The Home-wrecker (The Goode Brothers)
The Home-wrecker: Chapter 47

Standing in the kitchen, I stir the pasta sauce on the stove while Briar cuts up vegetables for the salad behind me. I didn’t have any clients at the club tonight, but even if I did, I don’t know if I would have wanted to leave this house.

I meant what I said to Caleb last night. I’m not changing my life or quitting my job if I decide to stay here with them and try to make this work. Plenty of sex workers keep up their jobs after they enter relationships. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and as long as we communicate and come to an agreement, it can work.

It feels like a lie I keep telling myself. We can make this work. Everything will be fine.

But Caleb and Briar’s optimism is infectious.

“How is it?” she asks, coming up behind me and leaning into my side. I lift the spoon from the pan and blow on it before carefully bringing it to her mouth.

She takes a small bite and hums. I find myself fighting the urge to kiss her, but Abby is running around the house and could stumble in here at any moment.

“You’re a good cook,” she says as she turns back to her salad.

“Thanks,” I reply. “I’m self-taught. My dad was a terrible cook, and if I didn’t want to eat microwave dinners every night, I had to learn how to make something better.”

“How resourceful of you,” she replies with a smile.

“And how are you feeling?” I ask. “After that conversation with your sister.”

Leaning against the counter, I watch her as she shrugs. Then she glances up my way with a forced smile. “I’m sad, but I hope she’ll come around. But Caleb’s right. It’s going to be like that for a while.”

“And it’s worth it to you?” I ask.

Her smile isn’t forced anymore. “Is it worth it to you? You’re the one trading a life living alone in your apartment for family dinners and a suburban life.”

Just then, as if on cue, Abby shouts for Briar from the downstairs bathroom. “Mo-om! I need you.”

We both laugh at the same time. “It’s messy,” she says as she wipes her hands on the kitchen towel. “But it’s fun.”

While Briar is in the bathroom with Abby, the timer goes off on the stove. So I drain the noodles in the sink. Once I’m done with that, I set the table with plates and bowls.

As I’m retrieving the glasses from the cabinet, the door opens, and Caleb walks in. Immediately, I can tell something is different about him. Normally, Caleb is guarded and subdued, but within seconds, I can tell there is a frenetic energy about him. He’s different from when he left just a few hours ago.

“What happened?” I say, holding a plate in my hands as he nearly ambushes me next to the dining room table. Grabbing me by the sides of my face, he pulls me in for a kiss, and I quickly push him away, worried that Abby might see.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m kissing you,” he replies casually.

My brow furrows in confusion. “What happened at work?”

“It’s not important,” he says, “but seeing you standing here in my kitchen right now is the greatest thing in the world.”

I continue gawking at him. He’s practically beaming.

“Daddy!” Abby shrieks as she comes out of the bathroom, flying toward Caleb.

“Hey, peanut,” he replies, hoisting her off the floor. She wraps her arms around his neck with a cheesy grin on her face.

Briar comes out a moment later and notices what I’ve done. “You set the table,” she says.

“Let’s eat,” Caleb replies enthusiastically before kissing Briar on the side of the head. Everyone begins to dish up their food, and a moment later, we’re all sitting around the table about to dig into our spaghetti dinner. We don’t say grace or thank God for this meal, which takes me by surprise.

Instead, we all sort of stare at each other for a moment.

“This is nice,” I mumble quietly.

“It is,” Briar replies, resting her hand on mine.

Naturally, Abby is bouncing in her seat, spaghetti stains already covering her cheeks.

And while we eat, I can’t help but think to myself just how perfect this is. Whatever happened at work with Caleb or with Briar’s sister exists only in the outside world, but when we’re here in this house together, none of that matters.

For the first time, I realize that this could work. We can shut out the world and live in harmony here. The judgment of others doesn’t have to affect us.

Being with them doesn’t make me feel so afraid of commitment anymore. They make being in a relationship feel so natural.

“Can I ride my bike after dinner?” Abby asks, slurping up a spaghetti noodle.

“Of course, peanut,” Briar replies.

“Will you watch me?” she asks, looking up at me.

“Uh…sure.”

As she grins with excitement, I feel my mouth pulling into a smirk.

For the rest of the meal, we don’t bother with stressful, tense topics of conversation. Instead, Abby talks about how excited she is for school to start back up—to which Briar replies how excited she is as well.

It’s all so comfortable and pleasant and normal. It reminds me of being a kid and sitting on the couch with my dad while eating dinner together. Sometimes, we’d go on the patio if the weather was nice and talk about nothing and everything all at once.

It’s family, and nothing in the world can compare to that.

By the time we’re cleaning up the table, I don’t feel like an interloper or an outsider. I feel like I belong here.

I do belong here.

“You know what?” Briar says while drying a plate. “I don’t know why, but I feel like we need a cake.”

“A cake?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Yeah. We’ve had a rough few days and I just think we need to celebrate all being here together. It’s a beautiful day. Why not have dessert?”

Caleb wraps his arm around Briar’s shoulders. “I think that’s a perfect idea. I’ll run to the store.”

“I’ll come with you,” she adds. “If Dean doesn’t mind staying here with Abby.”

Making a puzzled expression, I stare down at Abby as she hangs on my arm with glee. “I guess.”

“Yay!” she squeals.

After the kitchen is clean, Briar and Caleb leave and I turn toward the bouncy six-year-old dancing around the kitchen.

“All right. Show me this bike of yours.”

Abby hops excitedly as she takes my hand and drags me to the garage. When I hit the button to open it and see the pink-and-white bicycle in the corner with a little white basket and pink tassels on the handlebars, I glance down at her with concern.

“What is that?”

“That’s my bike,” she replies with a giggle as she drags it out of the garage.

“It has training wheels!” I say, pointing to the two extra wheels attached to the back.

Looking down, she hides her embarrassment. “I’m not good at riding without them yet.”

I let out a breath as a feeling of shame washes over me. I can’t be such a jerk to her all the time.

Kneeling down beside her, I lift her chin so she looks into my eyes. “I can help you ride without them if you want. I bet you’re better than you think.”

Her tiny lips purse together as she frowns at me. “But I don’t like falling down.”

“I’ll catch you. You won’t fall down.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” I reply. “Go get your helmet on, and I’ll take these off.”

A minute later, I have Abby on her bike out front. She’s scared at first. I can tell by the way she shakes and timidly hits the brakes every time the bike starts wobbling.

“Don’t stop,” I say, looking her in the eye. “You’ve got this, Abby. Just keep going.”

“Okay,” she replies with a quiver in her voice.

“You’re a tough, strong, brave little badass, okay?”

She giggles. “Okay.”

As she takes off again, I jog beside her, but when I notice her wanting to stop, I push her faster. “Pedal, Abby. Don’t stop. You got this!”

When her little feet pick up speed, and she starts drifting away from me, I start to feel more excited than I’ve been in a long time. Stopping on the side of the road, I raise my hands in the air, shouting in excitement for her as she pedals all the way to the end of the street.

“That’s it, Abby! Go! Go!” I yell.

When she reaches the stop sign, she manages a shaky turn and rides back toward me. I’m still cheering her on as she comes to a stop at my side, planting her feet on the ground as she shrieks.

“I did it! Did you see me? I did it!”

“Fuck yeah, you did it!” I shout.

When she hops off her bike, letting it fall to the ground, I hoist her into the air, swinging her triumphantly. She squeals with excitement, and when a couple passes by walking their dog, I place Abby on my shoulders and point to her.

“Look at this badass. She just learned to ride her bike without training wheels.”

They smile at us and congratulate her as Abby laughs uncontrollably.

“Natural born talent,” I continue as the couple passes by. “Watch out, Tour de France. Abigail Goode is the next bike-riding champion!”

She waves her arms in the air as we both laugh, jogging around the front yard like it’s a victory lap. When I finally put her back down, she runs to her bike and climbs back on. Without any struggle, she starts riding around again, flying down the street like she’s been doing it for years.

I watch with pride, a smile stretched across my face.

When a black car turns down the street, coming toward us, I shout for Abby to stay on the sidewalk. I expect the car to drive past our house, but as it comes to a stop at the end of our driveway, I stare in concern.

Abby rides back toward me, stopping near the parked car.

“Abby, get over here,” I bark.

“Who is that?” she asks as she ditches her bike and rushes up to my side.

“I don’t know,” I reply, waiting for someone to get out. I push Abby behind me, just in case.

The driver’s side door opens, and my jaw drops when I see a face from my past emerge. Truett Goode does not look anything like the booming force of a man I knew twelve years ago. He’s withered away since then.

“Grandpa?” Abby murmurs tentatively. I keep a hand on her shoulder, holding her there.

“You,” he mutters, his fierce gaze colliding with mine. When he makes his way to the front of the car, I notice the clumsiness in his movement. He’s drunk. “What are you doing here?” he slurs.

“I live here,” I argue.

He scoffs. “Where is my son?”

“He’s not here, so why don’t you go?”

“Dean, what’s going on?” Abby whines behind me.

“Go in the house, Abby,” I mutter.

Of course, she doesn’t budge, clinging tighter to my side. I can feel her hand squeezing my arm in a death grip. The fact that he’s scaring her makes my blood boil.

“You’re the one my son was talking about, aren’t you? You turned him into a⁠—”

“Watch your mouth,” I bark, shouting over his slur and hoping Abby didn’t hear it. “Leave now, or I’ll call the police.”

He laughs. “This is my family. You may have already turned my son into a pervert, but I won’t let him raise my granddaughter like this. Abby, come to Grandpa.”

She trembles behind me, and my teeth clench together in rage as I stare at him. I’d like to break his nose right now for even talking to her, but I don’t want to scare her. Instead of walking toward Truett, I back Abby up toward the house.

In my periphery, I notice neighbors watching, and I wonder if they’re calling the police already.

“Stay by me, Abby,” I say softly.

“I’m scared,” she whimpers.

“You think you can keep my granddaughter from me?” he shouts. “I’ll have the police take you away.”

“You’re drunk, Truett. Why don’t you go home now?” I say, struggling to keep my cool.

He’s advancing on us, and I keep waiting for him to attack. I’m not worried for Abby’s safety because I know I’ll have his face in the cement before he lays a hand on her. But I don’t want it to get that far.

“Shut the fuck up,” he mutters, throwing another slur at me that I try not to react to. “Abby, come with Grandpa, now.” His voice booms with his anger, and I lose it.

Shoving Abby farther behind me until she’s in the garage, I step toward Truett. Pushing my chest against his, I get in his face.

“I don’t want to bloody your drunk ass right here for her sake, but if you yell at her again, I swear I will.”

“Are you threatening me?” he replies with a sneer. His breath reeks of bourbon.

When I notice red and blue lights down the street, I turn my attention away from him for a split second, and he takes it as his opportunity to act. He lunges toward Abby, and she screams in fear.

It’s bloodcurdling, a sound I’ll never forget as long as I live.

I tackle Truett to the ground with the force of hatred built up over a decade. He lands hard against the concrete of the driveway. As I stare down at his ugly face, thinking about everything he’s done to Isaac, I want to pummel my fist against his face. I’d like to feel the way his nose cracks or hear the way he cries in pain.

But Abby is crying, and I refuse to be the reason she cries any more.

The cops ambush us, making her scream again as they haul me off the old man’s chest. When one of them tries to bind my wrists behind my back, I just see Abby crying in the garage. Tears are streaming down her face, and I shout at the officer behind me.

“Wait! I live here!”

“Dean!” Abby shrieks.

“Sir, calm down!” the police officer shouts, but all I see is Abby. She’s so scared and alone, and I can’t stand it.

“Please, that’s my little girl!” I scream.

It takes the cops a moment to register that I’m not the one trespassing here, and they release my wrists. I bolt across the driveway and yank Abby into my arms. She wraps her whole body around me while she sobs into my shoulder.

“It’s okay,” I mumble as I stroke her back. “It’s okay. We’re all right. I’ve got you.”

Over and over, I repeat those words, mostly to comfort her but also to comfort myself. We’re all right. Everything is going to be okay.

Everything has to be okay.