waited to hear that my dad was okay before the anger started to set in. Maybe I didn’t.
And as I dash toward my room to grab my phone and keys, I start to fume. Because I already know exactly how that fire got started, and I know exactly who to blame.
Four
Dean
“I’m just glad everyone’s okay.” Adam Goode stands in front of what’s left of my house. And while I normally like my boss’s boyfriend, right now, I’d like to deliver a hard right to his handsome fucking face. The last thing I need at this moment is his positivity bullshit.
Sure, I’m also glad my father wasn’t hurt in the fire, but I’m still fucking pissed it happened in the first place.
The gray smoke continues to billow from the hole left above my garage, even though the fire has long been put out. Firefighters are still dousing it with water, and I can’t tear my eyes away from everything I own being ruined even more. If it wasn’t burned, it’s being soaked.
My father groans from the ambulance, and it’s the only thing that steals my attention away.
“Is he okay?” I ask as I approach where they have him resting on a stretcher in the back of the truck. His oxygen tank is still sitting at his side, the tubes in his nose and a blood pressure cuff on his arm.
“Vitals seem fine,” the paramedic replies.
“I’m so sorry, son,” my father mutters.
I don’t reply. What would I say?
