Page 104 of Wildest Dreams

“Rhyland,” my mother warned, clutching her pearls in a death grip.

“It’s true.” I shrugged. It was the first time I’d verbalized my previous profession for what it was. I dated for money. I romanced for money. I fucked for money. I sold my body, my heart, my soul, for a quick buck. This was the truth. And every day I didn’t do that was a healing process. So fuck the money. Or, in this case, the lack thereof. “It’s the honest-to-God truth, Mother. I worked with Row for a few years, back when my escort business was just taking off, but this is my main gig. Being a male prostitute. Business is booming. Thanks to you, I guess.” I gestured to my sculpted six-pack, to my height, to my face. “This apartment was paid for by one of my clients.”

Again, not a lie.

There was silence for a moment before my mother collected herself and sat up straighter on the stool. “So what?” She pouted haughtily. My mother was a classically beautiful woman, but she didn’t have that glow that came from within. She looked like a lifeless symmetrical drawing. “Men aren’t sensitive about suchthings. So what if you have sex for money? You’re probably having fun doing it. You’re right—you should thank us. Not many men have the opportunity to do this. We gave you the good genes to have a successful gigolo career.”

“Genes were the only things you gave me,” I seethed. “And even that only because you didn’t have a choice. Nothing else, Mother. Nothing at all.”

Her words aggravated me, and I wasn’t even sure why. None of this was news to me. But somehow, even after all these years, it still cut deep to see them completely disregarding my life, my choices, my feelings.

“Listen, son, we’re not here to judge you.” My father raised his palms. “We only want to make sure you’re doing well for yourself. You are doing well for yourself, right?”

I had a feeling they were about to break some more bad news, which I didn’t think was possible, since they were already here with a task. My mouth curled in annoyance. My nostrils twitched. Yeah. That damn dog had definitely taken a dump on my designer couch.

“I’m doing all right. Why?”

“We sold off the house, the cars, and all our possessions,” my mother announced laconically, but the quirk of her mouth gave it away. She wasn’t neutral about this at all. She was having fun breaking the news to me. “I’m sorry, Rhyland, but we won’t be in a position to offer you anything inheritance-wise.”

I’d never counted on their inheritance money. The Staindrop house was worth about $400K, give or take, and the cars, furniture, insurance maybe another $200K. In the grand scheme of things, if I got my way, $600K would be small-fry for me. Still, it was the thought that counted. They were now explicitly going to leave me penniless.

“Yeah?” I yawned, taking another sip of coffee. “What happened? Sold it all off and joined a cult?”

“My goodness, how did I create someone so crass?” My mother pressed her fingers to her mouth. “For your information, we decided to sell all our possessions and go travel the world. Enjoy our retirement money instead of hoarding it. You only live once.”

“And in some people’s cases, even that’s too much,” I muttered under my breath.

“This is why we need to leave Fluffy and Mittens with you.” My mother ignored my sarcasm but looked eager to leave now that she’d finally unloaded the news off her chest.

“Fluffy and Mittens?” I snarled. “Who the hell are they?”

“Our little doggies.” Mom made a baby sound. She smacked her lips together cooingly, and they ran to her, barking happily, wagging their tails. She leaned down to kiss them, and they licked her nose enthusiastically.

A scream lodged itself in my throat, because they’d had more affection in ten seconds than I received in my entire childhood.

“Well, your dogs now, really. We’re leaving tomorrow. That’s why we’re here.”

“I’m not taking your dogs.” I shook my head.

“We have no one else to turn to,” my father said in an accusing voice.

“Sounds like you could’ve done with making a few friends instead of drowning in each other and ignoring the world.”

“We don’t have the heart to put them in a shelter.”

“I will then.” I shrugged, meaning it. I was not getting one dog, let alone two. I traveled a whole fucking bunch and wouldn’t be home regularly once App-date launched.

“What you do is on your conscience, sweetie, not mine,” my mother tutted—which, in her warped mind, was true. She really thought this cleansed her of all responsibility. She was a narcissist. And most likely, so was I.

She started for the door, and my father followed her, coffee mugs still on my kitchen island, poop still on my couch. They didn’t even tell me where they were going.

I knew the dogs were staying—until I dumped them in a shelter.

“Hey,” I called out to their backs, internally acknowledging how deeply messed up it was that they’d barged into my life after years of radio silence, discarding their dogs with me and telling me my inheritance was gone. This wasn’t neglect. It never had been. It was abuse. It was the systematic action of breaking your child’s heart and spirit. “When can I drop by your house and collect my boxes?” I had some stuff left there that I wanted. High-school sports trophies, diplomas, certificates, school photo albums. Basically, my entire history before I moved to New York four years ago.

“Oh.” My mother halted but didn’t turn around to look at me. She didn’t turn around to take one last look at her so-called beloved dogs either. Her hand fluttered over the doorframe. “Pity you didn’t tell us. We got rid of everything while we were cleaning up. The house sold so fast. We had to.”

“You threw away my shit?” My breath caught in my throat. How many more times could she make me feel like I was nothing to her? How many more times could I be surprised and fucking gutted by it?

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