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Naturally, my father posted bail and is on house arrest until the DA’s office decides on his charges and brings him to trial.
I love working in law, but God, I hate how slow the process is. Put him behind bars, or don’t. At this point, I don’t care. I just want this limbo we’re in to be over. Just when it feels like things are starting to calm down, the next shoe drops.
“You’re on speaker,” I say after hitting the button on my phone. My older brother’s voice echoes through my office as he replies in a somber greeting.
“Hey.”
“Please tell me you’re calling to invite me to a birthday party or tell me that you’ve won a million dollars,” I respond with a chuckle.
“Is it ever good news anymore?” he replies.
I let out a despondent sigh while rubbing my brow. “I wish. What’s up?”
“Do you remember Dean Sheridan?” he asks.
The bounce in my knee stops immediately, and my head pops up as I stare in confusion at my phone. That’s nowhere near what I expected to hear.
Dean Sheridan.
That’s a name I haven’t thought of in a long time.
Dean was my brother’s best friend growing up. Or maybe they were more? But while I was going through college, the kid practically lived at our house.
Clearing my throat, I respond, “Uh, yeah. Why?”
There’s a twinge of concern in the back of my mind, wondering if something might have happened to him. Or that maybe he has some news about Isaac.
“Well, he’s been working at Sage’s club for the past few months.”
My brows pinch inward as I stare at my phone on the desk. “Working how?”
Technically, it’s none of my business, and probably not why my brother is calling, but I can’t help my curiosity. Adam’s girlfriend owns a sex club. So unless Dean is a bartender or bouncer, there’s really only one type ofworkhe could be doing there.
“What do you think, Caleb?” my brother snaps defensively. “Does it really matter?”
“I’m not judging,” I argue.
“Yes, you are— Listen, this isn't why I'm calling.”
“Then why are you calling?” I ask with annoyance. Ever since my brother had his little mental breakdown, sexual awakening, or whatever it was last year, his high horse has gotten even fucking higher.
“Dean had a fire at his house last night. He’s okay, but the place looks like it’ll be demolished. Which means he needs a place to stay for a while.”
I let the line go silent as I wait for him to elaborate. I’m not exactly sure what any of this has to do with me. Or why he thinks I should be the one to help Dean.
I hardly know the guy. The last time I saw him, he was only fourteen. He’s gotta be, like…twenty-six now. And we didn’t exactly part ways on good terms.
“Okay…” I say, letting my voice trail.
Adam continues, “I know you and Briar have that extra room above the garage you guys have considered renting out.”
Everything inside me tenses.
While it’s true that Briar and I do have an extra room above the garage—equipped with its own bathroom and kitchenette—and it is true that we have considered putting it up for rent for extra income, letting a sex worker from my brother’s girlfriend’s sex club live there doesn’t sound exactly like a great idea.
Okay, so maybe I am being judgmental.
Growing up in a religious family, there were two constant themes in our upbringing. One was compassion and charity toward others. Loving thy neighbor and all that shit.
