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Callum shrugs, no longer interested in arguing now that my sexuality isn’t a threat to him. The dynamic between these two is brittle and flammable.
“How, uh, do you want to do this?” I ask Nathan. “The sessions, I mean.”
“Settle in,” Nathan says, gesturing for Callum’s house. “Tomorrow, at family dinner, I’ll properly introduce you to everyone. Jude, Spencer, Audrey, and Dempsey will need to be put on the schedule immediately. My home is two doors down. You may use my office for your sessions.”
With those final words, Nathan turns on his heel and strides away without so much as a thank you.
This job is going to be a challenge.
“I’m doubling our agreed-upon rate,” Nathan calls out over his shoulder. “There’s a twenty-thousand-dollar bonus if you can make headway with Jude.”
Holy shit.
Twenty thousand dollars to get the freakshow to talk to me?
“Damn, man, he’s desperate,” Callum says, shaking his head and shooting me a look of pity. “I wouldn’t get too excited about the twenty k, though. Jude’s not going to go for it.”
Maybe not yet…
Twenty thousand could make a huge dent in the debt I’ve managed to accumulate in the past two years. It costs a lot to have my slashed tires replaced three times, windshield smashed more times than I can count, and all the times I’ve had to get the keyed words buffed out of my paint. And that’s just the debt I’ve gotten buried in over my car.
“We’ll see,” I reply, flashing him a challenging smile. “Let me just grab my stuff and my cat. Be right back.”
His eyes widen at the mention of my cat, but I don’t wait for permission, hurrying back to my car. I fling open the door and peer into the carrier.
“Funky, we’re going to be rich. Mark my words. All we have to do is tame the beast and draw out his demons so we can slay them. Easy-peasy.”
My intelligent cat doesn’t reward me with an answer because he knows better.
Nothing about this job will be easy.
Jude
Ican’t avoid Dad forever.
He’ll inevitably show up, bitching at me relentlessly until one of us gives in. He should know better. It won’t be me.
I’m not going to see a therapist because my past is a Pandora’s box I have no intent on opening anytime soon, if ever.
The past fucking hurts.
At least, by me showing up for family dinner, I can leave when I’ve had enough of Dad’s guilt trips. Not to mention, there’ll be the buffer of all the other usual Sunday drama. I can always count on Dempsey or Callum to cause a little chaos at mealtime.
Now that fall is upon us, it’s dark early as I prowl through my brothers’ front yards toward Dad’s house. I love this time of year when I can stick to the shadows, slipping in and out of view whenever I feel like it. Winter is even better because when it snows, I’m not forced to do this bullshit dinner each week.
Voices can be heard, laughing and cutting up as I step onto Dad’s porch. I hesitate before opening the door, adjusting my mask to make sure it covers me properly. The wood creaks to my right and I snap my head in that direction.
“We’ve all seen you without it,” Callum says from the shadowed corner. “Still not sure why you insist on wearing that shit twenty-four seven.”
He and Spencer give me the most grief about the masks I wear. Fuckers.
I lift my hand, flipping him off, knowing good and damn well he can see it perfectly in the glow of light from the window.
He chuckles and approaches, coming into view when he’s just a few feet from me. “You dodged a bullet, man. Dude has a cat.”
Tension claws at my muscles, hooking them and pulling them taut. A familiar ache burns along my rhomboids on both sides.
“The therapist is staying with you?”
