Page 108 of Hired Help

I still struggle to share sometimes. Thoughts will lodge in my head, and I won’t know how to get them out, how to put them into a word packet that others can consume. But Brooke is responsive as long as I try, and my dad found a well of patience somewhere during our years-long estrangement.

Even with my hangups, the more I try, the easier it gets, though easy in this context is still far harder than anything on earth ought to be. And the reward is paid with Brooke’s openness, with her trying to be a better, more communicative, partner, too.

Secure enough in our relationship to grow into the person she wants to be.

“Where’s Dad?”

“Entertaining a hen party,” she confides, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “I hope he fends off all those hands trying to stuff money down his skimpy briefs. He should get paid danger money.”

“He does. You thought all that cash was because of his dance moves?”

“Yup.”

“So much for his retirement.”

Dad has withdrawn from the bulk of his activities, but he has one contract that won’t expire until the middle of next year and his conscience won’t allow him to break it just because Brooke could afford to pay the penalties without blinking.

After it’s done, he might be the only one of us going to university. Without the need to earn constantly, he’s turned his thoughts towards what he might want to do instead. Brooke told him he could be her elderly toyboy but the role of provider is too deeply entrenched for him to consider doing nothing.

“Do you want to go out for a meal?”

I grab her by the waist and nuzzle into the side of her neck. “Or we could head into the bedroom, and I’ll eat you for dinner, instead.”

“Tempting, but I need far more calories than that.” She swings the door closed with a sigh. “The only thing I miss about Kingswood is the meal service every day.”

“I miss lying on your bed, waiting for you to come back, and planning out everything I’m going to do to you as punishment.”

“You talk a good game, mister, but you’re still not attracting me as much as pizza.”

I swing her over my shoulder, enjoying the squeal as she fights to regain her footing and utterly fails, falling into laughter instead. “Put me down. There’s no single play until Thursday.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let you orgasm, so it doesn’t count.”

I let her fight her way free in the bedroom, escaping back into the lounge, leaving me to change into sweats before rejoining her on the sofa. She waggles her phone at me, displaying an ordered menu that could conservatively feed a family of eight. I grab the remote before tugging her into my arms, holding her close despite the afternoon heat baking through the windows.

“Netflix and chill it is,” I murmur, flicking onto the tv menu, then handing it to her when the array presents too much of a challenge.

She picks a horror, tugging the curtains across so we can see the dark scenes. As she settles against me, fitting into my arms like she was born to be there, contentment washes across me like a warm wave.

There are tough spots in our relationship. Sometimes, I want to grab Brooke and head for the hills, keeping just the two of us in play. Other times, there’s such a rush of affection for my father, I can’t imagine anything different. I can’t imagine not wanting to share, not wanting to watch Brooke being shared.

When I wake in the morning, her lying between us, a smile of beatific beauty on her face, I sometimes catch his eye and see the same expression of wonder.

I know our relationship doesn’t make sense to other people, openly aggravating some, but it only needs to be comprehensible to the three of us. The added support eases the pressure, giving me the breathing room to make mistakes without feeling like certain doom awaits. It gives me the courage to try new things, knowing I have a supportive base at home.

But there are bad days, too. Days when I glower at my father, spoiling for a fight.

When jealousy nibbles, I reframe our situation and it helps. Instead of me being the tongue-tied jerk who rightfully lost his girlfriend and had to have a third party take the steering wheel, I’m the boy whose dad landed himself a gorgeous, rich, smart, young girlfriend… and who graciously lets me fuck her most nights.

Not much of a distinction perhaps but to me it sounds just right.

* * *

DAEGAN

The tattooist is finishing up when Harrison and Brooke return to the shop, the latter immediately running over to examine the latest addition to my canvas.

“It’s so pretty,” she exclaims, twisting me onto my side to get a better view of the design. “I’m surprised you had any room left.”

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