Page 11 of The Widower’s Brother-In-Law

Two boyfriend experiences per month, sometimes more, everything except what my mom needs and basic living expenses invested primarily in index funds. Also, I drive rideshare when I have downtime, so when people ask, I have a job that sounds legit. I’m already up to nearly a million dollars in savings. And I’ve started a side gig helping some guys in our group of escorts with their money. Pretty sure I’m feeling like I might quit escorting soon. Go back to school or something; I haven’t decided.

I got into this gig mostly because of Dean. When I walked in on him about to suck off Brennan, I wanted a front row seat to his humiliation too much to leave. And if I’m honest, it was a good excuse to stay near the guy I hadn’t stopped wanting, even after he got my sister pregnant. The idea of money to help with my family’s medical bills didn’t hurt either.

Now though? I’ve about reached my limit on suffering fools.

Here in the dark, my mind keeps drifting back to Dean, kneeling in front of me while I spat into his mouth. Dean, who got my sister pregnant. Dean, who suffers so beautifully and so willingly.

Dean, who was supposed to be mine.

Unlike me, Dean will take a beating, thank the person holding the flogger, and come back for more. As much as it pisses me off, it gets me hard every time.

My phone lights up the dark room. I roll over to grab it before the senator wakes up.

Your child is crying.

Hell.

A couple of years ago, Ella announced confidently that she no longer needed a baby monitor in her room. Dean threw it in a box full of other things she’d outgrown and stuffed it under his bed. What he doesn’t know is that I replace the batteries regularly. It started out as curiosity. Maybe I thought I might learn something about him I could use as leverage.

Look, Dean dating Billie led to the destruction of my entire family. I’ve tried to drop the grudge, but it isn’t going easy.

Finding out the guy had nightmares, pretty awful ones, even? For some reason, I hadn’t considered that. He doesn’t have them every night, but often enough that it’s become an interesting window into the mind of my niece’s father.

Sliding out of bed, I slip into my clothes and shoes before making the short drive from this beachfront condo to our own apartment building near downtown. After parking in a visitor spot because it’s faster, I hustle upstairs and let myself into their place.

It’s a risk sneaking out of the senator’s condo in the middle of the night, but I’ve done it before. Worst-case scenario, if he wakes up, I’ll tell him I had an emergency. It’s almost true.

Before I go into Dean’s room, I check to be sure Ella’s still sleeping. Lucky thing she sleeps like the dead. Most nights we could throw a parade at the foot of her bed and she probably wouldn’t wake up.

When I get down the hall, I can see I was right.

Dean’s having a nightmare. Again.

I’ve seen it so many times, I’ve got it broken down beat by beat.

“No,” he whispers. “Please, somebody help.”

A mournful whine leaves his throat.