Page 46 of Extra Witchy

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Trev woke to hundreds of notifications.

Silently, he slipped out of bed, unable to believe what he was seeing. He padded barefoot into the living room so he could look at his phone with full brightness. His reels had gone viral in a huge way, and people were posting duets and response videos, using the catchphrase “you want my wife,” and all of it had attracted a ton of attention to Leanne’s political social media accounts. As director of communications for the mayor’s office, she hadn’t paid her own socials much attention at all, so Trev had started fresh, creating new accounts dedicated to her city council campaign.

That meant he had all the passwords and a ton of traffic to be managed. While he made breakfast, he responded to all the @s, posts, reels, and comments while keeping in mind the tone he wanted to convey, relative to his wife’s political career. To his surprise, he found he enjoyed the work, playing Oz behind the curtain for Leanne, making the magic happen.

By the time she came up to the kitchen island, he had a veggie omelet ready for her and a cup of coffee, just the way she liked it. She pecked him on the cheek then sat down at the island, eyeing him with an inscrutable smile. “Any news you’d care to share?”

He narrowed his eyes. “It seems like you already know.”

“A suspicion, not a certainty.” She picked up her fork and dug in. “Wow, this is fantastic. I love the gooey cheese pocket.”

He shrugged. “It’s not hard. I keep diced veg in the fridge. In the morning I just whip the eggs and put it all together in the pan.”

“Look at you, refusing to take a compliment and minimizing your achievements. You’re a great cook. Say thanks and tell me what’s up.”

He swallowed, gaze locked on her ridiculously glamorous face. Seriously, who looked like this at breakfast? “Thanks, glad you like the food I make. Anyway, it seems people are massively digging yesterday’s reels. I’ve posted responses, don’t know if you want to—”

“I trust you,” she cut in, eating placidly.

“Are you sure? This is your public image we’re talking about, and you’re the pro here. Compared to you, I’m just—”

“Doing an awesome job. It’s rude to cut you off, but I won’t let anyone put my man down, even if you’re doing it to yourself. Real talk, hon, I went to school for years to train on shit you grasp intuitively. If you took a couple of online courses in social media management to hone your instincts, you’d be the real pro, an unstoppable force.”

He stared at her, stunned but aware of a cautiously rising excitement at the prospect. “Do you really think so?”

“It doesn’t matter whatIthink. Only if you can imagine doing this as a job.”

Quickly, she finished her food and kissed him again, then he heard the water running while she brushed her teeth. His breakfast got cold while he fretted the idea like guitar strings, scrutinizing it from all angles. Suddenly, he realized hecouldimagine it. Making those reels had been fun. And while he wouldn’t want his face on every account he managed, he’d still like doing this for other people, making their socials funny and relatable, creating content to brighten other people’s days without making himself the focus.

Shit. Yeah. This…is what I want to do.

Right now, he was a househusband, though, so before he headed to the campaign office to pitch in, Trev fulfilled that requirement by cleaning the kitchen and the bathrooms, then he dusted and let the Roomba run wild while he put in a load of laundry. Anyone who said this wasn’t a real job had never done it, that was for damn sure. He had to hang certain clothes up to dry and load the dryer before he went out, so while he waited for the washer to finish, he searched for the classes she’d mentioned.

Soon, he had a bunch of potential courses to assess, along with one online school that offered a certificate in social media marketing and management. Trev bookmarked the sites and then hung up the delicates and tossed the rest of the clothes into the dryer with a sheet.Wonder if I should sell my car. An electric bike would be cheaper, and I could pay for classes with the rest.

There was no need to decide now, but for the first time in ages, he felt hopeful about the future. Of course, none of this was a cure for the dark cloud he didn’t want to termdepressionthat’d gripped him tight for years. That would require talking to someone and maybe getting on the right meds. He just had to work up the nerve to do it and try not to let his old man’s brainwashing succeed in making him feel like this was mental weakness of some kind. In fact, when he considered therapy an act of rebellion, it got easier.

That’s the next thing I’ll do for myself. If I sell my car, I can afford it.

He had no doubt Leanne would pay for sessions, but he didn’t want her to. It might be vanity, but since he couldn’t do a lot for her financially, he wanted to cover his own repair work, so to speak. Making up his mind, he went out to the parking lot and took some pictures. The title was in his name, and he earned enough annually to pay for the plates and insurance, doing whatever work came his way. His father would probably blow his top since he’d bought this car, but it was Trev’s now, right? His solitary asset. People shouldn’t bitch about what you did with presents after receiving them.

Before he could second-guess himself, he posted the listing on several free local sites. Maybe this was another mistake, but he didn’t think so. It felt more like selling his past to pay for his future, one he was finally fucking on board with. Belatedly, it occurred to him that he hadn’t thought about Sarah in quite a while or wondered about her wedding.

Hell, I’m married too.

At some point in the future, he might even be brave enough to tell her she’d been right to leave, though she could’ve been kinder about it. He still had dreams in which she told him he’d never amount to shit and that he’d die in that basement. Taking a breath, he hopped into the car and drove over to the campaign office.

Leanne was conferring with her team, going over the latest poll numbers. They were better than expected already, considering how long Dan Rutherford had held that city council seat. His camp was already hitting back; he’d apparently done an interview at a local radio station that painted Leanne as a ditzy party girl who would bankrupt St. Claire with her addiction to designer shoes.

“That son of a bitch,” said Mrs. Carmenian.

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” an older woman added.

Trev couldn’t come up with a name, though she looked vaguely familiar. She trundled toward him and shook his hand vigorously, an absolute vision in puce velour covered oddly in ginger cat fur. “Hazel Jeffords. I’m in Leanne’s book club! We need some new blood on the city council, and that’s a fact. At this rate, she could go to the White House one day. Are you ready to change the world, young man?”

“You know what?” he said, not even needing to think about it. “I’m with her all the way.”

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