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After Midnight

Blake Allwood

Blake Allwood Publishing

 After Midnight. Copyright © 2024 by Blake Allwood. All Rights Reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in
writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover designed by Samrat Acharjee
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Blake Allwood
Visit my website at BlakeAllwood.com

Printed in the United States of America

Box Elder, SD
First Printing: Feb 2024

Blake Allwood Publishing

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-956727-57-9
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-956727-58-6
Library of Congress Control Number: pending
Content Warnings

Racism
Homophobia
Child Neglect
Kidnapping
False Allegations
Lawsuits
Embarrassment
Loss of Parent
Grief and Loss
Manipulation by a Parent Figure
MC Close to Death
Join Blake’s email list to get advance notice of new books and receive his occasional newsletter:
www.blakeallwood.com
Acknowledgments

Special thanks to the following amazing people who helped me get this book finished and into your hands.
Jo Bird – Editor
Ryane Chatman – Line Editor
Renee Mizar — Content Editor
Trae Hawkins - Sensitivity Reader
And of course, a big thank you to my husband who puts up with my endless stories and handles the formatting and final
publishing of all my books.
Contents

Preface:
1. Dominic
2. Dillon
3. Dominic
4. Dillon
5. Dominic
6. Dillon
7. Dominic
8. Dillon
9. Dominic
10. Dillon
11. Dominic
12. Dillon
13. Dominic
14. Dillon
15. Dominic
16. Dillon
17. Dominic
18. Dillon
19. Dominic
20. Dillon
21. Dominic
22. Dillon
23. Dominic
24. Dillon
25. Dominic
26. Dillon
27. Dominic
28. Dillon
29. Dominic
30. Dillon
31. Dominic
32. Dillon
33. Dominic
34. Dillon
35. Dominic
36. Dillon
37. Dominic
38. Dillon
39. Dominic
40. Dillon
41. Dominic
42. Dillon
43. Dominic
bibliopride.com
Preface:

O ccasionally, a novel requires a lot of help to make it come to fruition. That is the case with this book. I started writing this
book in early 2020, and it’s taken until now to get it to the point I’m willing to publish it.
I have so many people to thank for helping me out on this one. Not only those I’ve referenced above, who have
professionally helped make this book possible, but also, Kenneth Kelling, Miski Harris, Will Nuessle, Liz Prosser, and many
others who have stepped in to contribute to this books development. I can’t thank you all enough for your help and support!
For the past year, a few of my author friends helped me realize that very often my books lean toward romantic literary
fiction. I’ll admit, I’m not always the happiest with that description as I don’t love the devastatingly miserable gay films
dubbed as dramatic literary fiction that have dominated the market since the 1990s.
That being said, I must admit there is some truth to that statement.
After Midnight is in every way a Cinderella-based story. However, I leaned more toward the Hans Christian Anderson
version of Cinderella than I did Disney. As a result, this story has become more literary fiction than probably any other books
I’ve put out.
At heart, I am, and always will be a romance author though. I want my stories to end with a happily ever after, no matter how
hard life is for the main characters, or how much they have to go through to find that HEA.
As you read this novel, I encourage you to accept the hybrid that it is. If you allow yourself to accept the literary fiction and
old-time fairytale element of this story, you will find the romance beats firmly in place and at the end, I promise, all things will
work themselves out.
Chapter One

Dominic

“I ’ve“You
told you not to cross me, Dominic. I’m your mother, and you are to do as you’re told.”
are not my mother, Margarette. You are my stepmother.” And not a very good one at that, I thought to myself.
“I’m the only mother you’ve ever known, and you should show me the respect I deserve.”
Margarette walked away, trying to look regal but I could tell she was seething. Her coifed blonde hair and tall frame
contrasted with the perpetual frown on her face. She and I had been arguing all week.
God, I knew I shouldn’t provoke the woman, but Miss Rita had convinced me I needed to stand up to her once and for all.
“You need to control your own destiny,” she told me. “It’s time to stop taking grief from that hateful witch just because she was
married to your father for fifteen minutes before he died.”
She was right, of course. Not about the fifteen minutes exactly, though it was an extremely brief marriage. Even as resigned
as my papa had been in marrying Margarette, I doubt their marriage would’ve lasted very long, not once her true colors came
out. At least my evil stepmother hadn’t taken Papa Eric’s last name, which he himself had taken upon marrying my dad, Patrick,
and she didn’t want anything to do with that. So, that’s one thing I never had to share with her.
Unfortunately, Margarette held two important things over my head—my adopted sisters, Alli and Olivia. I would do anything
to protect them, including tolerating our intolerable stepmother.
Margarette had a habit of saying hateful things to me that, although never overtly discriminatory, usually alluded to my being
biracial or gay. To be honest, I was quickly reaching the end of my tether, but I also didn’t want to do anything to hurt the girls.
Alli and Olivia were the children of a couple both my fathers had been close to, so close that my parents had been listed as
the girls’ guardians should anything unforeseen happen. The girls were still very young when their parents died and I became
their instant big brother. That probably explains why I’d always felt so protective of them.
Sure, we had some bumps in adjusting to life as a family of five, but we became a happy, solid unit. Life was great, until it
all changed yet again. The bubble burst when Dad was diagnosed with cancer and died shortly thereafter, then Papa Eric
moved us to his hometown to live with his homophobic parents. That’s where we all had the misfortune of meeting Margarette.
Ignoring his grief, if not capitalizing upon it, my grandparents pushed Papa into marrying the evil witch. He’d resisted at first
but in the end, Papa complied with their demands. Less than six months later, he was gone too. I’d always thought dying of a
broken heart was some old romantic cliché, until my papa died.
True to form, the only person in our family not devastated by the loss of Papa Eric was his new wife. Margarette moved us
away within a month of my grandparents signing over custody of all three of us to her. Perhaps being passed off from
homophobic grandparents to a witch of a stepmother was the lesser of two evils, but I hardly cared at that point. In every way
that mattered, my childhood ended the year both my dads died.
Still, it really hurt when Margarette made us leave Papa Eric’s belongings behind. I always suspected we moved because
she wanted complete control over us or, more precisely, our money. But I could never prove anything.
My dads had been fairly wealthy, having created a series of apps that were bought by a large software company. Nearly their
entire estate went into a trust for me upon Papa Eric’s death, and I was grateful Margarette couldn’t get her gold-digging hands
on it. Neither could my grandparents, for that matter. The girls also had a trust, set up by their birth parents. Being our guardian,
Margarette would continue receiving stipends from the trusts until we turned twenty-one.
My sisters were my life. Olivia had blue eyes and long, curly blonde hair. She looked just like a China doll my grandmother
kept in her guest bedroom. Alli was more tomboyish. Her dark blonde hair was shorter than Olivia’s, and while Olivia wore
dresses, Alli preferred jeans.
Margarette would occasionally take them out with her. Me, not so much. “It’s better if you don’t come with us, or people
might look at us strangely,” she told me once. Of course, I knew exactly what she meant. The woman was a piece of work.
 Miss Rita was the one who kept my spirits up, my guiding light, I guess. That was the case even now, but especially when I’d
been an impressionable, newly orphaned teenager. Had it not been for Margarette hiring the amazing woman as our nanny, I
probably would have begun to internalize the covertly racist bullshit she threw at me.
“How’d it go?” I jumped as Miss Rita walked up behind me, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“How do you think it went?” I asked, chuckling.
“She kick you out?”
“No, I don’t think she can.”
“Then it went well.”
“Miss Rita, you know that woman is never going to give an inch when it comes to me. As far as she’s concerned, I’m here as
her servant. I swear, Margarette thinks she’s Scarlett O’Hara. If I knew how to sew, she’d have me making dresses out of the
curtains,” I joked, desperately trying to make light of the situation. Deep down, though, it still hurt.
Miss Rita laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You are amazing, Dominic Lawson. Don’t you ever forget that.”
I sighed. That was Miss Rita’s go-to comment. I knew she meant it but inside, I had a lot of self-doubt. “You know,
Margarette said something that made me think.”
“She did? That’s a first,” Miss Rita said, sounding amused. “What did she say?”
“She said she was the only mother I’d ever known.”
Miss Rita looked at me with a blank expression, clearly waiting for me to continue.
“We both know she’ll never be my mother, not that I’ve ever needed one. My dads were both amazing people, and I was so
lucky to have grown up with them. But, I did inherit a mom after they died.” Miss Rita smiled and looked away. “You know
you’re the only person who has ever been like a mom to me, right?”
“Oh, get on with you. I’m the hired help.”
“You’re more than that, and you know it. Besides, I know that witch doesn’t pay you enough to put up with everything. Thank
you, Miss Rita.”
She slapped me playfully on the arm, kissed my cheek, and said, “I love you, too, little man.”
The endearment always amused me. When we first met, I was short and scrawny. Since then, I’d hit my growth spurt and
filled out. I was definitely not a little man anymore.
I turned just as Margarette came back down the stairs.
“You two talking about me again?” she asked.
“You know, Margarette,” I said, emphasizing her name because I knew it annoyed her, “you aren’t the only thing we talk
about.”
Margarette looked at Miss Rita through narrowed eyes and approached her. Dammit, I’d put the poor woman in the path of
the witch’s wrath, again! She’d been threatening to fire Miss Rita for years, and I was surprised she hadn’t once I’d turned
eighteen. Maybe Margarette was afraid I’d leave if she did. I had no plans to move out, since I felt a need to stay for the girls,
but she didn’t need to know that. Still, I needed to smooth things over and fast.
“Miss Rita here thinks I’m too hard on you,” I said with disdain. “She says I need to be more respectful to my elders, but I
don’t think you’re elderly enough to count. What do you think?” I’d become very good at thinking on my feet, thanks to having
to deal with Margarette on a daily basis. I could only hope she remained vain enough to take the bait this time.
I could tell she was vacillating between anger at me for challenging her and what she thought was a compliment in the form
of Miss Rita standing up for her. She would never find out from me that Miss Rita wholeheartedly disliked her. I’d learned long
ago that if I wanted to keep Miss Rita around, I needed to make her look like Margarette’s biggest ally at every opportunity.
“She’s right, of course,” Margarette finally said. Relief washed over me as I realized my lie had worked. “You need to be
respectful to your elders. And, you idiot, anyone older than you is an elder, regardless of their actual age. So, show some
respect.”
She shot a condescending smile at Miss Rita, then turned to leave. “Rita, I’m going to need the girls dressed by six. We’re
going to dinner at The Repertoire. I’m determined to secure an invitation to the Pearson’s Valentine’s Day Gala this year, and I
can’t get one if the right people don’t see me. Luckily, this year, they are donating the proceeds to orphaned children. The girls
should be dressed in proper clothes so the world can see how generous I am as their stepmother.”
I bit my tongue so hard, I nearly swallowed blood. Using the girls to her advantage, let alone to get invited to some frivolous
event just to rub shoulders with rich people, pissed me off. But, as usual, I let it go. I knew better than to stir the hornet’s nest.
I had bigger fish to fry with Margarette anyway. The only influence she had on the girls was a bad one and that worried me.
Lately, Olivia had begun talking down to Miss Rita, mimicking things I’d heard Margarette say. I’d nip that in the bud as soon
as Margarette left for another one of her month long trips without us. Thankfully, at eleven years old, Olivia still listened to her
older brother, though I needed to be mindful of exactly what I said, in case she blabbed about it to our stepmother.
Once Margarette disappeared back to her room, I helped Miss Rita straighten out the house. Her arthritis had begun to get
worse and she struggled with the pain, especially when the weather turned.
Seeing her holding her hands like she did when they hurt, I could tell today was a bad one for her. She never complained, but
I always made a point to pitch in to help however I could.
“I’ll take care of the girls’ rooms if you rinse off the breakfast dishes,” I said as I climbed the stairs. Miss Rita demanded all
three of us help with chores, but Margarette would get mad if she saw the girls were being made to do anything.
“Stop trying to turn my girls into servants,” she’d said to Miss Rita early on. Margarette never included me in her objections,
only the girls. In her mind—most likely because of the color of my skin, given she was a thinly veiled bigot—I was never going
to amount to anything other than a servant. Another mentality I’d been doing my damnedest to prevent the girls from developing.
With that in mind, I’d stepped in a while back and began tasking the girls with chores. Both had been annoyed by it and taken
to calling me Dominella whenever having to do any work. Sometimes their words hurt but I hoped it was just them pushing
back like kids do and not Margarette’s influence rubbing off on them. Either way, I balked at being compared to Cinderella,
though I wouldn’t exactly turn down a carriage ride if a handsome Prince Charming arrived at my door.
Chapter Two

Dillon

“L isten, if they gave awards for being the absolute worst at men, I’d win hands down!” I caught the attention of several
people in the crowd and smiled to myself. This line caught them every time.
“My dads have a game they play when I bring a guy over to meet them, it’s called, ‘how long will this one last?’”
The crowd chuckled, and I slipped off this topic and onto growing up with two dads for a bit before coming back to dating.
“Oh… shit… let me tell you, there was a guy I dated my sophomore year. Y’all he was Drop. Dead. Gorgeous! I am not
joking you! Oooh, baby he stood tall, dark, handsome… and you could drive nails with his head. I swear he was dumb as a box
of rocks…
“Oh my god, I tried to overlook it, I honestly did cause you know you got someone that looks as hot as all that, but damn…
“Maybe the worst part was he never laughed at my jokes.”
I waited for the usual heckler then and bam like clockwork, “Cause you ain’t funny…”
“Well at least I’m pretty!” I said immediately, causing the crowd to laugh.
“So, like this guy,” I said pointing at the heckler, “the only joke I told that he ever laughed at was about farting. Hell, I went
around pretending I was farting for like a month before I finally had enough and broke it off.
“However, If any of you know of where I can use my skill for making fart sounds,” I put my hand under my arm and did the
middle schooler underarm fart sound, “please let me know…”
The crowd was laughing now… so it was a good time to stop. I waved at them as I slipped off the stage.
Most of that was true, from the first guy who told me he liked me… which incidentally was my best friend in high school, a
massive football player I thought was joking me, to the dumb ass model in college, I sucked...
Clearly, I wasn’t going to be one of the lucky ones. “Not husband material,” I announced years ago at one of my first amateur
comedy routines.
The crowd didn’t get it, and of course, the dumb as a rock guy was sitting in the audience. No way was I going into too much
detail about husbands with him hanging on my every word. But I knew even then that he was going to be fodder for a huge
segment of my routine.
What I loved, if not lived for, was being on stage in front of an audience doing everything I could to make them laugh. In
other words, playing the idiot. At least I was good at that.
I had decided at the end of my freshman year that I didn’t want to finish college, but I wasn’t quite ready to make that
commitment out loud. My dads were everything to me and I really didn’t want to disappoint them.
So, I forced myself to endure another year of school. However, once the semester was over, I finally got the guts to sign up
for an audition at Denver’s Comedy Club. I was sweating profusely as I watched the three performers before me. Damn, I wish
I’d brought another shirt with me.
All three of them sucked. I mean, they really sucked. It was like sticking one of our oldest, driest politicians up on stage and
expecting them to make you laugh. When my name was finally called, I somehow managed to get on stage. I literally froze and
wondered if maybe I was going to end up sucking just as much. Idiot, what was I thinking?
“You okay, son?” a man I couldn’t see asked.
The spotlight was glaring in my face, and I had just enough wits about me to respond. “God no, I haven’t been okay my entire
life. In fact, I’m so not okay I just broke up with one of the hottest men I’ve ever met. Why, you ask? Why? Well, he was dumb
as a stump. I mean, I’m no Einstein, but jeez, I’m at least able to blink and chew gum at the same time. No, no, I’m not okay,” I
said, shaking my head sadly. “Did I mention he was hot as hell? Tall, dark skin, looked like a freaking model. Oh, and he
smelled like cake. How does someone even smell like cake? Is there a cologne I’m not aware of named Cake de toilet?”
He laughed. God help me, the man laughed and that’s all I needed. Maybe I’m not such an idiot after all, I thought.
 It worked! Dammit, it worked and I was put on the weekend schedule. I came home, hugged my dads and told them I was
performing at Denver’s Comedy Club.
Of course, it was all a setup on my part. I needed to wow them because once I did, I was going to drop the no more college
news on them.
Friday night came, and after hours of practice, with jokes about my dads making up ninety percent of my routine, I did it. I
made the whole audience laugh, including my dads.
Saturday morning, I sat across the breakfast table from them feeling confident and maybe a little smug. “So?” I asked.
Papa K laughed. “So what? You fishing for compliments again?” he asked.
“Well, yeah, last night I was too wound up to hear them.”
Dad reached over and put his big arm around me pulling me close. “You did us both proud and now we know you take more
after me, seeing how you performed like a…”
“Like a queen?” I interrupted making him laugh.
“Yes, dear one, like a glorious queen.”
Daddy Allen was indeed a drag queen and one who’d made a fantastic living at it despite the fact he was built like a college
linebacker. Or maybe, that’s why he made such a good living at it.
Papa K laughed again. “You take after me too, son. Did you know I once starred as Hamlet?”
Dad laughed. “How would anyone who’s spent five minutes with you not know that?”
Papa K pouted and dad went over to him, kissing his pouting lips. “But you were an amazing Hamlet, as I’ve told you many
times.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sorry, but no one is going to wonder where the gay kid with two flaming dads got his talent.”
“Hey now!” both dads said at once, and Papa K, still pouting, said, “We don’t flame!”
Then we were all laughing. They didn’t flame, not really. No one would know Daddy Allen was a drag queen, and Papa K
was all business. People who worked for him toed the line. But, I’d known them all my life, and I knew they were beautiful,
loving, gay men who never hid who or what they were.
“I have news,” I said suddenly feeling nervous.
The dads looked at one another and Daddy Allen sat back down. This was it.
“I’m not going back to school!” I blurted out, louder than I intended.
Before I knew it, dad smirked and Papa K let out a frustrated sigh.
“What?” I asked.
“Oh nothing, honey, it’s just Papa K now owes me a month of foot massages.”
I looked at them strangely when dad admitted they’d bet on how much longer I lasted in college before I decided to take the
comedy gig full time.
“What?” I asked again, frustrated my big dramatic unfolding had been ruined by them already knowing.
“Well, honey, you haven’t been making the most stellar grades,” Papa K said.
“Wait, I did okay,” I said wondering why the hell I was suddenly defending my grades.
“Okay, is right,” Dad said. “But you haven’t shown any passion for anything but those comedy sketches.”
“And it’s not like I didn’t see that same burn in your dad’s eyes when he started to perform.”
“So, what, you’re not upset?” I asked.
“Upset? No,” Papa K said. “Concerned? Yeah, a little. I mean, we all knew I’d struggle with this the most, but, sweetheart, if
you decide you hate comedy and want to do something else with your life, you can always go back to college.”
“What your Papa is trying to tell you is, he’s come to terms with it.”
I leaned back in my chair and sighed. Then I got suspicious. Could it really be this easy?
“Wait, did you two do anything to influence the club? Dad?” I asked, turning an alarmed look at my locally famous drag
queen father.
“No!” Daddy Allen said emphatically, putting up his hand. “We told you we wouldn’t do that again.”
I sighed, but a serious case of imposter syndrome had already kicked in. I’d wanted to be in the local community theater play
when I was eleven. I ended up getting a part way above my acting skill. One night this snooty girl about three years older than I
yelled that I sucked then told me if it wasn’t for my dads buying my way in, I wouldn’t have had a part at all.
I’d confronted my guilty parents and ended up quitting. They said they’d never do it again, but once bitten so many, many
more times shy.
“Okay,” I finally said. “So, as of now, I’m a college dropout.”
“Oh, but you aren’t just a college dropout, sweety,” Papa K said. I cocked my eyebrow and he chuckled. “Well, okay, you
are, but you’re also pursuing your dreams. That’s what we want for you, sweetheart.”
As both my dads hugged me and told me how proud they were, I couldn’t help but get the happy, warm feeling I always got
when they did this. I really was privileged. Not just with money but with two men who’d always loved me with all they had.
 ***

“Papa K, seriously, I don’t care about appearances. Stop with all the ‘You’re a Pearson’ stuff. If I’m going to make it as a
comedian, it’s probably better if I play it down.” I’d already decided that in no way would I intentionally use the Pearson name
to boost my career. I needed to do this on my own.
“Oh, you and your precious public persona. I swear, you’re worse than your mother.”
“Mother, is it?” Dad said as he walked into the kitchen. “Kalen Pearson, I’m more man than you could ever want, in or out of
a dress.”
Dad didn’t even try hiding a self-satisfied smirk and Papa K shook his head. “I’ve already lost this argument, haven’t I?”
“Yes,” Dad and I both said at the same time.
“Well, you know we have to continue to make a good impression if we’re going to continue being the top real estate firm in
this town. So, be funny all you want, Dillon, but keep that fact in mind.”
“Babe,” Dad said to Papa K. “Ninety percent of our clients are gay families. We’ve snagged most of them because I’m the
famous diva I am, so if our son wants to follow in my high-heeled footsteps with a life on the stage, we should consider
ourselves lucky. Maybe he’ll even help us expand our clientele.” Dad glanced at me with that mischievous twinkle in his eye
that conveyed he was gonna push it just a little further, and bent down to kiss Papa K sweetly on the cheek. “So, chill out.”
Dad let out a surprised yelp when Papa K tugged him onto his lap and went in for a lip-lock.
“Gross!” I grumbled like I always did when they got overly affectionate in front of me. “You guys are so mushy, it’s
embarrassing.” I fled the kitchen to the sound of laughter behind me. In truth, though, I loved seeing them so in love. Clearly,
even after all these years together, the fire between them still blazed bright.
My set at the club started at seven, which was too early a timeslot to draw a big crowd. Whereas the nine o’clock show was
primetime, my audience would mainly be older people who may or may not get my jokes.
I’d been performing at the club just over six months when I got tricked into the early spot by my then boyfriend. He was
fifteen years older, a more seasoned comedian, and talked me into taking some of his earlier shifts so I could gain experience
performing for different crowds. “Can’t make it big if you only have the skill to entertain young people,” he told me. “This will
help your career, believe me.” Being green and naïve, I did believe him. Big mistake.
Since the club owner didn’t have an issue with it, we officially switched timeslots and the man dumped me later that same
night. Now, I was stuck doing the early shows three times a week. Hard lesson learned, hopefully.
Still, I was lucky to have any spot at the well-attended club, as I often reminded myself. I rushed to get ready so I could head
over there early and watch the other comedians warm up. I ran out the door, remembering at the last minute to tell my dads I
was leaving.
I stumbled into the club just as Ashton Pipkin, the star of the early show, took the stage to rehearse his set. It was strange
coming into the club during the day with all the lights on and empty seats. Tables and chairs separated the bar from the stage,
though all had a good view, and I slumped down into a chair along the perimeter to watch and learn.
Ashton Pipkin was hilarious, even though I had to Google most of his nineteen eighties references that went right over my
head. The early crowd seemed to get his jokes, though. I knew I’d be lucky if I could get a third of the laughs he did, but I sure
wasn’t gonna let that put me off.
I listened to him for several minutes before he stopped abruptly. “Hey, kid. I didn’t give you permission to listen to my set.
What are you doing, trying to steal my material?”
I glanced around the room, not knowing who he was talking to. When I looked back to the stage, Ashton was standing with
his hands on his hips, staring directly at me. “Yeah, I’m talking to you. What’s your angle?”
“Sorry, sir,” I said, sitting up straighter in my seat. “I just wanted to listen to your set. I didn’t mean any harm by it.”
He put his hand up. “You shouldn’t be watching another performer rehearse without their permission. By now, you should
know that basic etiquette. So, I’m gonna ask you again. Are you trying to steal material from me?”
“No, of course not.” I tried to sound smooth even though his accusation took me by surprise. Inside, I was mortified. “I’m
still finding my feet performing for the older crowd and I wanted to get in the mood.” My lame justification sounded pathetic
even to my ears.
The older man cocked an eyebrow, not unlike my Papa K did when he suspected I was lying to him.
“In the mood, you say? Hey, barman,” he called out toward the bar. “Please come here a moment.”
The bartender must’ve finished shelving some more bottles first because it took a few moments before I heard him walking
toward us. “This kid is telling me he’s sitting in on my rehearsal so he can ‘get in the mood,’” Ashton said, using air quotes.
“Do you think that’s a load of garbage, or am I way off my game tonight?”
“Hmm, well, let’s see,” the man said in a sinfully deep voice that, honest to God, sent shivers down my spine.
I looked up and caught him scanning me up and down. I could feel my face growing warm from his intense perusal. When our
eyes met, the corners of his mouth turned up into a cheeky grin.
 “What’s the funniest thing you’ve ever said?” he asked me.
I sputtered, my mind going blank. He had the most piercing green eyes, accented by his rich dark skin tone, and his attention
never wavered from me. I’m not sure if it was his question or having a man this good-looking raking his gaze over my body, but
I was officially flustered.
When I didn’t answer, he asked, “Do you find Mr. Pipkin funny?” The man’s cheeky grin was still in place, now
accompanied by adorable as hell dimples. I’d always been a sucker for dimples. My mouth felt as dry as the Sahara and I
swallowed thickly.
“I, um… I don’t know,” I said stupidly, my entire body flashing hot.
“How do you not know? Haven’t you seen him perform before?” he asked.
“Y-yeah,” I stuttered, unsure where this was going.
“So, if you’ve seen him perform, did you think he was funny?”
I shrugged, feeling embarrassed but trying to play it cool. “I didn’t really get most of his jokes,” I admitted. When I chanced a
glance toward the stage, Ashton’s scowl signaled that he’d grown significantly more agitated. Dammit, I was clearly saying all
the wrong things and making a fool of myself in front of him and a seriously hot barman.
“Why didn’t you get his jokes?” the guy asked, sounding curious. I took a moment to gather my thoughts and regain control of
myself.
“I think I’m too young to understand the old pop culture references,” I replied honestly, feeling a little more confident now. If
they wanted my honest opinion, I’d give it.
The man looked up at Ashton and shrugged. “I think you’re safe. He doesn’t seem to be old enough to get your humor.” His
grin was now a full-on smile and I adored it.
Ashton was grinning now too. “And I suppose you do?”
The man shrugged. “Oh, I know quite a few old people who make me watch old TV shows. I would call them classics, but
I’m not that rude.”
Ashton snorted a laugh. “Old and classic, is it?” he asked, and I suddenly realized with great relief that the conversation was
no longer about me. “You know I can tell Miss Rita you called her old, and she’ll rip you a new one.”
“Miss Rita adores me,” the handsome man said with a laugh, then gave me a playful wink before he strolled back toward the
bar. I couldn’t help my eyes following him as he left. It wasn’t my fault they trailed down his backside and came to rest on his
very well-filled pair of pants.
“That may be,” Ashton called after him, “but if you call a prideful woman old, you might not be adored much longer.”
He shrugged but kept the huge smile on his face as he resumed his work behind the bar.
Ashton ignored me and went back to practicing his set. It looked like I’d been let off the hook.
I didn’t want to push my luck, though, and headed over to the bar. “So, you know Ashton?” I asked with all the bravado I
could muster. Which wasn’t a lot.
“He’s friends with my… well, a friend, I guess you’d say,” he said, his attention focused on stocking soda cans under the bar
top.
“Do you really understand all his references?”
The guy shrugged. “I guess. Most of them anyway.”
I took a deep breath. Might as well go for it, I thought. “Willing to tutor me on eighties pop culture?”
He laughed. “That’s a big ask, and I’m no expert. Generation X is complicated.”
“Tell me about it,” I said as I plopped down on a stool. “Both my dads are that generation.”
The guy stopped and finally looked at me. “Your dads are gay?”
“I mean, if they’re not, I have a whole lot of questions,” I joked, making him laugh again. I loved the sound. “But seriously,
yeah. I’m one of the lucky few who have two dads.”
The way his handsome face lit up with a smile at my comment caused my heart to skip a beat.
“Me too. I mean, I was.”
“Was? Did your dads break up or something?”
When his sweet smile morphed into a sad one, I regretted prying. “No, they were committed to each other until the end. Both
passed on, years ago.”
My heart sank. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like a jerk. Trust the idiot to ruin a good thing before it even began.
He shrugged again and went back to restocking drinks, but I was determined. I needed to seize every opportunity I could to
make it in this business and right now, that meant convincing this guy to help me out.
“I wasn’t joking about the tutoring thing. I’m stuck in the early time slot for the foreseeable future, and connecting with that
audience has been challenging. I need to learn more about the eighties and nineties if I’m going to survive.” I held my breath
waiting to see if he’d even heard me.
“Can’t you talk to your dads about their younger days? Glean some firsthand knowledge off them?” he asked, not even
glancing my way.
 I snorted, so not cool. “Hardly. My fathers are more classically inclined. I could make jokes about Phantom of the Opera all
night, but I have a feeling that wouldn’t make this crowd laugh.”
“Even so, if they grew up in the eighties and nineties, they probably know plenty about pop culture back then. My dads were
stuck on the likes of Madonna and Boy George. Believe me, few things are as mortifying as having your dads singing along to
‘Like a Virgin’ with the car windows down.”
I snickered but shrugged. He wasn’t going to get it. My dads were far from cool and, apparently, neither was I.
“Okay, well, thanks anyway,” I said, feeling totally defeated. It was time to get ready to rehearse my own set. I was
convinced it was going to be a disaster, but at least I’d be prepared for it.
I took the stage once Ashton vacated, and began going through my set without much enthusiasm. A few minutes into it, I
noticed I had an audience. Both the hot barman and Ashton were watching me. The two kept looking at one another and shaking
their heads. As if I needed further confirmation of how much I would bomb tonight.
I pressed on until I couldn’t stand it any longer and stopped mid-joke. “Seriously, you’re making this more difficult,” I said
to them, not even trying to hide my annoyance. “I’m sorry I disturbed your set, Ashton, but you don’t have to sit back there
making mine miserable.”
Ashton stood, hands up as he approached the stage. “Sorry, kid, but your material sucks. If you go on stage with that, you’ll
be covered in tomatoes before the night is done.”
“They don’t have tomatoes in here,” I said, not caring that I sounded petulant.
“Kid, they’ll go get tomatoes just to throw at you if you go on with that set. Now be honest with yourself, do you really think
what you’re saying up there is funny?”
“What?” I asked, a little shocked by his directness. I was beyond annoyed now and beginning to get angry.
“I saw you do the late show more than once, and you were funny as hell. What’s changed? Why do you suck so much today?”
he asked.
“I’m trying to adapt my material to the older crowd, relate to them more.” It came out sounding more like a whine than I
intended and I had to check I wasn’t pouting.
“Well, stop it right now,” he said. “Those so-called jokes don’t even make sense, and they sure as heck aren’t funny. Go back
to your old routine.”
I took me a second to figure out if Ashton was just being an ass or genuinely trying to offer advice. He stared at me
expectantly, so I figured on the latter.
“But they won’t get it.” Dammit, I truly was pouting now.
“Better they don’t get it than you standing up there spouting off stupid stuff that isn’t even remotely funny. Or worse,
pretending to be something you’re not.”
I sighed. “I hate Rodney,” I said under my breath, mentally cursing my ex.
“Oh, so that’s why you’re here,” the older man said, clearly stifling a laugh. “You let Rodney talk you into switching?”
I nodded while Ashton just about bust a gut laughing. Was I missing something?
“How’d he manage to do that?”
I shrugged, not wanting to admit I’d been conned.
“Oh, let me guess. You were dating, weren’t you? And being such a wonderful boyfriend, he suggested trading timeslots to
help you expand your audience?”
I nodded, blushing from the shame.
“Trust me, kid, you aren’t the first to fall for that. He dumped you right after you agreed, didn’t he?”
I nodded again. How did he know? Was he some kind of mind reader or had I really been played that badly?
“Figures. That’s how I fell into this time slot myself,” he said, looking both amused and disgusted. “Don’t worry, the owner
will kick him back into the seven o’clock slot soon enough. Rodney thinks he’s young and clever, but he bombs the later show
every time. In fact, if you want revenge, you should stay and watch his routine. It’s hilarious, but only because he’s painfully
bad.”
“You dated Rodney?” I asked, shocked at the revelation Ashton and I had dated—and been conned by—the same guy.
He looked at me funny. “Why do you look surprised. Kid, everyone in this town who dates men has dated Rodney. He isn’t
exactly picky.” I couldn’t figure out if that was an insult or not, so I let it pass. “I’ll even let you in on a little secret. Rodney
isn’t even his real name. He fancies himself after Rodney Dangerfield, as if.”
“Who’s that?” I asked, drawing a blank.
“Damn, way to make a man feel ancient, kid,” Ashton said on a sigh, running his hand over his face. “Yeah, you definitely
need to stick to your old material. Studying up on some of the greats of stand-up comedy wouldn’t hurt, though.”
I sighed. “I’m still kicking myself for falling for Rodney’s bullshit. If I had a dollar for every idiot I’ve dated, I’d be rich as a
king.”
Ashton smiled. “And there’s part of your routine. Tell on him. Tell the audience how you ended up talking to a bunch of
parents and grandparents because of him. I guarantee they’ll laugh at your plight. Just be careful not to name any names.”
 I chuckled when I realized he’d hit the nail on the head. “Okay, I have plenty to say about that whole situation.”
I was feeling a lot more confident as Ashton gave me a thumbs up and headed toward the back that let out into the parking lot.
I ran through my old jokes, fine-tuning some and pausing between punchlines as if the crowd had reacted. It wasn’t hard to
imagine. Then I began developing new material on the fly.
Stories about Rodney came pouring out and I talked about how I’d envisioned us being married someday, with me as the
stay-at-home husband and him as the sugar daddy. Except Rodney had a bank balance so small, it could only be seen using a
microscope, and I couldn’t clean house to save my life. I could talk for days on the subject.
I heard the barman laugh several times as I carried on, his laughter pulling more and more out of me.
Both of us burst out laughing when Rodney walked in to rehearse his set, and I jumped off the stage, leaving it to him.
“We’ve got some time before the early show kicks off,” I said, saddling up to the bar. “Wanna grab a quick dinner
somewhere?” My confidence was running unusually high.
The man smiled but shook his head. “Unfortunately, I’m still on the clock. I have to be back home by eight-thirty to babysit
my sisters, so I need to get all my hours in before it gets too late.”
I shrugged, not wanting to show my disappointment. “You have sisters?”
He smiled, and I could see how much he loved them just by the goofy look on his face.
“Yep, one’s eight, and the other is eleven.”
“Quite a bit younger then.”
He nodded, generously tolerating my attempts at small talk. “They are.”
Not letting my bruised pride detour me, I tried again with my proposal. “So, what about those eighties shows? I could come
hang out with you after my set. I’ll be done by eight.”
He looked at me for a moment, seeming torn. “Do you like The Princess Bride?” he asked.
“No idea. Is it any good? Fair warning, I’m not into Disney princess movies.”
He laughed hard. “It’s not that, I promise you, but it is my sisters’ favorite movie. It’ll also give you a solid foundation for
building up those pop culture references you were speaking about. So, if you don’t mind watching a gloriously camp film
alongside two preteen girls and their big brother, then it’s a date.”
My face split into a wide grin. Did he say date? “That sounds perfect,” I said as a happy, bubbly feeling bloomed in my
chest. Visions of spending an evening with the hunk, snuggled up on a couch with the lights dimmed as we watched a movie,
ran through my mind until he threw a bucket of cold water over my lustful imagination.
“You think that now, which I’m guessing means you’ve never been around preteen girls before, right?”
When I shook my head, he chuckled. “In that case, this could be a rather entertaining evening… at least for me,” he said.
My set didn’t earn the biggest laughs of the night, but I also didn’t get booed off the stage. Ashton had been right. When my
jokes fell flat, and I switched gears to tell the audience how I’d ended up in this time slot, they howled with laughter. At one
point, I caught sight of Rodney’s red face at the side of the stage, which made me go at him even more.
By the time my set wrapped, I knew I’d created an enemy in Rodney, but I’d also gotten my revenge. I was on a high and
nearly stood the bar guy up so I could watch Rodney bomb, but ultimately decided I’d rather hang out with the handsome man
I’d just met, even if I had no idea what to expect. Besides, I had several more weeks with the early crowd, and I needed to do
some serious research if I were going to pull this off. I was lucky tonight, having connected with the audience, but I needed to
build upon the Rodney set rather than rely on it for all the laughs.
As I walked toward the bar, Ashton intercepted me. “Better, but you need to get your ass in front of more audiences!”
The criticism stung, but I knew he was right. I needed more practice reading and relating to my audiences, no matter their
demographics. I expected that would come with time and experience, I just hoped it wouldn’t be too painful getting there.
Chapter Three

Dominic

I honestly had no idea why I trusted the guy. I didn’t want to admit it might be because he lit my libido up like a Christmas tree.
Tall, well-defined arms, slim body, and eyes that were mischievous but kind. More than anything, I think his eyes might’ve
been what got me.
I immediately regretted inviting him over, especially with the girls around, but then I figured if he gave me any trouble, I
could easily toss him out.
“Before I walk out of here with you, I need your full name and phone number,” I said, pulling my phone out of my back
pocket.
He chuckled and took my phone, typed in his contact information, and handed it back. “Dillon Pearson. This is your real
name, right?” I asked and he chuckled again.
“Yep, last I checked.”
I nodded and made no secret of texting the details to Miss Rita’s phone, telling her I was bringing a new friend home to
watch a movie with the girls. That way, she had enough time to do some research on him before we arrived.
“Fair’s fair, mystery barman,” Dillon said, grinning at me. “What’s your name? I don’t think I ever got it.”
I returned his smile. “Dominic Lawson. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Dominic,” he repeated, letting my name roll off his tongue. The sound sent a little shiver through me that I hoped he hadn’t
noticed. “Maybe I should get your number, too, just in case you’re a serial killer or something.”
It was my turn to chuckle. “I could say I wouldn’t hurt a fly, but then, I do own a fly swatter,” I said. “Seriously, though, if I
were a bad guy, you wouldn’t have had to go fishing for an invite to my place.”
His look of amusement at my obvious teasing convinced me to push my luck a bit further. “Besides, it’s not like the coast is
clear. You’ve still got to pass the Olivia and Alli challenge. Oh, and Miss Rita, she’ll have a lot of questions for you.” I
chuckled, knowing the poor guy didn’t stand a chance against the three females in my life.
Since my ancient Nissan needed maintenance, I’d taken the bus to work. I figured Dillon wouldn’t be very happy following
the bus, so I followed him to his car instead. “You get to drive me home,” I announced with more confidence than I usually felt,
and we climbed inside. I’d never been so forward with a man in my life, but then, I’d never felt an instant connection with
anyone like I did with this guy. Hopefully I wasn’t making a mistake bringing a stranger home.
I was relieved to see Margarette’s car missing from the driveway. She usually didn’t return home from fancy social functions
like the one she’d gone to this evening until the wee hours of morning. With any luck, tonight would be the same.
When we entered the house, Miss Rita was standing there with her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. Oh, this didn’t
look good.
“If it isn’t the great Dillon Pearson, all grown up,” she said, and the man stopped dead in his tracks, a look of shocked horror
crossing his face.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, turning a shade of red I’d only ever seen on a tomato.
“You know you won’t get special treatment in this house just because you’re a Pearson, right?”
How he could blush even deeper was a mystery of the human body. I had to admit, seeing him completely flustered made him
even cuter. I had no idea who Dillon Pearson was, but Miss Rita obviously did. Interesting.
“Well, I have a date, so I can’t stay and keep an eye on you, much as I’d like to. I trust my Dominic will keep you in line but I
won’t hesitate to call your fathers if anything untoward should happen, do you hear me?”
I looked at Miss Rita with my mouth open. I’d never seen her in full-on protective mode like this before. Was Dillon actually
a serial killer? A sick feeling began churning in my stomach.
“Miss Rita, is everything okay?” I asked after pulling her aside, out of earshot.
 She looked at me warily. “You just need to keep an eye on this one. He’s trouble,” she said as she slung her purse over her
shoulder. She gave one last disapproving look at Dillon, then walked out.
“What was that about?” I asked, turning to face him. “How do you know Miss Rita?”
Dillon’s deep blush was fading, but not his look of embarrassment mixed with concern. “We have a history, of sorts. Once
upon a time, she was my nanny.”
I let out a relieved laugh. Not a serial killer then. “Judging by what I just witnessed, I’m guessing your association didn’t end
well?”
He blushed again. “You are correct. I didn’t make her job easy by any stretch. I was sort of a difficult kid.”
“I see, and now? Are you still difficult?” I really wanted to know how this man who blushed so easily could ever be
considered difficult. If first impressions counted for anything, he seemed like a sweet guy.
“So I’ve been told,” he said, biting his lip and looking at me with those deep blue eyes. Was he teasing me or being sincere?
Either way, God, it was hot.
“That’s good to know. Just so you’re aware, Miss Rita is one hundred percent in charge of this house, so if you ever want to
be invited back, you’ll need to square up with her.”
Dillon nodded, but the look of concern never left his face. I totally need to get to the bottom of this, I thought, my curiosity
running rampant through my mind. But now wasn’t the time. We had a movie to watch.
I ushered Dillon into the kitchen, where I nuked a giant bag of popcorn—an absolute must on movie nights—and dumped it
into a bowl that he took to the living room. Then I hollered upstairs to the girls that if they wanted to see The Princess Bride
again, they had ten minutes until showtime.
Within seconds, the two came rushing down the stairs and straight into my arms for hugs. I nearly lost my balance as they
collided with me like a freight train. Alli was still small, but their combined weight hit me hard.
“You two are trying to break my back! Has gymnastics turned you into muscle machines or what?” I laughed as they squealed
with delight. Their excitement was infectious.
“For real, we can watch The Princess Bride with you, and you won’t complain?” Olivia asked, already pulling me toward
the living room.
“I will absolutely complain the entire time, but I’ve brought a friend with me, and he hasn’t seen it. So, no promises, but I’ll
try to rein in the sarcastic comments this once.”
Both girls looked at Dillon just as he emerged from the living room. Their expressions were wary, not unlike the look Miss
Rita had given him earlier. Dillon wasn’t the first guy I’d ever brought home, but he was the first to intrude on movie night with
the girls. I hadn’t given any thought about whether they’d like him or not, but now the first flutter of concern ran through my
stomach.
Olivia was the first to approach, her eleven years giving her the boldness only a middle schooler seemed to possess. I held
my breath, unsure how this would play out.
“So, you are Dominic’s friend, huh?” she asked, sizing Dillon up as she walked closer to him.
He simply nodded rather than risk the potential minefield of using actual words. Smart man.
“What do you do for a living?” she asked.
“I’m a comedian,” he replied, and she sighed. Dillon gave me an incredulous look and I shrugged, trying to hide my
amusement at my sister’s antics.
“Show business isn’t reliable. Do you have another job? A real one?”
I bit my tongue to keep from laughing. Olivia was giving him the third degree but I also saw a glint in her eye. The girl had
been watching way too many movies lately.
When Dillon visibly squirmed, I decided to give the poor guy a break. “Okay, little sister, that’s enough interrogating for one
night. We aren’t dating, so you don’t have to give him so much grief.”
Olivia harrumphed and all but stomped toward the living room, Alli following silently behind.
As first introductions went, that wasn’t so bad. Better than with Miss Rita anyway.
We all settled onto the oversized couch, with the girls to my left and Dillon on my right, and I grabbed the communal popcorn
bowl and hit play on the remote. When Dillon scooted closer to snag some popcorn, I felt his thigh press against mine and stay
there. His gaze remained fixed on the screen but out of the corner of my eye, I saw him biting back a smile when I pressed
back. That’s about all the physical flirting I’d dare in front of the girls, at least with a man not my boyfriend, but damned if that
tiny gesture didn’t send my pulse racing.
Friday nights were our movie nights, a tradition my fathers started when I was little that I’d been determined to carry on. The
girls went to bed by seven on school nights, and I didn’t usually get home from work until nine or later. The chance to stay up
so late on Fridays added something special to the event.
Margarette never understood or liked family movie night, so she tended to avoid them and us, which was a relief. It wouldn’t
be the same with the witch hovering over us on her broomstick. The image brought a smile back to my lips. We should watch
The Wizard of Oz in her honor next time. Not that I’d ever joke about such things with the girls, though. I was hyper-aware of
not letting my disdain for our stepmother influence their relationships with her, even when it felt nearly impossible sometimes.
Dillon laughed throughout the first part of the movie. He and the girls barely seemed to notice when I popped to the kitchen
for a popcorn refill. When I returned, both girls were flanking him on the couch, their eyes glued to the TV.
The sight of Dillon, a man I barely knew, being so kind to my sisters sent warmth flowing through me. Had we been
anywhere else, I would’ve leaned over the back of the couch to kiss him. Ignoring the impulse, I slid the refilled popcorn bowl
onto the coffee table in front of them and took a seat on the other side of Alli.
I became so intent on watching them, I completely forgot to tease the girls about the movie like usual. By the time the credits
rolled, Olivia and Alli were peppering Dillon with a million questions. It warmed my heart to see them so relaxed around him.
“Did you like it?” Olivia asked, apparently not having noticed how much he’d laughed throughout.
“Yes! Especially the part when the guy kept saying, ‘Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to
die.’”
All three of them repeated the famous line in unison, and I couldn’t resist rolling my eyes.
Alli, who normally remained quiet around strangers, began to act out the scene. She claimed the role of Inigo Montoya, while
Dillon played Rugen, the six-fingered man. As Alli pretended to stab Dillon, both fully in character now, she said, “I want my
father back, you son of…”
“Whoa, okay there, Inigo. That’s enough,” I interrupted before she uttered the curse word, and all three burst out laughing
again. “Show’s over. Time for bed.”
“Seriously? I’m eleven. I’m too old to be sent to bed like I’m still…” Olivia looked over at her sister and sneered when she
whispered, “eight.”
“Your bedtime is the same as it’s been for years. Goading your sister into an argument isn’t going to change that. Now,
you’ve both got five minutes to brush your teeth and change into pajamas if you want me to read the book.”
Both girls squealed and rushed upstairs, leaving Dillon staring at me in surprise.
“Big brother sure has their number. What’s the book?” he asked, following me to the kitchen with the empty popcorn bowl.
I smiled broadly. “You wouldn’t get it,” I replied.
He cocked an eyebrow, lightly placing his hand on my arm when we reached the sink, and said, “Try me.”
My breath hitched at the contact, but I quickly distracted myself with rinsing and drying out the popcorn bowl. “We’re
reading the Eragon series,” I said.
“For real, like the movie?”
“Yep, but there are a lot more books than there were movies,” I said while heading for the stairs. Please follow me, I
thought.
“And the girls like that?” he asked, sounding perplexed.
“Love it,” I said over my shoulder. “So, you coming?”
“Count me in. It’s not every day that a handsome man treats me to a funny retro movie and an epic bedtime story.”
The compliment made my heart skip as I quietly acknowledged this being the first time I’d liked or trusted a guy enough to let
him join me for the evening routine with my sisters. A time that I held sacred. I didn’t have time to analyze it, though, as we
hustled up the stairs. Olivia and Alli had little patience to wait long for their bedtime story, and I wasn’t about to risk letting
sisterly crabbiness ruin the best date I’d ever had.
Chapter Four

Dillon

I followed Dominic up the stairs, simultaneously admiring the view of his backside and thinking about the gentle touch we’d
shared in the kitchen. I hadn’t even meant anything by it, not really, but hearing his breath hitch the moment I placed my palm
on his arm sent a jolt of heat searing through me.
I pushed the visceral memory aside when we reached the top of the stairs, then watched as the girls made a wild dash from
the bathroom to their beds. I guessed the house had at least five bedrooms, but for some reason, the girls shared a room.
After they’d crawled into bed and settled down, Dominic sat in a chair and pointed to a second one for me to sit down. I
figured I must’ve passed whatever test he’d laid out for me, because he’d let me be a part of this bedtime ritual. Honestly, I felt
kind of privileged to be included.
Dominic opened the book to a bookmarked page and began reading. I was amazed at how he read the story like a proper
narrator, complete with different character voices. I’d initially thought it strange a girl Olivia’s age would be cool with her big
brother reading to her, but now I understood. Hearing Dominic’s rich, expressive voice breathe life into the story, I was
completely enthralled.
When he finished the chapter, he closed the book, got up, and kissed Alli’s forehead, then went over to Olivia, who held her
hand out like a princess. My heart melted a bit when her brother took it, bowed, and kissed it. Both girls giggled at him playing
along.
“I thought Dominic was the queen,” I blurted before I could stop myself. Good grief, me and my big mouth.
All three of them looked at me wide-eyed before the girls roared with laughter and Dominic gave me a withering look.
“That, buddy, just cost you any chance of your own good night kiss.”
That only made the girls laugh harder. “Aah,” I said, hoping he wouldn’t make good on his threat. Even if he did, the look of
delight on his sisters’ faces made it worth it.
Dominic shook his head as he walked past me, grabbing my elbow and pulling me out of the room, saying good night to the
girls as we went.
I was still smiling when we stopped at the top of the stairs. “You’re good with them,” I said.
He looked at me questioningly. “Good with them? I’ve never thought about it that way. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve worked
through plenty of temper tantrums over the years, but it’s not good or bad, it’s just… life.”
“I don’t have siblings, but even I know not all sibling relationships are that sweet.”
Dominic didn’t respond and as we reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned to me and sighed. “I’ve known them their
whole lives and I’ve been their big brother for most of it, but I’m more like their parent than a sibling. After our papa died, our
stepmother moved us out here, away from any remaining family. Not that I wanted the girls to be raised by my homophobic
grandparents,” he said, letting out an annoyed huff. “But I know Margarette’s motives were about control, the irony being that
she also wants very little to do with us. So, besides Miss Rita, who has been a godsend, there isn’t anyone to take care of the
girls but me.”
I nodded and fought the urge to wrap him into a hug. I had no solutions, no way of easing the stress or responsibility he felt in
basically raising two young girls, but I also got the message loud and clear. Dominic was telling me he was a package deal. I
wasn’t sure what I thought about that, but I did respect him for it.
“Enough about my family drama,” he said as we reentered the living room and plopped down on the couch, facing each other.
“Tell me, why does Miss Rita hate you?”
And there it was. The question that ruined all the warm, fuzzy feelings I’d been nurturing. “Oh, yeah, that,” I said. “It’s bad.”
He smiled wickedly. “That’s why you’re going to tell me.” Apparently, Dominic liked to watch me squirm.
I sighed deeply, knowing I wasn’t going to get away with saying nothing. “Well, when I was four, maybe five, my dad was
asked to perform in London. Obviously, a huge honor. Dad was gone for a month and during that time, my papa flew there and
back several times to see him. Not wanting to upset my routine, they hired Miss Rita to be my nanny.”
Dominic hadn’t stopped smiling, which meant he was enjoying this too much and I hadn’t even gotten to the cringy bit.
“Being so young, I don’t remember much other than once at the supermarket, I decided to run away from her. When I saw her
coming after me, I might’ve started screaming, ‘Stranger danger!’”
“Wow,” Dominic said, his eyes comically wide now. “What did she do?”
“Fortunately, after the store manager threatened to call the police, Miss Rita managed to get my dad on the phone. He
smoothed it all over, informing them I was indeed under her care while he was out of town. She was more than a little upset
with me.”
“Oh, I bet.” Dominic was laughing. “I’m totally going to give her grief over that.”
“Oh no, leave it alone! Miss Rita is obviously still upset about it, no need to throw gasoline on the fire.” I was mortified
enough at telling him the story. I didn’t need to give further cause for his beloved nanny to hate me.
“I can’t imagine a five-year-old being brave enough to do that. How old are you now?” I caught the humor in his voice.
I hung my head in embarrassment, and I could feel myself blushing all the way to the tips of my ears. “I’m twenty-two.”
“Only a year older than me. Clearly, you made a lasting impression on Miss Rita. Even after all these years, she remembers
you plain as day.”
“I still don’t know what got into me,” I said, trying to justify the actions of my five-year-old self. “I remember feeling angry
and confused about both my dads leaving, but Miss Rita was always so nice to me. I must have figured she was the reason they
were gone, and if I could get her to leave, maybe they’d come back.”
Dominic didn’t buy the weak justification either and shook his head. “What did your dads say when they got home?”
“I have no idea. I just know that after the supermarket incident, she never took me out in public again, and when both my dads
returned home a few days later, she left and never came back.”
“Oh, man, that’s too much,” Dominic said. “It’s a wonder she didn’t quit being a nanny altogether after that.”
He continued teasing me about what had to be my most embarrassing childhood memory as we lounged comfortably on the
couch, our knees occasionally brushing. After he’d stopped laughing, he locked eyes with me and smiled.
“You’re cute as hell when you blush, did you know that?” he asked, which of course just made me blush harder. “I look
forward to seeing what shade of red you turn when you make amends with Miss Rita.”
I smiled despite myself, the idiot in me resurfacing. “Cute, huh? Does that mean I’ll be getting a good night kiss after all?” I
asked. Although my nerves were dancing like a bunch of ballerinas inside me, I managed to sound flirty.
Dominic looked at my lips, then back up into my eyes. “Well, you make an intriguing argument.”
He leaned toward me, and just as our lips were about to connect, I heard giggling, then a girl’s voice whispering loudly,
“They’re gonna kiss!”
Dominic’s face fell and sunk back on the couch. “Sorry,” he mouthed to me. Then he turned and yelled, “I know two young
ladies who are not going to make it to their first year of high school unless they hightail it back to bed right now!”
I caught a flash of movement near the banister before hearing the girls thunder up the stairs, squealing the entire way. I
wondered how they’d managed to sneak downstairs without us noticing.
“I’m sorry, Dillon,” Dominic said as he stood and extended a hand to pull me up off the couch. “We need to call it a night.
Text me, though. Maybe we can go out sometime. Like after those two have turned eighteen.”
I smiled. I knew the moment we’d been interrupted that he’d kick me out. As disappointed as I was to miss out on our first
kiss, I was surprised to realize getting the boot didn’t bother me. Dominic was only twenty-one, but he was in every way a
family man, and I didn’t want to interfere with that.
When we reached the front door, I asked, “Wanna meet me for dinner sometime? Maybe before my next set at the club?”
He shrugged. “It all depends on whether I can get away or not. I’ll let you know.”
Within seconds, I was out the door and sitting alone in my car. I couldn’t stop replaying the evening’s events in my head on
the drive home. Despite its abrupt end, it really had been an unexpectedly fantastic night.
Dominic was… God, he was so sexy and I found his protective family man vibe beyond hot. I took a deep breath and let it
out slowly, thinking about what that really meant. He was my dream guy, and he was also really tied down.
“I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility,” I admitted to myself in a whisper. The idea of being a father, or even just a
father figure, at this point in my life had me breaking out in a cold sweat. Hell, I’d never even looked after a pet, let alone two
impressionable little human beings.
Then I took another deep breath and let it out on a sigh. I was lying to myself. I’d always wanted kids, a family like my own.
Not anytime soon but then again, watching an amazing man about my age take care of his sisters made my heart feel all sorts of
funny things.
If I wasn’t careful, it would take less than a minute to fall head over heels for Dominic and his sweet sisters. Was I ready to
open up my heart like that and risk having it stomped on? I sucked at relationships. My ex Rodney was proof enough of that.
Then I realized I was being ridiculous.
 “I haven’t even kissed the man yet!” I said aloud, chuckling. Here I was practically envisioning wedding bells and parent-
teacher conferences with Dominic, and we’d only just met. “First things first. Date number two.”
Chapter Five

Dominic

A s soon as I shut the door on Dillon, I started up the stairs and yelled, “You two are in so much trouble!”
Of course, I only got giggles in response. Both girls were pretending to snore when I entered their bedroom.
“So,” I said in my best Miss Rita voice, “what have you got to say for yourselves?” When they continued to ignore me, I
plopped down on the reading chair and waited.
Alli peeked an eye open first, then turned to me and asked, “Do you really like him?”
I shrugged. “Don’t really know, to be honest. I haven’t known him long.”
“But you were gonna kiss him,” Olivia accused, finally dropping the sleeping ruse and sitting up.
“Yeah, I was. Why, do you disapprove?” I asked, not really wanting to have this conversation with my little sisters.
Olivia plopped onto her back and put her hands behind her head. “It’s not that I disapprove, it’s just we don’t know much
about him.”
I nodded, once again silently questioning my judgment in having invited Dillon over at all. I really hadn’t expected anything
to happen—or almost happen—between us tonight. Olivia’s perceptiveness left me feeling wary.
“You know that anyone you date has to be approved by us,” she continued, squaring me with her eyes, “So, we gotta learn
more about them before you get serious if you want our approval.
“I tweaked her nose, and asked, “…and missy why do you think I need your approval? I asked smiling. You know I don’t, but
there’s nothing to worry about. I just met Dillon. We’re not serious, not yet anyway,” I said, fighting a smile.
She sat up, worry etched on her face. “Now you’re twenty-one, you’re going to move out soon and when you do, Miss Rita
will leave too. Then we’ll be here all alone.” Her voice trembled a little, and there it was. The real reason behind their
inquisition. After all the loss they’d experienced in their young lives, now the girls were afraid of losing me.
I swallowed thickly and leaned back in the chair. There was no need to pretend Margarette would be there for them. She
wasn’t exactly the motherly type.
“Neither Miss Rita nor I will leave you girls,” I said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. “I’m here for you, as is she.
Never doubt that.”
“But you can’t promise you always will be,” Alli said.
“Why can’t I?” I asked, surprised Alli would chime in on this type of conversation.
“Because you don’t know what’s gonna happen,” she said, her eyes starting to glisten. “Just like with your dads and our
parents, anything could happen.”
I let out a heavy breath, holding back my own tears that threatened to spill at her statement. The girls rarely asked about their
parents. Sometimes I wished they would, but more often than not, I was grateful they didn’t because I knew the pain it would
bring. They’d been so young when their parents’ car had been hit by a truck going the wrong way down the interstate. My dads
had been babysitting the girls the night it happened.
“It’s true we can’t predict the future, but you also can’t spend all your time worrying about it. When people love you, like
your family,” I said, pointing to Olivia, then to myself, “then you hold onto that. You also have Miss Rita, who is strict but
that’s because she cares about us. She won’t disappear either.”
“’Cause she’s like family,” Alli said, more as a statement than a question. Then her face fell again. “But what if you get a job
somewhere else, or you get married and he wants to take you away from us?”
“Somebody has been watching too many Disney fairy tales,” I said, chuckling at the idea of some prince wanting to whisk me
anywhere. “Besides, my major is in business administration and there’s plenty of businesses in Denver. When I graduate, I plan
to get a job close to here.”
That seemed to mollify Alli, who visibly relaxed and leaned back on her pillow. Olivia’s mouth remained set in a thin line,
though, which told me she hadn’t bought it.
“Okay, spit it out, what’s got you all tore up?” I asked.
“Missy’s dad got a job in Seattle, so he’s leaving her and her mom,” Olivia blurted. “He is in business too.”
I had to nip this in the bud before their concerns got any worse. I took a deep breath and moved to sit on the bed next to her.
“Sweetie, we don’t know the full story of why your friend’s dad is moving, and it’s none of our business anyway. What I do
know is when I look for a job, it will be here. I would miss my annoying little sisters too much to go anywhere else.”
I was relieved when Alli giggled and Olivia stuck her tongue out at me. I’d managed to appease them, for now anyway.
I told them goodnight and was about to close the door when Olivia said quietly, “I love you, Dominic.”
I paused in the doorway and smiled. “I love both of you with all my heart,” I said, just like I used to in the years before
Olivia announced I was smothering her.
She smiled this time, though, then closed her eyes.
I quietly shut the door, then leaned back against the wall and replayed the evening’s events in my mind. Had I dodged a bullet
or lost a chance with Dillon? My dating life had always come in second, if at all, on my list of priorities. The girls were my
main responsibility and came first, period.
Still, I couldn’t deny the man was cute, funny, and left my stomach feeling fluttery. A paternal instinct I’d developed since
caring for my sisters told me he was special too. Kind in a way that was baked into him, rather than it being for show or the
sake of getting into my pants. That alone made Dillon unlike any guy I’d gone out with before.
I took a deep breath and, shaking my head, pushed myself off the wall.
I started down the stairs and came face to face with the last person I wanted to see.
“You’ve made a mess in here,” Margarette said derisively, gesturing toward the living room. “I do hope you plan to clean it
up before morning.”
I ignored her as usual and proceeded toward the kitchen.
Unfortunately, Margarette didn’t do her usual spin and leave in a huff. Instead, she followed me, clearly spoiling for a fight.
I’d learned a long time ago it was best to let her blow rather than talk back, and eventually the fireworks would fizzle out.
This time, however, she shoved me from behind, knocking me into the wall.
I turned around and rose up to my full height with my hands in the air. “Margarette, if you lay your hands on me again, I will
call the police.”
When she laughed and swayed on her feet, I realized she was drunk. “They’ll just haul you off! No one would believe your
word over mine.”
“If you touch me again, we’ll find out,” I said without flinching. Only after I put my back to her to gather the bowls on the
counter did I discretely fish my phone out of my pocket and hit the record button. Knowing Margarette traveled in influential
circles, I had to hedge my bets where I could.
I struggled to maintain my composure and felt her gaze bore into me as I began shoving the bowls in the dishwasher harder
than necessary.
“You think just because you turned twenty-one, you can stand up to me and take all my money. Well, you’re wrong. I’ve still
got your sisters to raise, so that money is mine.”
I flashed hot, angry that she would bring up my sisters, let alone imply she was the person raising them. We all knew
Margarette was only here to bleed as much of our money as she could, but I didn’t know what to make of this line of
conversation. She’d never talked about the trust funds so directly, not even when she stopped receiving stipends from mine
upon my last birthday.
I raised a questioning eyebrow at her, curious to see where her illogical, drunken thinking was headed.
“Don’t act like you haven’t been going behind my back, talking to that traitorous piece of trash attorney and plotting against
me. Like you’ll be able to survive without me anyway,” she spat out.
Where had all this come from? The mad glint in her eyes was starting to scare me but I refused to show any emotion other
than annoyance. “You aren’t making any sense, Margarette,” I said calmly. “I haven’t spoken to anyone about my trust fund, not
since…”
I paused, then let it drop, knowing nothing would send her into a rage faster than mentioning my fathers. Instinctively, I knew
if she figured out Dad had explained my trust fund to me after Papa died, this conversation would turn into an event involving
cops and maybe even paramedics.
She stared at me, her alcohol-soaked brain clearly trying to decide which part of that statement to attack first.
“It’s my money,” she finally said. “I earned it by taking you three brats on, and I’m going to fight you for what’s rightfully
mine.”
She stuck her nose in the air and closed her eyes, apparently in an effort to look regal, then turned on her heel and walked
straight into the kitchen table. She snapped her head around to see if I had noticed. I knew better than to react, so I’d already
refocused my attention on starting the dishwasher, even though I was dying of laughter inside.
She righted herself without a word and left the kitchen, presumably heading to her bedroom. As uncomfortable as it’d made
me, I was glad the confrontation hadn’t spun out of control. I’d half expected her to carry on shouting and screaming until she
woke the girls, which would have made me seriously mad, but lady luck must’ve been smiling on me tonight.
Calming myself down, I stopped the audio recording on my phone, then finished cleaning the kitchen and living room. Not
because of Margarette’s orders but because I didn’t want Miss Rita to come in the next day to a mess. With everything set to
rights, I locked the doors, turned out all the lights, and went up to my room.
I’d learned long ago never to use a home computer for anything I didn’t want Margarette to see. She she’d once seized my
laptop under the flimsy excuse of it needing maintenance, so I now only used my phone for such things. Flopping onto my bed, I
signed into my account at the bank and checked the information about my trust.
Margarette had thrown ice on a hot flame with her declaration about going after my trust fund. Could she actually fight me for
it? That possibility, however remote, worried me. I needed to know how secure my money was at this point.
Before Dad married Margarette, he’d given me access to his accounts. I think somewhere deep down, he knew after Papa
died that he might not be long for this world either. Luckily, Margarette never knew I had access because even as a teenager,
I’d trusted my gut and kept it a secret from her.
I pulled up the trust details and searched to find the stipulations. I’d read them several times after Dad died, not really
understanding it all other than that when I turned twenty-one, the money was mine to do with as I chose. Still, the legal aspects
of it were confusing.
I read them this time with much clearer eyes. When I’d finished, I sat back and sighed with relief. “It looks pretty ironclad to
me,” I said, as if saying the words aloud offered more reassurance. Then I pulled up the contact details for the attorney who’d
handled my father’s accounts.
If Margarette was planning to war with me on this, I had to make haste to bolster up my defenses. So, I sent the attorney an
email, requesting a meeting with him as soon as possible.
Having done all I could do tonight, I rolled over and stared at the wall. What would happen if things got really nasty between
me and Margarette? Would she kick me out? Deny me access to seeing and caring for the girls? As their legal guardian, she
could. And if she somehow retained control over my trust fund…
I shook my head, snapping my mind out this trainwreck route to worry and despair. I needed to maintain a clear head and
wait until I heard back from the attorney before I went staring down worst-case scenarios.
I set my phone on the nightstand and turned out the lamp. It was earlier than I usually went to bed, but I felt drained. Even so,
I tossed and turned, my concern and anger ramping up as my mind latched onto Margarette’s threat.
Trying to redirect my thoughts to something positive, like how well the girls were doing in school and how happy they
generally seemed, did nothing to derail my thoughts… not until Dillon entered my mind’s eye. So much had transpired in the
handful of hours since he’d left that it felt like our first date had taken place ages ago. That didn’t stop warmth from spreading
through me at the memory, though. His reenacting The Princess Bride with the girls. Patiently listening to me read them a
bedtime story. Leaning in to kiss me on the couch.
Dillon was exactly my type. Tall, fit but not overly muscular, with strong arms to wrap around me, and deep blue eyes I
could get lost in. Sort of geeky, with a lot of spunk laced with a touch of arrogance. His being naturally funny was incredibly
attractive too. My life had been nothing but serious, often too serious, to be honest. Having a partner who made me laugh would
be a blessing.
I sighed. “Wrong place, wrong time,” I said quietly, my overthinking brain reminding me I just wasn’t ready for a
relationship. Certainly not with a man as confident and self-assured as Dillon, either. I had my hands full raising the girls and
dealing with our entitled evil queen of a stepmother.
Despite that, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander to what his kiss would’ve felt like. Would he have kept it sweet or gone
deeper, stroking my tongue with his? Would he have gently cradled the back of my head in his hands, or snaked his strong arms
around me in a possessive hold? My breath caught just thinking about the possibilities.
At some point, I fell asleep and dreamed of the sexy comedian and his warm, sensual kisses.

***

The next morning, I woke up before my alarm and stumbled down to the kitchen to turn the coffee pot on and prepare breakfast
for the girls. I usually only had time to pour them cereal, but since I’d woken up early, I thought pancakes were in order. I was
in an unusually cheerful mood, which I solely credited my night of lustful dreams.
I’d just flipped the last of the pancakes when Olivia and Alli wandered in and sat at the kitchen island, staring at me
quizzically.
“You two look like you slept hard last night,” I told them, chuckling at the nest of tangles in their hair.
Olivia gazed hungrily at the pan, and Alli laid her head on the island.
I stacked a couple of pancakes onto a plate and handed it to Olivia, then did the same thing for Alli. I pushed the syrup over
to them, then made myself a plate as well.
 After they finished eating, I sent them upstairs to get ready for the day and was unloading the dishwasher from last night when
Miss Rita arrived.
“You’re up and at ’em early this morning. What, the date didn’t go so well?”
Oh hell, I’d forgotten I’d have to update Miss Rita on my date. I glanced around to make sure my hungover stepmother wasn’t
lurking. Thankfully, Margarette was nowhere to be seen.
“It went okay. Made a new Princess Bride fan out of him, but the girls got all nosy when they should’ve been in bed so he
went home early.”
Miss Rita smiled and, much to my relief, dropped the subject. We didn’t usually talk about guys, not when Margarette was
home. If my stepmother knew I’d brought a guy over, she’d throw a fit. I’d brought guys over before when she’d been here, and
Margarette had never made a scene in front of them, but she’d still been collecting on my trust back then. With things so
uncertain now, I didn’t want to give her any extra motivation for throwing me out.
I finished cleaning up, then kissed Miss Rita on the cheek. “I’ll go check on the girls and send them down, if you don’t mind
taking over from there?” I asked, and she nodded. “I’m going to hit the university library for a few hours to study before my
Saturday class begins.”
“Sounds smart,” Miss Rita said as she disappeared toward the laundry room.
She was acting funny this morning. Too bad I didn’t have time to chase down why.
I ran up the stairs and found the girls fighting in front of the vanity in their room. Alli was trying to untangle Olivia’s hair, and
her big sister was throwing a fit.
“Hey, hey,” I said. “Let me try. Alli, go brush your teeth, and I’ll help fix your hair when I’m done with Olivia’s.”
I’d become pretty deft with a comb and hair ties, and had Olivia’s hair sorted by the time Alli came back for her turn on the
stool. “I think I’d like shorter hair,” she said, surprising me.
“Really? When did you decide that?”
“I don’t know, it just seems like a lot of work. It’s not like I’m ever going to be a model or anything.”
I swiveled her stool around and kneeled so we were face to face. “Why do you say that?” I asked. She looked down at her
lap, hands fidgeting. “Alli, talk to me, please.”
“Margarette said I had to do well in school because I’m the…” She hesitated for a moment, looking around to make sure
Olivia wasn’t in the room, then sniffled. “She said I’m the ugly sister.”
I saw red. I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat and forced myself to calm down by taking a couple breaths. “You listen
to me. You are a beautiful person, inside and out. If somebody can’t see that, including our stepmother, it’s their loss.”
When she looked skeptical, I added, “Hey, I’m your big brother. Other than trying to convince you that broccoli tastes good,
have I ever lied to you?” That earned me a small smile. “Besides, I know all about true beauty and overall fabulousness. I’m a
gay guy, remember?”
That made her chuckle. We’d watched Queer Eye a couple times together, and since then, Alli and Olivia had believed the
stereotype that all gay men knew about fashion and style. Except they tended to tease me that I somehow missed out on that
innate skill. Considering how much I didn’t give a shit about either of those things, they were probably right.
Our little chat seemed to mollify Alli, who proceeded to fill me in on the latest school-related gossip. After combing her hair
out and tying it into her typical ponytail, she and Olivia darted downstairs.
I rushed through my shower and got dressed, hoping not to run into Margarette. Even though I planned on confronting her
about what Alli had said, I’d be better off doing it when I wasn’t still angry.
When I came down the stairs, about to head out the door, the dragon called out to me.
“You better think about what I said last night,” she said from around the corner.
I looked into the living room and seeing the girls occupied with Saturday morning cartoons, I spoke low enough that only
Margarette could hear me. “I will think about what you said, but you need to think about something too. If you ever tell one of
the girls they are ugly again, or make them feel bad about themselves in any way, I will bring the fight to you.” Heat was
radiating off me, and I knew there was no way I’d back down now.
“How dare you—” I put my hand up to stop her.
“No, how dare you. I’ve ignored the verbal and racial abuse you’ve thrown at me all these years, but I won’t tolerate you
tearing down the self-esteem of those girls. If I hear of it again, as God is my witness, Margarette, I will contact an attorney,
and you will face the consequences.”
She was staring at me like I’d grown a third head. We’d had a few raging arguments when she’d first got custody of us, but
since then, I’d mostly just ignored her. Bitten my tongue and swallowed my blood, as it were, but no longer. Not when my
sisters were the focus of her scorn and derision.
With Margarette apparently stunned into silence by my challenge, I walked slowly toward the door. I was ready for a fight
but she didn’t take the bait. I left the house and headed toward my clunker of a car.
I pulled into the university library’s parking lot when my phone rang with a call from the attorney I’d emailed the night
before.
 “Dominic, how are you, son?” he asked. “It’s been a while.”
“I’m good, sir,” I answered. “Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.”
“I’ve been meaning to contact you, so your timing is fortuitous. I’m working in the office this morning and have some time for
a meeting, if you’re available.”
“Sure. I just arrived at school but I’ve got a couple hours before my class starts. I could come by now.”
“Perfect, I’ll see you in a few.”
When I arrived at his office, which was an old warehouse converted to numerous loft-style offices, I was immediately
escorted back to meet him.
Mr. Langdon was a well-built, older man with tan skin and slightly graying hair. He’d always been personable and friendly.
“Dominic, thanks for coming in on such short notice. I’ve got several things for you to sign, but you already know that.”
That brought me up short and I looked at him strangely. “Why would I know that?”
“Oh, I saw your stepmother last night at the restaurant and asked her to send you by. You need to sign some documents now
that the guardianship over your trust has ended. I assumed that’s why you emailed my office for an appointment. I just can’t
believe you’re twenty-one. Time flies.”
Suddenly, last night’s tirade made sense. Margarette felt threatened knowing I’d soon take control of my trust, her iron grip
on me slipping in the process.
I took a seat across from the attorney and decided to get down to business.
“Mr. Langdon, I have questions about the trust. I need to make sure I understand it all before I sign anything. Do you mind if I
just dive in?”
He smiled at me warmly. “I’m sure you do. By all means, ask away.”
“Since I turned twenty-one, the trust is in my name only, correct?”
“That’s correct,” he said.
“Does Margarette have any control over it now? Or can she lay claim to the money in any way?”
Mr. Langdon looked at me oddly but shook his head. “No, of course not. The trust legally transferred to you, in its entirety, on
your twenty-first birthday. That’s how your fathers set it up from the start.”
“What about my younger sisters? Do they have any interest in the trust?” I asked.
He shook his head again. “No, it was never contingent upon the girls. I think your fathers considered the money your sisters
inherited from their parents would cover the cost of their care growing up, as well as any postsecondary education.”
I sighed in relief but still felt on edge. “Margarette told me last night she could fight me on it, that the trust money was
rightfully hers. Is there any truth to that?”
Mr. Langdon looked a little sheepish. “No, but it does make sense why she was asking me all those questions yesterday.” He
blew out a breath, looking thoughtful. “Your stepmother has no legal basis whatsoever to take anything from you. In fact, the
house, the cars, and nearly everything of value in the home was purchased through your trust and placed in the trust’s name, and
we have the documentation to prove it. Now you’re twenty-one, you own all of it. Margarette has no claims over anything. It’s
all yours, son.”
I sat there just staring at him, almost not believing my own ears. All mine? Surely there was a loophole somewhere? “Just so
I’m fully understanding this, you mean Margarette doesn’t get alimony or anything like that?”
That caused the older man to laugh. “Not unless you married her.” He laughed again when my face twisted in disgust. “No,
son, she has no legal claim to even a penny of your trust money. Technically, she never did except, as your guardian, she could
decide how to spend the monthly stipend so long as she documented it had been used directly for your wellbeing. Like buying
the house.”
“Or like buying her cruises?” I asked sarcastically.
“Since you went with her, yes.”
“No, I never went with her. She either goes alone or takes so-called friends.”
The man’s face registered alarm. “You didn’t take those trips with her? She bought tickets for you and the girls every time.
We’ve got the receipts.”
I shook my head. “Not a single trip. She calls the cruises her getaway trips, meaning she gets away from us three brats. Not
that I’m complaining. Our happiest times as a family are when Margarette is gone for weeks on end.”
“Well, that vixen,” he said. “That might be a problem for her. The courts don’t look kindly on someone who intentionally
defrauds a minor’s trust. I will have to report this, as it’s a potential felony.”
“No, I don’t want anyone to go after her. As much as I loathe Margarette, I don’t believe her to be a criminal, not
intentionally. I also don’t want to jeopardize my sisters’ wellbeing while they’re still under her guardianship,” I said. “But I do
want to ensure she can’t take anything away from me, and that the girls are provided for through my trust in the event something
happens to me.”
“Yes, that’s easy to do,” he said. “We can set it up to work the same for them as it did for you.”
“But, Mr. Langdon, it must be contingent that Margarette has no access to it. In fact, in the event something happens to me, I
want Miss Rita to be trustee until the girls come of age. Only Miss Rita. Can you do that?”
He nodded. “It’s tricky, since Margarette is their legal guardian. But you can make the stipend contingent on Miss Rita
continuing to work in the capacity of caregiver and that she controls where and how the money is spent.”
“That’s perfect,” I said, silently questioning if I was overlooking anything.
“You know, it’s unlikely these contingencies will ever be needed,” he said. “You’re a young man, Dominic, and a hell of a
one at that, from everything I’ve heard today.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that, and I know the likelihood seems slim,” I replied. “But my dads were young when they
passed, as were the girls’ parents. Life is too unpredictable to leave this to chance. I need to do whatever I can to help my
sisters after I’m gone, be it through financial security or by ensuring Miss Rita remains a positive influence in their lives.”
He nodded and said he’d send the new documentation over email for me to sign electronically.
Meanwhile, I signed an entire ream of paperwork that officially gave me sole control over my trust. I agreed the monthly
stipend that’d gone to Margarette would start going into my checking account instead of hers.
“I do have another question. Now that I have control of the trust, is Miss Rita officially my employee? And if I want to kick
Margarette out, can I?”
He chuckled. “Not as easy as that. The house itself is legally yours to do with as you please, but Miss Rita is officially
employed by Margarette. Yes, she works as a housekeeper of sorts, but her primary duties are as a caregiver. That said, since
your stepmother will no longer receive stipends from your trust, she likely won’t be able to afford Miss Rita’s salary anyway.
So, you could hire her as the girls’ nanny yourself, provided Margarette approves.”
He must’ve noticed my look of confusion because his tone grew more serious. “There’s a crucial factor you seem to be
overlooking here. Although you are no longer under your stepmother’s thumb, Margarette remains the girls’ sole guardian. She
has the same legal authority over them as a birth parent would. If you make her angry, or throw her out of the house, she could
leave with the girls and prevent you from seeing them again until they reach adulthood. I’m not saying you can’t take her to
court if she does, but custody battles are funny things. You never know which way they’ll go.”
I nodded, thinking about how to possibly manage that. “Margarette is greedy, that’s no secret. She hasn’t had to lift a finger
for years because the trusts have kept her financially secure. What was her monthly stipend? The combined amount from both
trusts she was given to care for us?”
The attorney smiled knowingly, then barked out a laugh upon reviewing the documentation. “She reported only using a
hundred dollars per week for her personal expenses. You all seemed well provided for, so we never questioned it. Based on
what you’ve said, though, I’m guessing the reality is about four times that amount.”
I nodded again. “If not more, but thank you. That’s all I needed to know. I’m sure that’ll be enough to keep Margarette at
arm’s length. Besides, since she’s such an amazing stepmother to us brats, I’m thinking I’ll send her on that cruise this year after
all.”
Mr. Langdon shook my hand escorted me out of the building, telling me he was here for me if I needed anything and assured
we’d get the trust updates regarding the girls sorted out asap.
As I drove back to the university in my car that’d already been on its last legs when I bought it two years ago, an idea I’d
never considered before hit me. When class ended, instead of rushing home, I made a detour to the car dealership where my
buddy and classmate Wayne worked.
My hand shook a little upon being handed the keys to my brand new car just two short hours later. Aside from genuinely
needing a reliable vehicle, the first new thing I’d ever bought for myself would also serve as a powerful message to my
stepmother that I wasn’t her underling to be stomped on any longer.
Chapter Six

Dillon

A fter a memorable first date, I spent that night dreaming about Dominic. Well, to be more precise, him and his meddling little
sisters. We were on the set of The Princess Bride, and every time I tried to kiss the man, the giggling girls would pop up
and drive us apart. Needless to say, I woke up frustrated and a little less fond of Olivia and Alli than when I’d closed my eyes.
Although, even I had to admit, they still seemed like pretty sweet kids.
When I stumbled into the kitchen, Papa K was just about to scoop eggs onto a plate. I went over and gave him my typical
good morning hug, then collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table. “I need lots and lots of coffee,” I said with a sigh.
He cocked an eyebrow at me and reached for the coffee pot. “Long night?”
I shrugged as he handed me a piping hot cup and I took a grateful sip. “Long, yes, but not in a good way. I met this handsome
guy at the comedy club and managed to go home with him, only to have the evening completely controlled by two young girls.”
It felt good to get my frustration out in the open.
Dad heard most of my wining as he entered the kitchen, and I got chuckles in stereo as both my fathers laughed at me.
“That wasn’t so bad, actually. Honestly, I was having a great time, right up until they cockblocked me and their brother from
sharing a good night kiss. The worst part came after I got home, though. Those kids haunted my dreams all night long, popping
up to giggle every time I tried to seal the deal him.”
“Sounds like you might actually like this one.”
“What?” I asked, offended that was their big takeaway from the story. “I’ve liked other guys, but there aren’t many of them
with evil stepsisters lurking around every corner.”
Dad came over and kissed the top of my head. “I’m sure you’ll figure out a time to get together when they aren’t around. I
think it’s good for you to have to wait a minute before you sweep a man off his feet. Maybe it’ll slow things down enough that
you can actually get to know him.”
“Whatever,” I replied nonchalantly, not wanting to give them any clue that was exactly what I’d decided when I realized
Dominic was already stuck in my head. I also decided to play it safe by changing the subject.
“Hey, I need to know some things about the nineteen eighties. That’s why he invited me to his house last night. He was
helping me learn some pop culture stuff to entertain the early crowd at the club. We watched a movie, which was great, but
that’s just a start.”
Both my fathers shrugged. “What do you wanna know?”
“Well, I want to be able to reference movies, music, that sort of thing? And, you know, tie them into my jokes.”
They looked at each other and laughed. Then Papa K said to Dad, “I told you this day would come.”
That made Dad snicker even more. “What day? What are you two carrying on about?” I asked. Knowing my dads, this was
not going to go well for me.
“Your father kept wanting me to get rid of the stuff from our high school days,” Papa K said, causing Dad to shake his head.
“After breakfast, we’ll show you,” Papa K said as he put a plate in front of me and went to make one for Dad as well.
True to his word, after breakfast, I was led down to the storage area in the basement. He dug around a while, then handed me
boxes full of yearbooks, trophies, and other memorabilia to haul to the living room.
When I flopped onto the couch, boxes spread out on the coffee table, they sat on either side of me and began leafing through
the yearbooks. “This is Allen his senior year. Oh, he was so handsome,” Papa K said dreamily.
“Excuse me, was?” Dad asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Well, I meant it was the first time I noticed how handsome you are,” Papa K corrected. “I was so jealous of that broad you
were dating back then.”
“You had a girlfriend?” I asked Dad, shocked my drag queen father ever even entertained the idea of dating a woman. “Am I
only just learning now that you’re actually bisexual?”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “But to quash any questions, I’ve always known I was gay.” Taking
the yearbook from my lap, he flipped through the pages until he found a picture of himself and a young woman labeled,
Homecoming King and Queen.
“See, I was all butch and masculine. Heck, I was the star of the football team too.”
I sat staring at the image, trying to reconcile my Dad as a high school jock and the last time I’d seen him performing onstage
wearing full-on makeup and sky high stilettos. “I’m thinking the wrong person in this picture got the tiara.”
Dad nodded in agreement, then flipped back a few pages until he came to the freshmen photos and pointed to a very young,
geeky-looking teenager.
I almost fell off the couch laughing. “Dang, Papa K, was your hair big enough? It’s a wonder they had a wide enough camera
lens to capture it all.”
We went through a couple more boxes together, my dads relaying little stories with each item we pulled out, until Papa K
received a work-related text. Ever on-call, he ran upstairs to his office to make some calls, despite it being a Saturday.
Dad helped me navigate the rest of the boxes, finding several VHS movies and even a few old cassettes.
“Thanks, for taking me down memory lane, Dad. I had no idea you two were so cool back in the day.”
“We weren’t, son. We were just good actors, like all gay men and women had to be back then.” When I looked at him
strangely, he qualified, “You sorta had to be if you wanted to survive. Things were very different in those days.”
I sighed. “Yeah, I’m glad things have changed, although you two look like you had some fun times.”
He winked at me. “We did. Maybe next time you wanna trip down memory lane, we’ll tell you how the two of us finally got
together. It was quite a fiasco.”
I’d heard the story before and it’d always made me chuckle. But now, knowing Papa K had been a roughneck and Dad a
football jock, my perspective on their early dating lives had seriously shifted. I felt for my fathers and all they’d lived through
just to be themselves, and felt fortunate I didn’t have to experience that myself. If being temporarily cockblocked from kissing a
handsome man was my biggest complaint in life at this point, I was doing fine.
Chapter Seven

Dominic

A sthepredicted, the drama started the moment I drove up in my new all-wheel-drive Subaru Forester. I didn’t even make it to
front door before the dragon met me, hands on hips and breathing fire.
“Where did you get that?” Margarette demanded.
I steeled myself for the inevitable argument. “Well, I had a visit with Mr. Langdon today and I think you can figure the rest
out on your own.”
I tried to walk away. Really, I did. But when she started screaming about me spending her money, I couldn’t take it any
longer.
“That’s enough,” I said, fighting the urge not to snap at her. “Why don’t you let me get into the house, then you and I can have
a heart-to-heart.” I wasn’t looking forward to it and I wondered if she even had a heart in the first place. But as Mr. Langdon
advised, so long as the girls remained in Margarette’s legal custody, I needed to keep the peace.
The same stunned look that had crossed Margarette’s face this morning did so again at my offer of an olive branch. I left her
standing in the driveway and proceeded into the house, going to the kitchen to grab a soda from the refrigerator.
After taking a few beats to relax, I found Margarette sitting in the living room, staring into the empty fireplace. I went over
and sat on the couch across from her. My stepmother’s unusual silence had me feeling uneasy.
“We both know the jig is up, Margarette. You no longer have authority over me or my money. Also, I know I own the cars, the
house, and basically everything inside it. So, let’s not do any more of this screaming or threatening. Deal?”
She continued to stare at the fireplace, her face devoid of emotion. Seeing as I had built up a head of steam, I went on talking.
“You do have something over my head, though, and that’s my sisters. No need pretending like that isn’t the case because I’m
guessing even as we’re sitting here, you’re trying to figure out how to use them against me. There’s no use playing that card
because I’ve already decided how we’re going to manage it. I’ll cover all the expenses for my sisters, and they will remain
living here. In exchange, you will be allowed to stay in this house as well, although I’ll no longer tolerate you throwing your
weight around like you have before. You will begin pulling your weight just like the rest of us.”
Of all the things I’d just laid out, that last comment proved the trigger. Margarette turned on me then, anger spewing from her.
“You have no right to tell me what to do in my own home!”
“Fair enough,” I responded calmly, which wasn’t easy. “But in my home, I have the right to do as I choose.”
I knew the moment my words fully registered because she paled. Now that I had her full attention, and relishing finally
having a say in what happened under this roof, I continued. “As I was saying, I won’t be waiting on you any longer. I’m not
your servant. And before you go thinking Miss Rita will do your bidding, think again. According to Mr. Langdon, you can no
longer afford to pay her, so I will be taking on her employment.”
I took a long drink of soda, letting the weight of my ultimatum sink in for her. I had my stepmother painted into a corner, we
both knew it, but I also wasn’t going to be a complete dick about it. That’d make me no better than her, after all. “You will still
receive a stipend from the girls’ trust, and I won’t ask that you spend it on them. Frankly, I prefer knowing your selfishness
won’t get in the way of their needs.”
She looked on the verge of saying something, but I needed to get it all out. Before she had a chance to shoot idle threats my
way again, I held up my hand to silence her.
“You’ve documented you only need a hundred dollars a week for personal expenses, so that’s what I’ll continue providing
for you while the girls remain under this roof and in your custody.”
“You can’t possibly think I can live on four hundred a month,” she screeched.
“No, I don’t. We both know you never did. Mr. Langdon was clear I have every right to take you to court and force you to
document how you actually used the money from my trust for your own benefit, not mine. That includes all the so-called family
vacations you’ve taken over the years. It’ll sure be interesting to learn who you took on those cruises because it sure as hell
wasn’t your stepchildren. The paperwork shows you bought tickets for us, and I’m guessing they didn’t go unused.”
I let my words linger in the air. I was on an emotional roller coaster—both terrifying and exhilarating—and had no intention
of slowing down now. Considering how ghostly white Margarette’s face had become, I knew I’d hit on a particularly
interesting subject. Not that I cared if she took boyfriends or hookups on her trips, but I did when it literally came at the
expense of me and my sisters.
“Let’s face it, you’ve thought all along I was an idiot you could push around and manipulate into believing I was a nobody.
But the fact is, you made a huge mistake. You hired someone who loves me for real. When you told me I was just a worthless
Black kid who would never amount to anything, you gave me a real-life role model to keep me sane and teach me my own self-
worth. Despite your best efforts, I know my worth and my value, as a person and within this family, and it has nothing to do
with money. Love taught me that.”
Margarette sat unmoving, an unreadable expression on her face. She didn’t fool me, though. I knew she could be dangerous
when provoked and her silence scared me. But I wasn’t going to let her see that.
“This morning, I stood up to you about Alli, and the same goes for Olivia. The garbage you’re teaching her, including how
she’s privileged because of her color, ends today. As long as I’m financially supporting you and the girls, they will be taught all
people have value. They will also be taught to pull their own weight rather than expecting other people to clean up after them.
That means regular chores, maintaining a respectful atmosphere, and no talking down from you or anyone else in this house.
Your negative influence over them stops now.”
“Well,” Margarette began, her mouth curving into a Cheshire Cat-like smile meant to convey a charming personality. I didn’t
buy the act for a second. “You know I’m only trying to be a good mother. I concede I’ve made mistakes, but it hasn’t been easy
learning to be a single parent to three children.”
Oh, that got my back up. “Can it, Margarette. Your manipulative games won’t work on me any longer. You don’t give two
hoots about the girls or me and never have. So, let’s get down to what you do care about. Money.”
I decided to put in my final offer, knowing I was being too lenient but also fully aware she wouldn’t like it. “Find an
affordable apartment, nothing ritzy, and I’ll foot the bill. I’ll also allow you to take the sports car. You can spend the girls’
monthly stipend on yourself, as you have been, and I’ll contribute the four hundred dollars a month you used to receive from my
trust on top of it. If you stay away and don’t create trouble for me or the girls, I’ll double it with another four hundred.
Basically, you’ll pay for your own groceries and entertainment, and I’ll cover the rest. I’ll even send you on an annual cruise,
all expenses paid.”
“You know you can’t just raise those girls on your own,” Margarette sneered, still trying her damndest to sound superior.
“He won’t have to,” Miss Rita said, peering into the living room and startling Margarette.
“Rita, for heaven’s sake, have you been eavesdropping this whole time?”
I smiled. “I was counting on it,” I said and turned to Miss Rita and winked.
“Now, you can’t lie about what I just offered since we have a witness. Margarette, do you agree to my terms?”
“No, I don’t agree,” she huffed. “You can’t force me into any agreement and you can’t force me to leave this house, either.”
I stood up from the couch, not breaking eye contact with her. “You have until Monday to reconsider. After that, I’ll begin
reassessing my assets, including selling this house and all the cars. Oh,” I said as I grabbed my soda and turned to leave the
room, “I’ll also begin legal proceedings against you for fraudulent activity around my trust fund.”
Walking toward the hallway, I added loud enough for her to hear, “I’ll also be contacting the best family law attorney in
town.”
Rather than going to my room, I slipped into a nook underneath the stairs, where I knew Margarette couldn’t see me. From
there, I could still hear any further conversation between her and Miss Rita.
I didn’t know if I was disappointed or happy that Margarette didn’t say another word and instead, stormed out of the living
room, practically stomped to her bedroom, and slammed the door. I remained in place because as I’d suspected, Margarette
came back out a few minutes later and left the house. I waited until I heard the garage door closing before venturing to the
kitchen.
I tossed my empty soda can in the recycling bin and sat at the kitchen island, watching Miss Rita empty the dishwasher. I felt
mentally exhausted but also exhilarated that I’d finally got all of it out into the open. For the first time in my life, no one but me
would control my destiny.
“So?” I asked.
“So what?” Miss Rita asked back matter-of-factly, although her smile gave away her true emotions.
“So, what do you think of all that just happened with Margarette?”
“I think it was a long time coming.”
I nodded, relaxing. “Yeah, me too, but I didn’t have a leg to stand on when she controlled all the money.”
Miss Rita shrugged. “You’ve always had more power than you thought, and I figured when you finally came to realize that
yourself, you’d put that old bag in her place.”
 I chuckled. She always knew exactly what to say. “Well, we aren’t out of the woods yet. If she wants to be nasty, she could
leave with the girls.”
Miss Rita nodded solemnly while continuing to put the dishes away but didn’t say anything.
“But she won’t leave with them, right?” I asked, starting to question what I’d just done. “Not when the alternative is a
comfortable life for her, free from the responsibility of raising stepchildren she’s always hated?”
“You would think she’d have sense enough not to fight you on this, unless she figures she could somehow milk you for more
money.”
I shook my head. “I’ve thought of that. Unfortunately, if I give in an inch on the amount, she’ll keep pushing for more and
more. I wasn’t bluffing, Miss Rita. If she decides to fight me, I’m going to expose her for what she’s done in defrauding the
trusts and just pray it’s enough to be awarded custody of the girls.”
Miss Rita frowned. “None of that’ll be easy but living with her isn’t easy either. The girls’ trust fund not being big enough for
that woman’s spending habits should work in your favor, though. If you cover her expenses, at least that money can be used to
fluff her pampered self. You know how she’s concerned about keeping up appearances. Too bad ain’t nobody looking at her but
herself.”
I snorted a laugh and my tension eased. Miss Rita had the oddest sayings. I always figured it was because she was from the
South. “All we can do now is wait, I guess,” I said. “Oh, and get your employment sorted out. I wouldn’t put it past that evil
witch to try to fire you.”
Miss Rita smiled. “Son, are you offering me a job?”
“Well,” I drew out, deciding to be ornery just to get her going. “I’m considering it. What is your experience working with
young children, and do you have references?”
“I’ll reference this spoon on your rear end,” she said and pointed a wooden spoon at me, making me laugh out loud. It felt
good to laugh.
“Nothing’s changing here,” I said, getting serious again. “Margarette has been nothing but a burden on this family since she
weaseled her way into it. At least if she isn’t here to create problems, we can get on with our lives and help those girls grow
up to be respectable women. So, whaddya say? We got a deal?”
She knocked my outstretched hand out of the way and came around the island to kiss my cheek. “Don’t you ever think I don’t
know how incredible you are. You make me so proud.”
I considered Miss Rita one of the most amazing human beings on Earth, but she rarely got emotional or sentimental around
us. Her speaking from her heart undid me, and a tear slipped from my eye before I could stop it.
I stood up and pulled the woman into my arms and hugged her for several moments. Then I stepped away, turning to dab at
my eyes and get myself under control.
“I’m taking the family out for pizza tonight,” I announced. Miss Rita smiled at me, and I noticed her eyes were watery too.
I dashed through the back stairway to my bedroom and lay on my bed, intending to relax while waiting for the girls to return
home. Olivia and Alli usually spent Saturday afternoons visiting friends, and today was no different.
I must have drifted off because I found myself walking down a grand staircase in a large castle. As I reached the bottom of
the stairs, I saw Margarette standing to my left. For some reason, she didn’t appear to recognize me. On my right were Miss
Rita and the girls, and they were arguing. Miss Rita looked tired and frustrated, and my sisters looked annoyed and
haughty. They were nastily demanding Miss Rita fetch their clothes and comb their hair, basically treating her like the
hired help.
I turned to approach them, ready to intervene. Miss Rita looked back at me and subtly shook her head, indicating I
should leave the situation to her. Then she corrected the girls telling them their behavior was ugly and unbecoming. Seeing
the girls appropriately chastised I walked past them.
I followed a strip of red carpet that led to a ballroom filled with elegantly dressed people and classical music. Dillon,
looking as handsome and regal as a prince, sat on an elevated throne. My heart skipped.
When Dillon saw me, he rose and met me in the middle of the room. Bowing to me before taking my hand in his, he began
to lead us in a dance.
As we glided across the ballroom, all of the other guests fell away until it was just me and Dillon, my own personal
Prince Charming. It felt as if we lifted off the floor, his firm hold around me never wavering, and neither did his loving
gaze. The entire thing felt like a Disney movie. Magical, dreamy, romantic.
Just as the clock struck twelve, I woke with a start. My disappointment over Prince Charming not giving me an achingly
sweet kiss only lasted an instant, though.
All too soon, I heard and felt my two sisters jumping up and down on my bed, screaming, “Pizza!”
Chapter Eight

Dillon

I ’dyounger
spent the past three days going through Dad’s old stuff, watching eighties movies, and talking to both my fathers about their
days. We laughed hysterically at all the things Papa K had done to get Dad to notice him in high school, then
everything Dad had to do to keep Papa K once they got to college.
By the time my next comedy club show came around, I felt prepared to entertain the early crowd, and not just with the I got
tricked into this sort of jokes I’d relied on before.
I arrived at the club hoping to lay eyes on a certain sexy barman, but Dominic was nowhere to be seen. Disappointed, I took
my turn onstage doing my practice run. My new set earned applause from Ashton Pipkin, which, honestly, was the best
compliment I could’ve received.
“You’ve been practicing and doing your research, I see. Good, it shows,” he said and clapped me on the shoulder.
“Thanks,” I said. “Hey, have you seen Dominic?”
Ashton snorted. “You already in that deep for the boy?”
I shrugged, not wanting to appear too keen. “He’s nice, and nice to hang out with. Is he working tonight?”
“No, and he won’t be for a while, at least. He called in saying his hands are full with family issues.”
“So, what? He doesn’t work here any longer?” My heart sank at the thought of not seeing Dominic again.
“Well, yeah, he does, but he’s taking some time off.”
Relief flooded through me. Dang, I really am hooked on this guy, I thought. I nodded at Ashton, deciding not to push things
any further. I hadn’t texted Dominic after our date, thinking I’d be better off just letting things happen naturally. Like, chatting
him up at the club before it opened. Obviously, that approach wouldn’t work now. I was in too deep to just leave things to fate.
I grabbed my phone and pulled up the man’s number.
Me: Hey Dominic, I missed seeing you at the club tonight. Ashton said you were having family issues. I hope everything
is okay.
I waited as the three dots bounced up and down from his typing, completely disappearing before they popped back up and
then disappeared again.
Finally, his response came through.
Dominic: Sorry. Yes, I do have family stuff going on, but I’ll be back at the club next week, I think.
Me: Can we meet for coffee or something this weekend?
Dominic: Now isn’t a good time with the family stuff. Maybe later, though.
“Well, crap,” I said to myself and plopped down on the barstool closest to the door. Ashton, who was now behind the bar
helping Dominic’s replacement restock supplies, must’ve heard me because he glanced my way knowingly.
“Just give him space. He’s dealing with a lot right now. Family issues are never easy.”
“You sure he isn’t just blowing me off?” I needed the reassurance that I wasn’t chasing someone who didn’t want to be
caught. I liked Dominic a lot, however, I didn’t want to be a creeper, or look desperate if he wasn’t actually into me.
Ashton laughed. “No, I’m not sure how he feels about you, but I believe if you push him too hard, especially right now, you’ll
find yourself completely unable to woo him back.”
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it.” Sighing, I didn’t want to leave it at that, but Ashton had a point. Knowing how much
Dominic loved his sisters, dealing with family issues would be a top priority for him and I’d be a royal pain getting in the way
of that. I needed to focus my attention on anything else.
“So, Ashton, seeing as you’re working the bar, I’ll take a beer.”
Ashton looked as though he would argue, then shrugged, went to the cooler, and placed in front of me the first bottle he’d
pulled out.
 “So, you really like the kid, huh?”
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I mean, he’s probably the hottest guy I’ve ever met. Tall, dark, and handsome… not to
mention his eyes. He could hypnotize a person just by looking at them.”
Ashton nodded, waiting for me to continue. He must’ve sensed that my attraction to Dominic went beyond looks. “Dominic
also seems like a genuinely good person. Like, he wouldn’t use me to get something he wanted, not like Rodney. But, you know,
he has his little sisters, and they’re very important to him. I think he sort of raises them.”
“And you aren’t ready to be a parent?”
The question took me by surprise. I hadn’t voiced my concerns about that outside of my own thoughts. “Do I look like I’m
ready to be a parent?”
Ashton laughed. “Dude, you look like you can barely take care of yourself.”
I smiled at that, appreciating his blatant honesty. But when I pictured Dominic with his sisters, the girls snuggled in their
beds while he read them a bedtime story, something shifted inside me. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell him?”
Ashton looked hesitant, then nodded.
“Watching Dominic care for his sisters, reading to them, tucking them in, something about that…” I paused, searching for the
right words. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s like a switch flipped on inside me. I went from feeling amused at spending a date
night being around two little kids to suddenly feeling protective of all three of them. Like, I wanted to help him take care of the
girls.” I looked across the bar top at Ashton, whose face now wore an odd expression. “I know what you’re thinking. I’m
codependent or an idiot or something. I think that’s why I hadn’t texted him since our date. I don’t know how to deal with all
this, um…”
“Commitment?” Ashton asked, and I almost spit out the beer I’d just swigged across the bar top.
The word pulled me to my senses. “No! I just met the guy and we haven’t even kissed yet, not that I didn’t try,” I said, that
last part under my breath.
“Listen, kid, I’ve got twenty years on you.”
“More like thirty,” I corrected and got an unamused glare in return.
“From someone who has been around a while, here’s a bit of advice. Feelings aren’t something you can control, they just
happen. When you develop feelings for someone, don’t be quick to dismiss them. I’m not saying you should go profess your
undying love for him or anything. Don’t scare the man off. But if you feel about him the way you just told me you do, that’s
something special, something that doesn’t come around every day. Hell, some people never experience it. If you let that go
without exploring it, you might regret it for the rest of your life.”
I looked at the man in front of me for a long moment, and I knew then he wasn’t just talking about me. He was sharing a
personal experience. A painful lesson learned firsthand.
I nodded, not daring to ask him any details for fear he’d shut down and end this new connection between us.
“So, you think if I wait, he’ll give me a chance?”
“No idea,” Ashton said, and I could tell he was shaking off the intimate moment and putting his prickly personality back in
place. “But in this case, good things might come to those who wait.”
I sensed the conversation was over and changed the subject. “Okay, so tell me again how much you liked my set.”
Ashton snorted and resumed stocking the bar.
That night, I rocked the early crowd. Nearly every joke hit, and the laughs I earned were just as plentiful as Ashton’s. Pulling
my fathers into the discussion, including their former hairstyles, fashion choices, and the old stories they’d allowed me to
share, made both the older and younger audience members howl. I’d also brought along an eighties hair band wig I’d purchased
at a Halloween store, and I ended my set by putting it on and headbanging my way off the stage to Guns N’ Roses. The entire
crowd erupted, screaming and yelling like I was actually in the band. In that moment, I truly felt like a rock star.
As I walked past Ashton, he clapped my shoulder just like he’d done after my rehearsal earlier. “You’ve got talent, young
man, and screw you for making me have to follow that.”
I chuckled as I made my way to the back of the club, settling in to watch Ashton’s set from a table in the bar area. His
compliment was a major confidence booster. Not that I doubted my performance skills, but I had begun to seriously question if
I’d be able to connect with my audiences. If I couldn’t do that, I’d never make it as a stand-up comedian.
I’d had a privileged childhood, and I’d known that even as a kid. Having supportive parents who loved me unconditionally
was a blessing all its own, let alone being wealthy. I’d attended public school, but most of my classmates came from money
too. My best friend was one of the exceptions, though, and he often pointed out I had the white privilege thing down to a
science.
If it hadn’t been for him, I probably would’ve never seen that about myself. It’s one of the reasons I felt determined to make a
name for myself without my parents’ money leading the way.
I really wanted to make it as a stand-up comic on my own merits.
Tonight was notable for another reason too. The club’s owner, Mr. Hallsworth, commonly referred to among the performers
as Mr. Ballsworth, wanted to meet with all of us after the show. He had a reputation as a ballbuster who pulled no punches in
running his club. Even in my relatively short time working there, I found the name quite fitting.
Ballsworth only did so when he planned to reorganize the lineup. As I’d seen happen, if you didn’t attend a group meeting,
you didn’t perform, so everyone usually stuck around all evening.
I hadn’t watched Rodney perform in a while. To be honest, I’d completely forgotten about his timeslot stealing trickery. Just
as Ashton finished his set, rounding out the early show, Rodney plopped himself down at my table. When he gave me a nasty
look, I couldn’t help but smile.
“You crossed a line last week,” he said, sounding more whiny than accusatory.
“Dude, you crossed the line, and I just called you on it. Don’t get your panties in a wad over the mess you created.”
I was about to get up when Ashton and three other performers took a seat at the table.
“Rodney, don’t give this kid any grief. You’ve pulled the same stunt on all of us. Just focus on your own set and pray you’ve
improved it enough that Ballsworth doesn’t kick you to the curb… again.”
The man who spoke, Feldman, wasn’t much older than me and wasn’t much to look at, but he used his appearance to his
advantage. His self-deprecating humor and skilled delivery made him one of the funniest comics at the club. As such, he
commanded respect from the other performers, and I could tell even Rodney got the guy’s message to back off.
My asshat ex quickly left our table to go perform and, bless him, the funniest thing about his updated set was how awful it
turned out. Seriously, the man’s jokes bombed worse than mine before I’d had my one-on-one research sessions with Dominic
and my fathers. The only laughs in the audience came from a few mocking hecklers in the back. I would’ve felt vindicated if the
whole thing hadn’t been so uncomfortable and painful to watch. I assumed Rodney threw in the towel early because he left the
stage well before his set time expired. With the stage empty and the crowd on the verge of boredom, Feldman ducked backstage
to prepare to go on earlier than usual.
A few minutes later, shouting from backstage echoed through the club. Then Rodney reemerged, hollering about Ballsworth
not knowing talent when it was handed to him on a silver platter, before the idiot stormed out of the club. This time to a loud
round of applause from the audience. His finest performance to date, no doubt.
I caught sight of a smiling Feldman standing on the stage, apparently waiting until all the commotion died down. “I should
hire him to pave the way for me like that every night,” he said and nearly got a standing ovation.
I enjoyed watching Feldman’s set, and used the opportunity to study his impeccable timing and delivery. The man excelled at
his craft, and I soaked up all the pointers I could like a sponge.
After the show, Feldman and the other comics joined our table in the bar. The servers brought all of us a shot of our choice
on the house. That was strange, if not downright suspect, since Ballsworth was nothing if not a tightwad. Then he joined us for
a drink.
After Ballsworth drained his glass, he announced, “We’ve been bought out. A national comedy group approached me about a
month ago and they’ve been impressed enough with you all that they asked to buy the club.” He shrugged as every single one of
us stared open-mouthed at him. “Truth is, I’m getting old and I no longer have the energy for running this place as it should be.
I’m just a grumpy old man, and I’ve noticed that’s hurting business. So, when these guys asked me to sell, I signed on the dotted
line.”
“What does that mean for us?” Feldman asked, gesturing around the table.
Our boss, who I mentally switched to thinking of as Hallsworth since using his nickname no longer seemed funny, sighed. “If
you’re able to keep your spot, it means you might become famous.”
We all looked at him like he’d grown a horn in the middle of his forehead. “How did you come to that conclusion?” Ashton
asked.
“The group that bought the club, it’s Third County.”
For a moment, something that never happens amongst a group of comedians happened. We fell completely silent.
Finally, Ashton asked, “The Third County? As in, one of the most famous improv schools and performance venues in the
country?”
Hallsworth nodded. “They’ve been watching our shows on and off for the past year. In fact, they were here tonight.
However, the agreement was they’d let me break the news to you all in private. I didn’t want your reaction to give you a black
eye in case one of you took it bad.”
Just then, Kaitlyn Cross, the oldest performer and one of only three women in the group, spoke up. “Well, it’s about time.
Maybe I’ll make it big and end up on Saturday Night Live before I hit ninety.”
That eased the tension, and we all congratulated Hallsworth on his sale.
Inevitably, some of us would be let go. I think we all knew that even though it went unsaid. If Third County was coming to
Denver, it was because they were looking to break into a new market. As a newer comic, and being a gay man on top of that, I
had to wonder if I would be first on the chopping block.
Chapter Nine

Dominic

O ninstead.
Monday, when I expected Margarette to either accept or reject my ultimatum, I received a phone call from my attorney

“Your stepmother has filed a lawsuit against you, claiming she’s entitled to part of your inheritance,” Mr. Langdon explained.
“She’s arguing that because your trust money has been used to help support your sisters and maintain a certain lifestyle, and we
allowed it to happen for years, you owe her child support.”
“You told me that wasn’t something she could get,” I said, feeling frustrated and concerned.
“It’s not, and I’m guessing her own attorney advised her as such,” he said. “What this lawsuit does do, though, is it locks
your trust down for the time being and prevents you from being able to kick her out of the house.”
I struggled to understand the full implications of that, but one thing did spring to mind. “I just bought a new car. Could that
create problems?”
“No, you bought it outright before the lawsuit was filed, so it’s in the clear. First thing tomorrow, I’ll file to have the case
dismissed. I can’t imagine any judge allowing this to progress since, in effect, she’s admitting she committed a felony and lied
on her reports about how she spent the money. We literally have the receipts.”
“What about the trips she took and lied about having taken me and the girls along?”
“I’ve already alerted the county prosecutor and I’ve hired a private investigator who will chase that down as well.”
“I want custody of the girls too.”
“Yeah, that’s going to be a different sort of hurdle, one that we need to approach strategically,” Mr. Langdon said. “If we take
her to court for custody now, before the lawsuit is resolved, it’ll look like vengeance.”
Talk about frustrating. I should have known Margarette wouldn’t go down quietly. Still, even for her, this felt especially
vindictive, malicious, and nasty. It made my blood boil. “Regardless, if we’re going to war, I need to win. Not only for myself,
but for the girls. They can’t be left to be raised by that woman,” I said, unable to keep the pleading out of my voice. “She’s
been so horrible to us in different ways, and Miss Rita can stand as a witness to all of it.”
Mr. Langdon sighed. “It all depends on the judge. Unfortunately, there are a few that aren’t really gay-friendly and one I’d
describe as downright racist. If the case goes to any of those judges, they could be influenced by their own bias and
Margarette’s manipulative personality. My recommendation is to wait and see who we’re assigned. If it’s a judge who is
tolerant and open-minded, then we can file a counterpetition for custody.”
I felt my patience wearing thin and I wasn’t sure I could bite my tongue if Margerette was in the same room as me. “Okay, but
in the meantime, I live with the witch. I can’t avoid her entirely, as much as I’d like to. What should I do?”
“Do all you can to stay away from her. If I can get the case dropped, then you can kick her out. If not, well, we may need to
come up with another living arrangement for you until the trial is concluded. Even if she hasn’t really cared for the girls, the
courts will see her as their caregiver and the house is their only residence.”
By this time, I didn’t know whether to cry or throw stuff around. I felt like doing both at the same time. I still had to think of
the girls, though. “I could move into one of those temporary housing motels, but I’m not leaving until I talk to my sisters so they
understand I’m not abandoning them.”
“Just be careful. She can make up an allegation that you’ve said something or done something, and I wouldn’t put it past her
to try it. Don’t put yourself in a situation where it’s a he said, she said thing.”
And just how was I supposed to do that? Never be in a room alone with that woman, I guess. “Okay, I’ll call a couple
buddies to come over and hang out. That way I’ll have witnesses. Oh damn, what about Miss Rita?”
“What about her?” he asked.
“I hired her, so she works for me now rather than Margarette. How will I pay her if I can’t access the trust fund?”
 “I can ask the courts to continue payment. Usually, in these situations, the courts don’t completely cut off funding.”
“That’s one good thing in all of this,” I said, the tightness in my chest easing a fraction. “If I’m not living here, I’m afraid
Margarette will verbally abuse the children. I want to ensure Miss Rita can’t be fired by her and she stays in the house to
protect the girls and my property.”
“I can request that. Also, because Margarette declared she only received four hundred dollars a month, we’ll fight that she
not be given more if the judge allows the case to continue.”
That made me smile. If nothing else, it would ruin her fun at our expense. The realization I was going down the vindictive
route, making me no better than my loathsome stepmother, made me sick to my stomach. Damn that woman.
After hanging up with Mr. Langdon, I phoned a few friends who knew Margarette for the monster she was, and they all
agreed to come hang out with me until the girls got home from school. I wonder if Dillon would come over? I thought to
myself. Did I consider him a friend? Or… something else? I quickly pushed the thought out of my mind and rushed upstairs.
I began packing my belongings, particularly the few things I’d squirreled away that’d belonged to my dads. I didn’t trust
Margarette not to destroy everything in my room once I’d gone, even if Miss Rita was left to keep an eye on her. I shuddered to
think how when Miss Rita went home each day, there wouldn’t be anything to stop Margarette from having her way. How had
everything gone so wrong, so quickly?
The witch hadn’t turned up yet but I instinctively knew if I left the house, I wouldn’t be allowed back in. So, I skipped my
classes, ordered pizza and watched TV with my buddies, and tried to enjoy myself as much as possible until the girls returned
home. Miss Rita arrived at her regularly scheduled time and did her usual chores but didn’t pay me or the guys much attention. I
could tell she was distracted and that scared me more than anything since she was usually so levelheaded.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer and broke away to the kitchen to ask her what was up.
She led me to the table and sat down with me, something she’d never done before. “Things aren’t going to get better for a
while. I doubt I’ll be allowed to stay. You need to be prepared for what’s about to hit the fan.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, not knowing if I really wanted to hear the answer. “I know about the lawsuit, but my attorney
said it shouldn’t impact your employment here.”
“My own welfare is the last thing I’m concerned about,” she said. “While you were out yesterday, I heard that woman talking
to a lot of different people on the phone. She basically ignored me like she usually does and I couldn’t hear all she said, but I
could tell she was up to no good. Whatever she’s plotting, it goes well beyond playing the lawsuit card.”
“Don’t worry about me, Miss Rita. If anything happens to me right now, she’s the prime suspect. She has to know that.”
“You assume the woman is smart enough to figure things out. Just ’cause she’s manipulative don’t mean she’s got the brains
God gave a Billy goat.”
“I’ll be okay. I promise to watch my back.” Would Margarette really go so far as to harm me? To be honest, I wasn’t sure
anymore. “It’s the girls I’m most worried about,” I confessed.
“I am too,” Miss Rita said, leaning forward to pat my shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll do everything in my power to take care of
them for as long as I’m allowed.”
Later that afternoon, when the school bus came by, neither of the girls got off. I immediately called the school and was
informed they could no longer disclose any information to me regarding my sisters. When I asked them why, they cited student
privacy concerns and hung up the phone.
I knew why. Margarette.
I then called Mr. Langdon, but he wasn’t much help. “She is the legal guardian, there’s not much we can do about it.”
“What happens if I don’t leave the house? Can she force me to leave?”
He thought about it for a moment. “No. As the saying goes, possession is nine-tenths of the law, and if she has abandoned the
property, then she can’t argue she needs it for the girls. Or at least, if she does argue for it, it’s unlikely she’ll win.”
“You don’t know how cunning the woman is, but I think, for now, I’ll stay here. Especially since I technically own the place,
right?”
“Technically and legally, yes.”
“Well, that’s something, then.” I said sighing heavily.
He agreed it was a good idea to change the locks and unplug the automatic garage doors, to deny her access.
“Two can play at this game,” I said out loud after I’d hung up the phone. If Margarette wanted to play hardball, we’d play
hardball. She was pressing all my buttons and now I was mad.
I called a locksmith and had all the locks changed within a couple of hours. It cost extra to have someone do it quickly, but it
was worth it. I also did as the attorney instructed and unplugged the garage doors.
I then called a private investigator I’d met while working at the comedy club and asked him to do surveillance on Margarette
and the girls. If he suspected my sisters were in danger, he was to call the cops immediately. I might not be able to take care of
them myself, but I could take care of them from a distance.
My PI friend also recommended a security firm to keep tabs on the house when I was at work or school. They’d also do
drive-bys to ensure that even when I was home, I was safe. Of course, it cost a pretty penny, but the stipend Mr. Langdon had
placed in my account before the lawsuit froze everything was enough to cover it, at least for the short-term.
The rest of the week was excruciating. Despite my best efforts to keep a level head, I was in full freak-out mode. I’d never
gone this long without even talking to my sisters, never mind the circumstances.
The PI informed me Margarette had taken up residence with a wealthy widower close to downtown Denver, and the girls
were being chauffeured to and from school each day. From what he told me, the man was well respected and even had a
daughter of his own, who’d only said the best things about him.
Hopefully, that meant whoever the guy was, he wasn’t a threat to my sisters. I didn’t think Margarette would physically harm
them but there were other ways she could get back at me.
Regardless, I was terrified of what the girls must be thinking. They had to have thought I’d abandoned them just when I’d
promised them I never would. God, I hated Margarette. My evil stepmother really was the personification of a Disney villain.
Each night, I lay in bed with all my worries and concerns floating around in my head. The only comfort I found was thinking
about the dream where Prince Dillon swept me off my feet.
I let myself remember how it’d felt to be wrapped securely in his arms as he swung me around the room. My heart swelled
recalling the intensity of his gaze. The feelings I had for him in that dream were carefree, joyous, exuberant. Nothing like I’d
ever felt. An entire, intangible world away from the real-life responsibilities that had always kept me from doing what I
wanted with whomever I wanted.
But then, dreams are wishes your heart makes. I didn’t know if my dreamy Prince Dillon was anything like the real man, for
better or worse. But right now, the fantasy of him seemed to be the only thing keeping me sane.
Chapter Ten

Dillon

W eeks passed between Hallsworth announcing the purchase by Third County, and him officially turning the business over.
Ashton had been good about keeping me updated on Dominic, partly because I kept asking. He informed me that Dominic
was doing okay but he and his stepmother were embroiled in a legal battle. Knowing he was going through a difficult time just
made it harder to stay away and I ached to speak to him and maybe finally get that kiss.
Dominic had shown up at the club a couple times to help out before Hallsworth handed the keys over, and he’d been friendly
but standoffish. My heart dropped every time that happened and if Ashton hadn’t told me about his legal troubles, I’d have
thought he didn’t like me.
Saturdays were always our busiest nights at the club. We’d all been summoned to meet the new owners after Saturday night’s
performances, and as a result, all our sets were less than stellar. Where adversity seemed to propel most comedians, stress
could shut us down fast and hard. Adding the stress of work on top of the anxiety about Dominic meant I was a mess.
After the show, a man and woman, both dressed in suits, stood next to Hallsworth and introduced themselves as the
representatives of Third County. Before they launched into their spiel, Ashton leaned over and whispered, “Can you imagine,
suits in a comedy club?”
“We’re excited about having you join our group,” the woman said. “My name is Jolie Crouse.” I actually recognized her
from a few sketches and stand-up routines from the late nineties. Luckily, Third County had years’ worth of YouTube videos,
and I’d been stalking them since Hallsworth announced the sale. Jolie wasn’t a great comedian, at least not based on those
clips, but at least she’d done some time on the stage.
“This is Joseph Christopherson,” Jolie continued. The man, however, didn’t look familiar at all. He mostly stood silently and
let Jolie do the talking.
She didn’t say much, though, other than welcoming us to the team. There were a few minor differences in how they handled
comedians compared to Hallsworth, but Jolie assured us the changes would be implemented slowly to give us time to
acclimate. When she was done talking, they left.
The consensus of the group was we’d all pretty much been schmoozed. “That was as canned a speech as I’ve ever heard,”
Kaitlyn Cross said. “If you got another club you can perform in, I’d say you’d best be making those connections.”
Fear gripped me, although I resisted it. I’d struggled with imposter syndrome since the moment I was given the opportunity to
audition for Hallsworth. For months, I’d been convinced he’d somehow known my dads and that’s why he’d let me perform.
It took my dads coming to see the show and Hallsworth’s confused expression as to why I would introduce him to my parents
afterward for me to realize they’d never met before. I had earned a spot in the lineup because of my own abilities.
But maybe Hallsworth was naïve or had been feeling generous enough to give me a chance. Maybe I sucked and only thought
I was a good comedian because a roomful of half-drunk people laughed at my jokes. Third County was the real deal, though. I
was convinced the gig was up and they’d see right through me.
Negative thoughts plagued me over the next intensive weeks. As Kaitlyn Cross and the others predicted, the performers were
quickly thinned out and new talent began to fill the gaps. Within a handful of weeks that felt like months, the only original
comics left standing were Ashton, Kaitlyn, Feldman, and me. I was certain that if it weren’t for my seven o’clock slot and the
consistent laughs I got from the older crowd, I’d have been toast myself.
It was sad losing so many of the regulars, several of whom I’d come to consider work friends, but it couldn’t be denied the
new talent had far superior comedic skills.
I wondered more than once if the new owner planned on getting rid of service staff as quickly as they were performers.
Could Dominic lose his job? I worried that might impact Dominic’s problems with his stepmother. I also worried about never
finding the right time to ask him out again, particularly if he just up and disappeared from working there.
 After my final set one night, Jolie approached me and asked if I could meet with her the following afternoon.
Damn, this was it. Time for me to face the reality that I was the crappy comic I’d known I was all along.
“I’m finally getting the boot,” I later informed Ashton. “It’s like those reality TV shows. I’ve been voted off the island, or
some shit.”
“It’s unlikely you’re being let go,” Kaitlyn said, having overheard us. “They haven’t been very private when they’ve let the
others go. When it happens, they pull you aside after your set and say sayonara then and there.”
“Ouch. Really?”
She nodded. “It’s more likely they wanna switch you to another slot. Kid, you used to kill the nine o’clock show, don’t be
upset about it. Adapting to change is the key to survival in this business, remember that.”
I shrugged, not at all confident I wasn’t on the chopping block.
The next day, I arrived at Jolie’s office, waiting for the proverbial ax to fall.
Jolie was on the phone, so I stood awkwardly in the open doorway. She smiled at me, gesturing toward the phone as a way
to explain she’d be with me in a moment, and waved toward the chair opposite her.
I took a seat, furtively looking around. My palms were beginning to sweat and my throat ran dry.
When she hung up, she turned her full attention on me, never losing her smile. That’s a good sign, I tried to reassure myself.
“Dillon, thanks for coming. I know it’s hard to come in during the day after a night onstage, but I have a proposition for you.”
“A proposition?” I croaked, my dirty mind flashing to visions of her chasing me around the old battered desk. I had to force
away mental images of the woman, not much younger than my dads, dressed as a whip-wielding dominatrix. I literally
shuddered as I burst out, “I’m gay!”
She stared at me in surprise for a beat, then belted out a laugh. “Not that kind of proposition, and you’d be so lucky,” she
said, still chuckling. “Mr. Foreman saw you perform the other day and said you have a lot of potential. He’d like you to attend
some of our improv classes to see if we can enhance your natural performance abilities.”
I stared at her open-mouthed, a whole raft of emotions rushing through my mind. Relief, shock, excitement, disbelief. I wasn’t
sure if I was more relieved that I’d been wrong about her proposition or that she’d just offered me an incredible career
opportunity.
John Foreman was a force in the entertainment industry. He’d become a powerhouse agent for comedic talent in particular,
helping elevate his clients to the heights of Saturday Night Live and beyond. At first, I thought Jolie must be pulling my leg.
“Honestly, who paid you to say that to me? Was it Ashton?” I asked, sounding more accusatory than the jovial tone I’d
intended.
She looked amused, as if she’d heard those same disbelieving questions before. “No, this is real. Mr. Foreman, as you may
know, owns Third County and flew in to see for himself how we were doing here in Denver. He was beyond impressed with
you and said he laughed harder at your big hair rock star exit than he’s laughed in a long time.”
Even if I didn’t struggle with imposter syndrome, like a typical performer, nothing stroked my ego like someone finding my
antics funny. “Cool,” I said, trying to play it as such and earning another chuckle from Jolie.
“So, is that a yes to taking our improv classes?”
“Oh yeah, definitely. But do I have to go to Chicago or Toronto or something?”
“Nope, it’s all online. However, Mr. Foreman wants you to come here to the club to do your classes. He wants you to be
getting real-life practice as you perform, and we’ll be recording your performances so he can keep tabs on your progress.”
“That sounds amazing. Is anyone else from the club going to be in class with me?” I asked, and she shook her head.
“No, most of the new performers have already been through our classes. However, we were able to talk Ashton Pipkin and
Kaitlyn Cross into co-teaching a stand-up class.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised.
Jolie cocked an eyebrow. “I’m guessing you don’t know about their illustrious history or careers.”
I shook my head in bewilderment. “Um, no. I mean, I’ve watched their sets so I know how hilarious they are, but I thought
they were just seasoned comics who never caught their big break.”
Jolie chuckled and leaned back in her chair. “Sometimes I forget I’ve been in this business for so long. Working with new
generations of comics is a good reminder of that,” she said, looking amused. “Ashton and Kaitlyn have performed on late-night
TV, daytime talk shows, and numerous televised comedy festivals over the years. Their resumes are quite impressive.”
I shook my head, feeling embarrassed. “I had no idea.”
“Understandable, but go look your coworkers up. You’d be smart to learn everything you can from them. They are both
pros.”
“How did they end up performing in this place?” I blurted, my politeness filter obviously broken.
She shrugged, thankfully ignoring my idiotic mouth. “I have no idea, but the fact they’re here certainly went a long way in Mr.
Foreman’s decision to purchase the club.”
Now things began to make sense. I knew Ashton and Kaitlyn were talented and had been my favorites since I’d started
working here, but I had no idea they were famous. I actually felt a little guilty about that, and wondered if my ignorance had
been apparent in our past conversations.
“What about Feldman? Isn’t he better than me?” I asked, again without thinking.
“He’s incredibly talented and will be taking classes as well, but Mr. Foreman has recruited him for the headquarters in
Chicago. His last performance here will be next Saturday.”
My mouth dropped open. I wasn’t sure how many more bombshells I could take without my brain exploding. Everyone who
cared about such things knew Third County’s Chicago club was often the springboard to some of the biggest comedy shows in
the nation, including Saturday Night Live. Of course, not everyone made it. I pretty much knew I wouldn’t, but others did and I
would bet on Feldman one day counting himself among them.
“Sweet,” I managed to get out. It sounded like more of a squeak, really.
Jolie then scooted me out of her office, but before completely dismissing me, she said, “I’ll email you a class schedule. Sign
up when you have time, then I’ll make arrangements with your teachers so we can film you and you can watch the other
performers on the big screen in the back.”
I nodded and turned to leave, but before I’d gone three steps, I heard Papa K’s voice in my head preaching about manners. I
took a breath, then turned back and said, “Thanks, this is a huge honor.”
Jolie smiled and returned to her desk.
When I got home, I rushed to the kitchen, where I was sure to find Papa K. He laughed in surprise when I spun him around in
a huge hug. “Where’s Dad?” I asked.
“I’m here. What’s all the commotion about?” he asked, then barked out a laugh when I tackled him with a hug too. All the
excitement had clearly made me lose my head. I’d forgotten how big Dad was and I nearly pulled a muscle spinning him
around.
“I’ve been invited to attend the Third County School of Improv. I’m going to be learning from the best of the best of the
best!” I exclaimed, getting a chuckle from both my fathers.
“That’s awesome, honey. Isn’t that what you said you wanted?” Papa K asked. I could tell he was trying to remember all the
times I’d told him what I wanted my career path to look like.
“It’s exactly what I wanted to happen,” I said. “But I figured I’d have to relocate and beg them to let me in. It’s so freaking
competitive. Usually, you have to have a couple years under your belt before they’ll even consider you. Then the school bought
out the club, and Ashton and Kaitlyn were stars, which I didn’t know, and then next thing I know, I’m seen by John freaking
Foreman, who wants me in the school, and even if I’d been, like, the best, it’s unlikely anyone would’ve ever seen me, so I’m
like the luckiest man to ever live.” Eventually, I had to stop for breath, and my eyes found theirs.
Both my dads stared at me, no doubt trying to digest my ramblings. That made me laugh hysterically before I said, “It’s a
freaking amazing opportunity!”
They wrapped me in a group hug and let me carry on for another half hour about how miraculous this whole thing was and
how lucky I was to get the chance. This time, I remembered to breathe.
Papa K put away all the food he was preparing and decided to take us out to eat at the Repertoire, a new hoity-toity
restaurant that had recently opened downtown, to celebrate the occasion.
I felt a bit guilty and a tinge of regret as we rode toward the restaurant. I loved my dads and was so thankful they had my
back, but damn, I wished I had someone special to curl into and celebrate this accomplishment with in private. My mind
immediately flashed to a proud-looking Dominic, his piercing green eyes dancing and handsome face splitting into a huge smile
upon hearing my big news. I quickly shook off the thought, determined not to let myself go down that rabbit hole. At least, not
tonight.
I knew I sucked at relationships, but I also knew Dominic was special. Sure, we’d only had the one date, but I blamed that
more on busy schedules and all hell breaking loose in his life than him not being interested. He was still interested, right? God,
did that creeping insecurity sound as pathetic as I think it does? Yes, Dillon, I thought to myself, it really does!
The place was busy. Waiters in tuxedos dashed between tables, and diners dressed in evening wear befitting any fancy New
York restaurant sat around making small talk.
We were in full-out celebration mode at our table when a tall and striking yet severe-looking blonde woman approached us. I
immediately felt cold, as though ice was sliding up and down my spine. Something didn’t feel quite right about her but before I
could give it any thought, a man I recognized stepped around her. Dad and Papa K stood to shake his hand.
“Roger, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Papa K said. “Tell me, who is the beautiful woman you’ve got on your arm?” Papa
K had long ago been dubbed The Snooty Whisperer by my dad for his ability to schmooze with rich folks, and the couple
lapped it up.
“This is Margarette Shipley. Margarette, this is Kalen and Allen Pearson and their son, Dillon.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Margarette,” Dad said. She smiled at us but it didn’t seem genuine. The look of cold
indifference never left her eyes.
“We’re just celebrating our son getting into the Third County School of Improv,” Papa K informed them. That earned him a
hard look from Dad before he schooled his features and turned back to the couple. Dad liked to keep personal matters private.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
[259]

13. On the bearskin he rested, | and counted the

rings,
The master of elves, | but one he missed;
That Hlothver’s daughter | had it he thought,
And the all-wise maid | had come once more.

14. So long he sat | that he fell asleep,

His waking empty | of gladness was;
Heavy chains | he saw on his hands,
And fetters bound | his feet together.

Völund spake:

15. “What men are they | who thus have laid

Ropes of bast | to bind me now?”

Then Nithuth called, | the lord of the Njars:

“How gottest thou, Völund, | greatest of elves,
These treasures of ours | in Ulfdalir?”

Völund spake:

16. “The gold was not | on Grani’s way, [260]

Far, methinks, is our realm | from the hills of the
Rhine;
I mind me that treasures | more we had
When happy together | at home we were.”
17. Without stood the wife | of Nithuth wise,
And in she came | from the end of the hall;
On the floor she stood, | and softly spoke:
“Not kind does he look | who comes from the
wood.”

King Nithuth gave to his daughter Bothvild the gold

ring that he had taken from the bast rope in Völund’s
[261]house, and he himself wore the sword that Völund
had had. The queen spake:

18. “The glow of his eyes | is like gleaming snakes,

His teeth he gnashes | if now is shown
The sword, or Bothvild’s | ring he sees;
Let them straightway cut | his sinews of strength,
And set him then | in Sævarstath.”

So was it done: the sinews in his knee-joints were

cut, and he was set in an island which was near the
mainland, and was called Sævarstath. There he
smithied for the king all kinds of precious things. No
man dared to go to him, save only the king himself.
Völund spake:

19. “At Nithuth’s girdle | gleams the sword

That I sharpened keen | with cunningest craft,
(And hardened the steel | with highest skill;)
The bright blade far | forever is borne,
(Nor back shall I see it | borne to my smithy;)
Now Bothvild gets | the golden ring
(That was once my bride’s,— | ne’er well shall it
be.)”

[262]

20. He sat, nor slept, | and smote with his hammer,

Fast for Nithuth | wonders he fashioned;
Two boys did go | in his door to gaze,
Nithuth’s sons, | into Sævarstath.

21. They came to the chest, | and they craved the

keys,
The evil was open | when in they looked;
To the boys it seemed | that gems they saw,
Gold in plenty | and precious stones.

Völund spake:

22. “Come ye alone, | the next day come,

Gold to you both | shall then be given;
Tell not the maids | or the men of the hall,
To no one say | that me you have sought.”

[263]

23. . . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .
Early did brother | to brother call:
“Swift let us go | the rings to see.”

24. They came to the chest, | and they craved the

keys,
The evil was open | when in they looked;
He smote off their heads, | and their feet he hid
Under the sooty | straps of the bellows.

25. Their skulls, once hid | by their hair, he took,

Set them in silver | and sent them to Nithuth;
Gems full fair | from their eyes he fashioned,
To Nithuth’s wife | so wise he gave them.

26. And from the teeth | of the twain he wrought

A brooch for the breast, | to Bothvild he sent it;
. . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .

27. Bothvild then | of her ring did boast,

. . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . . [264]
. . . . . . . . | “The ring I have broken,
I dare not say it | save to thee.”

Völund spake:

28. “I shall weld the break | in the gold so well

That fairer than ever | thy father shall find it,
And better much | thy mother shall think it,
And thou no worse | than ever it was.”
29. Beer he brought, | he was better in cunning,
Until in her seat | full soon she slept.

Völund spake:

“Now vengeance I have | for all my hurts,

Save one alone, | on the evil woman.”

30. . . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .
Quoth Völund: “Would | that well were the sinews
Maimed in my feet | by Nithuth’s men.”

[265]

31. Laughing Völund | rose aloft,

Weeping Bothvild | went from the isle,
For her lover’s flight | and her father’s wrath.

32. Without stood the wife | of Nithuth wise,

And in she came | from the end of the hall;
But he by the wall | in weariness sat:
“Wakest thou, Nithuth, | lord of the Njars?”

Nithuth spake:

33. “Always I wake, | and ever joyless,

Little I sleep | since my sons were slain;
Cold is my head, | cold was thy counsel,
One thing, with Völund | to speak, I wish.

34. . . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . . [266]
“Answer me, Völund, | greatest of elves,
What happed with my boys | that hale once were?”

Völund spake:

35. “First shalt thou all | the oaths now swear,

By the rail of ship, | and the rim of shield,
By the shoulder of steed, | and the edge of sword,
That to Völund’s wife | thou wilt work no ill,
Nor yet my bride | to her death wilt bring,
Though a wife I should have | that well thou
knowest,
And a child I should have | within thy hall.

36. “Seek the smithy | that thou didst set,

Thou shalt find the bellows | sprinkled with blood;
I smote off the heads | of both thy sons,
And their feet ’neath the sooty | straps I hid.

37. “Their skulls, once hid | by their hair, I took,

Set them in silver | and sent them to Nithuth; [267]
Gems full fair | from their eyes I fashioned,
To Nithuth’s wife | so wise I gave them.

38. “And from the teeth | of the twain I wrought

A brooch for the breast, | to Bothvild I gave it;
Now big with child | does Bothvild go,
The only daughter | ye two had ever.”

Nithuth spake:

39. “Never spakest thou word | that worse could

hurt me,
Nor that made me, Völund, | more bitter for
vengeance;
There is no man so high | from thy horse to take
thee,
Or so doughty an archer | as down to shoot thee,
While high in the clouds | thy course thou takest.”

40. Laughing Völund | rose aloft,

But left in sadness | Nithuth sat.
. . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .

[268]

41. Then spake Nithuth, | lord of the Njars:

“Rise up, Thakkrath, | best of my thralls,
Bid Bothvild come, | the bright-browed maid,
Bedecked so fair, | with her father to speak.”

42. . . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . | . . . . . . . .
“Is it true, Bothvild, | that which was told me;
Once in the isle | with Völund wert thou?”

Bothvild spake:

43. “True is it, Nithuth, | that which was told thee,

Once in the isle | with Völund was I,
An hour of lust, | alas it should be!
Nought was my might | with such a man,
Nor from his strength | could I save myself.”

[252]

[Contents]

NOTES
[254]

Prose. Nithuth (“Bitter Hater”): here identified as a king of Sweden, is

in the poem (stanzas 9, 15 and 32) called lord of the Njars, which
may refer to the people of the Swedish district of Nerike. In any case,
the scene of the story has moved from Saxon lands into the
Northeast. The first and last sentences of the introduction refer to the
second part of the poem; the rest of it concerns the swan-maidens
episode. Bothvild (“Warlike Maid”): Völund’s victim in the latter part of
the poem. King of the Finns: this notion, clearly later than the poem,
which calls Völund an elf, may perhaps be ascribed to the annotator
who composed the prose introduction. The Finns, meaning the
dwellers in Lapland, were generally credited with magic powers. Egil
appears in the Thithrekssaga as Völund’s brother, but Slagfith is not
elsewhere mentioned. Ulfdalir (“Wolf-Dale”), Ulfsjar (“Wolf-Sea”),
Valland (“Slaughter-Land”): mythical places without historical
identification. Valkyries: cf. Voluspo, 31 and note; there is nothing in
the poem to identify the three swan-maidens as Valkyries except one
obscure word in line 2 of stanza 1 and again in line 5 of stanza 5,
which may mean, as Gering translates it, “helmed,” or else “fair and
wise.” I suspect that the annotator, anxious to give the Saxon legend
as much northern local color as possible, was mistaken in his
mythology, and that [255]the poet never conceived of his swan-
maidens as Valkyries at all. However, this identification of swan-
maidens with Valkyries was not uncommon; cf. Helreith Brynhildar, 7.
The three maidens’ names, Hlathguth, Hervor, and Olrun, do not
appear in the lists of Valkyries. King Hlothver: this name suggests
the southern origin of the story, as it is the northern form of Ludwig;
the name appears again in Guthrunarkvitha II, 26, and that of Kjar is
found in Atlakvitha, 7, both of these poems being based on German
stories. It is worth noting that the composer of this introductory note
seems to have had little or no information beyond what was actually
contained in the poem as it has come down to us; he refers to the
“old stories” about Völund, but either he was unfamiliar with them in
detail or else he thought it needless to make use of them. His note
simply puts in clear and connected form what the verse tells
somewhat obscurely; his only additions are making Nithuth a king of
Sweden and Völund’s father a king of the Finns, supplying the name
Ulfsjar for the lake, identifying the swan-maidens as Valkyries, and
giving Kjar a home in Valland.

1. The manuscript indicates line 3 as the beginning of a stanza; two

lines may have been lost before or after lines 1–2, [256]and two
more, or even six, with the additional stanza describing the theft of
the swan-garments, after line 4. Myrkwood: a stock name for a
magic, dark forest; cf. Lokasenna, 42.
2. In the manuscript these two lines stand after stanza 16; editors
have tried to fit them into various places, but the prose indicates that
they belong here, with a gap assumed.

3. In the manuscript these two lines follow stanza 1, with no gap

indicated, and the first line marked as the beginning of a stanza.
Many editors have combined them with stanza 4.

4. No lacuna indicated in the manuscript; one editor fills the stanza

out with a second line running: “Then to her breast Slagfith
embraced.”

5. Line 3 looks like an interpolation, but line 5, identical with line 2 of

stanza 1, may be the superfluous one. [257]

6. The phrase “Völund home from a weary way” is an emendation of

Bugge’s, accepted by many editors. Some of those who do not
include it reject line 4, and combine the remainder of the stanza with
all or part of stanza 7.

7. The manuscript marks the second, and not the first, line as the
beginning of a stanza. Some editors combine lines 2–3 with all or
part of stanza 8. No gap is indicated in the manuscript, but many
editors have assumed one, some of them accepting Bugge’s
suggested “Till back the maiden | bright should come.”

8. No line in this stanza is indicated in the manuscript as beginning a

new stanza; editors have tried all sorts of experiments in regrouping
the lines into stanzas with those of stanzas 7 and 9. In line 3 the
word long is sheer guesswork, as the line in the manuscript contains
a metrical error.

9. Some editors combine the first two lines with parts of stanza 8,
and the last two with the first half of stanza 10. Njars: [258]there has
been much, and inconclusive, discussion as to what this name
means; probably it applies to a semi-mythical people somewhere
vaguely in “the East.”
10. Some editors combine lines 3–4 with the fragmentary stanza 11.

11. No gap indicated in the manuscript; some editors combine these

lines with lines 3–4 of stanza 10, while others combine them with the
first two lines of stanza 12. The one ring which Nithuth’s men steal is
given to Bothvild, and proves the cause of her undoing.

12. The manuscript indicates line 3, and not line 1, as the beginning
of a stanza, which has given rise to a large amount of conjectural
rearrangement. Line 2 of the original is identical with the phrase
added by Bugge in stanza 6. Line 5 may be [259]spurious, or lines 4–
5 may have been expanded out of a single line running “The wind-
dried wood | for Völund burned well.”

13. Elves: the poem here identifies Völund as belonging to the race
of the elves. Hlothver’s daughter: Hervor; many editors treat the
adjective “all-wise” here as a proper name.

15. In this poem the manuscript indicates the speakers. Some

editors make lines 1–2 into a separate stanza, linking lines 3–5 (or
4–5) with stanza 16. Line 3 is very possibly spurious, a mere
expansion of “Nithuth spake.” Nithuth, of course, has come with his
men to capture Völund, and now charges him with having stolen his
treasure.

16. The manuscript definitely assigns this stanza to Völund, but

many editors give the first two lines to Nithuth. In the manuscript
[260]stanza 16 is followed by the two lines of stanza 2, and many
editions make of lines 3–4 of stanza 16 and stanza 2 a single speech
by Völund. Grani’s way: Grani was Sigurth’s horse, on which he rode
to slay Fafnir and win Andvari’s hoard; this and the reference to the
Rhine as the home of wealth betray the southern source of the story.
If lines 1–2 belong to Völund, they mean that Nithuth got his wealth
in the Rhine country, and that Völund’s hoard has nothing to do with
it; if the speaker is Nithuth, they mean that Völund presumably has
not killed a dragon, and that he is far from the wealth of the Rhine,
so that he must have stolen his treasure from Nithuth himself.

17. Line 1 is lacking in the manuscript, lines 2–4 following

immediately after the two lines here given as stanza 2. Line 1,
borrowed from line 1 of stanza 32, is placed here by many editors,
following Bugge’s suggestion. Certainly it is Nithuth’s wife who utters
line 4. Who comes from the wood: Völund, noted as a hunter. Gering
assumes that with the entrance of Nithuth’s wife the scene has
changed from Völund’s house to Nithuth’s, but I cannot see that this
is necessary.

Prose. The annotator inserted this note rather clumsily in the midst of
the speech of Nithuth’s wife. [261]

18. In the manuscript lines 2–3 stand before line 1; many editors
have made the transposition here indicated. Some editors reject line
3 as spurious. Sævarstath: “Sea-Stead.”

19. This stanza is obviously in bad shape. Vigfusson makes two

stanzas of it by adding a first line: “Then did Völund speak, |
sagest of elves.” Editors have rejected various lines, and some have
regrouped the last lines with the first two of [262]stanza 20. The
elimination of the passages in parenthesis produces a four-line
stanza which is metrically correct, but it has little more than
guesswork to support it.

20. The editions vary radically in combining the lines of this stanza
with those of stanzas 19 and 21, particularly as the manuscript
indicates the third line as the beginning of a stanza. The meaning,
however, remains unchanged.

21. Several editions make one stanza out of lines 3–4 of stanza 20
and lines 1–2 of stanza 21, and another out of the next four lines.
The evil was open: i.e., the gold in the chest was destined to be their
undoing.
22. The manuscript indicates line 3 as the beginning of a stanza, and
several editors have adopted this grouping. In the Thithrekssaga
Völund sends the boys away with instructions not to come back until
just after a fall of snow, and then to approach his dwelling walking
backward. The boys do this, and when, after he has killed them,
Völund is questioned regarding them, he points to the tracks in the
snow as evidence that they had left his house. [263]

23. No gap indicated in the manuscript. Some editors assume it, as

here; some group the lines with lines 3–4 of stanza 22, and some
with lines 1–2 of stanza 24.

24. Some editions begin a new stanza with line 3.

25. The manuscript indicates line 3 as the beginning of a stanza, and

many editors have adopted this grouping.

26. These two lines have been grouped in various ways, either with
lines 3–4 of stanza 25 or with the fragmentary stanza 27. No gap is
indicated in the manuscript, but the loss of something is so obvious
that practically all editors have noted it, although they have differed
as to the number of lines lost.

27. No gap indicated in the manuscript; the line and a half [264]might
be filled out (partly with the aid of late paper manuscripts) thus: “But
soon it broke, | and swiftly to Völund / She bore it and said—”

29. The manuscript does not name Völund as the speaker before
line 3; Vigfusson again inserts his convenient line, “Then Völund
spake, | sagest of elves.” A few editions combine lines 3–4 with
the two lines of stanza 30.

30. No gap indicated in the manuscript; some editors combine the

two lines with lines 3–4 of stanza 29, and many with the three lines
of stanza 31. [265]
31. Something has probably been lost before this stanza, explaining
how Völund made himself wings, as otherwise, owing to his
lameness, he could not leave the island. The Thithrekssaga tells the
story of how Völund’s brother, Egil, shot birds and gave him the
feathers, out of which he made a feather-garment. This break in the
narrative illustrates the lack of knowledge apparently possessed by
the compiler who was responsible for the prose notes; had he known
the story told in the Thithrekssaga, it is hardly conceivable that he
would have failed to indicate the necessary connecting link at this
point. Some editors reject line 3 as spurious. The manuscript does
not indicate any lacuna.

32. The manuscript indicates line 4 as the beginning of a stanza, and

many editors have followed this arrangement.

33. The manuscript does not name the speaker. It indicates line 3 as
the beginning of a new stanza. Vigfusson adds before line 1, “Then
spake Nithuth, | lord of the Njars.”

34. No gap indicated in the manuscript, but it seems clear [266]that

something has been lost. Some editors combine these two lines with
lines 3–4 of stanza 33. Völund is now flying over Nithuth’s hall.

35. The manuscript does not name the speaker; Vigfusson again
makes two full stanzas with the line, “Then did Völund speak, |
sagest of elves.” Some editors begin a new stanza with line 4, while
others reject as interpolations lines 2–3 or 5–7. Völund’s wife: the
reference is to Bothvild, as Völund wishes to have his vengeance fall
more heavily on her father than on her.

36. Lines 3–4 are nearly identical with lines 3–4 of stanza 24.

37. Identical, except for the pronouns, with stanza 25. [267]

38. Lines 1–2: cf. stanza 26.

39. The manuscript does not name the speaker. Either line 4 or line
5 may be an interpolation; two editions reject lines 3–5, combining
lines 1–2 with stanza 40. In the Thithrekssaga Nithuth actually
compels Egil, Völund’s brother, to shoot at Völund. The latter has
concealed a bladder full of blood under his left arm, and when his
brother’s arrow pierces this, Nithuth assumes that his enemy has
been killed. This episode likewise appears among the scenes from
Völund’s career rudely carved on an ancient casket of ivory, bearing
an Anglo-Saxon inscription in runic letters, which has been
preserved.

40. Line 1: cf. stanza 31. The manuscript indicates no lacuna. [268]

41. The first line is a conjectural addition. Thakkrath is probably the

northern form of the Middle High German name Dancrat.

42. The manuscript indicates no gap, but indicates line 3 as the

beginning of a stanza; Vigfusson’s added “Then Nithuth spake, |
lord of the Njars” seems plausible enough.

43. The manuscript does not name the speaker. Different editors
have rejected one or another of the last three lines, and as the
manuscript indicates line 4 as the beginning of a new stanza, the
loss of two or three lines has likewise been suggested. According to
the Thithrekssaga, the son of Völund and Bothvild was Vithga, or
Witege, one of the heroes of Dietrich of Bern. [269]

[Contents]
HELGAKVITHA HJORVARTHSSONAR
 The Lay of Helgi the Son of
Hjorvarth
[Contents]

Introductory Note
The three Helgi lays, all found in the Codex Regius, have been the
subjects of a vast amount of discussion, in spite of which many of
the facts regarding them are still very far from settled. It is, indeed,
scarcely possible to make any unqualified statement regarding these
three poems for which a flat contradiction cannot be found in the
writings of some scholar of distinction. The origin of the Helgi
tradition, its connection with that of Sigurth, the authorship, date and
home of the poems, the degree to which they have been altered
from their original forms, the status of the composer of the copious
prose notes: these and many other allied questions have been and
probably always will be matters of dispute among students of the
Edda’s history.

Without attempting to enter into the discussion in detail, certain

theories should be noted. Helgi appears originally to have been a
Danish popular hero, the son of King Halfdan. Saxo Grammaticus
has a good deal to say about him in that capacity, and it has been
pointed out that many of the place names in the Helgi lays can be
pretty clearly identified with parts of Denmark and neighboring
stretches of the Baltic. The Danish Helgi, according to Saxo, was
famed as the conqueror of Hunding and Hothbrodd, the latter as the
result of a naval expedition at the head of a considerable fleet.
From Denmark the story appears to have spread northward into
Norway and westward into the Norse settlements among the islands.
Not many of its original features remained, and new ones were
added here and there, particularly with regard to Helgi’s love affair
with Sigrun. The victories over Hunding and Hothbrodd, however,
were generally retained, and out of material relating to these two
fights, and to the Helgi-Sigrun story, were fashioned the two lays of
Helgi Hundingsbane.

How the Helgi legend became involved with that of the Volsungs is
an open question. Both stories travelled from the South, and
presumably about the same time, so it is not unnatural [270]that some
confusion should have arisen. At no time, however, was the
connection particularly close so far as the actual episodes of the two
stories were concerned. In the two lays of Helgi Hundingsbane the
relationship is established only by the statement that Helgi was the
son of Sigmund and Borghild; Sigurth is not mentioned, and in the
lay of Helgi the son of Hjorvarth there is no connection at all. On the
other hand, Helgi does not appear in any of the Eddic poems dealing
directly with the Volsung stories, although in one passage of doubtful
authenticity (cf. Reginsmol, introductory note) his traditional enemy,
Hunding, does, represented by his sons. In the Volsungasaga the
story of Helgi, including the fights with Hunding and Hothbrodd and
the love affair with Sigrun, is told in chapters 8 and 9 without
otherwise affecting the course of the narrative. Here, as in the Helgi
lays, Helgi is the son of Sigmund Volsungsson and Borghild; Sigurth,
on the other hand, is the son of Sigmund and Hjordis, the latter being
the daughter of King Eylimi. Still another son, who complicates both
stories somewhat, is Sinfjotli, son of Sigmund and his own sister,
Signy. Sinfjotli appears in both of the Helgi Hundingsbane lays and in
the Volsungasaga, but not in any of the Eddic poems belonging to
the Volsung cycle (cf. Fra Dautha Sinfjotla and note).

There is a certain amount of resemblance between the story of Helgi

and Sigrun and that of Sigurth and Brynhild, particularly as the
annotator responsible for the prose notes insists that Sigrun was a
Valkyrie. Whether this resemblance was the cause of bringing the
two stories together, or whether the identification of Helgi as
Sigmund’s son resulted in alterations of the love story in the Helgi
poems, cannot be determined.

The first of the three Helgi poems, the lay of Helgi the son of
Hjorvarth, is a somewhat distant cousin of the other two. The Helgi in
question is apparently the same traditional figure, and he leads a
naval expedition, but he is not the son of Sigmund, there is no
connection with the Volsung cycle, and his wife is Svava, not Sigrun.
At the same time, the points of general resemblance with the two
Helgi Hundingsbane lays are such as to indicate a common origin,
provided one goes far enough back. The annotator brings the stories
together by the naive expedient of having Helgi “born again,” and not
once only, but twice. [271]

The first Helgi lay is manifestly in bad shape, and includes at least
two distinct poems, differentiated not only by subject-matter but by
metrical form. Although the question is debatable, the longer of these
poems (stanzas 1–11 and 31–43) seems in turn to have been
compounded out of fragments of two or more Helgi poems. The first
five stanzas are a dialogue between a bird and Atli, one of
Hjorvarth’s followers, concerning the winning of Sigrlin, who is
destined to be Hjorvarth’s wife and Helgi’s mother. Stanzas 6–11 are
a dialogue between Helgi and a Valkyrie (the accompanying prose
so calls her, and identifies her as Svava, but there is nothing in the
verse to prove this). Stanzas 12–30 form a fairly consecutive unit, in
which Atli, on guard over Helgi’s ship, has a vigorous argument with
a giantess, Hrimgerth, whence this section has sometimes been
called the Hrimgertharmol (Lay of Hrimgerth). The last section,
stanzas 31–43, is again fairly consecutive, and tells of the death of
Helgi following the rash oath of his brother, Hethin, to win Svava for
himself.

Parts I, II, and IV may all have come from the same poem or they
may not; it is quite impossible to tell surely. All of them are generally
dated by commentators not later than the first half of the tenth
century, whereas the Hrimgertharmol (section III) is placed
considerably later. When and by whom these fragments were pieced
together is another vexed question, and this involves a consideration
of the prose notes and links, of which the Helgakvitha
Hjorvarthssonar has a larger amount than any other poem in the
Edda. These prose links contain practically all the narrative, the
verse being almost exclusively dialogue. Whoever composed them
seems to have been consciously trying to bring his chaotic verse
material into some semblance of unity, but he did his work pretty
clumsily, with manifest blunders and contradictions. Bugge has
advanced the theory that these prose passages are to be regarded
as an original and necessary part of the work, but this hardly squares
with the evidence.

It seems probable, rather, that as the Helgi tradition spread from its
native Denmark through the Norse regions of the North and West,
and became gradually interwoven, although not in essentials, with
the other great hero cycle from the South, that of the Volsungs, a
considerable number of poems dealing with Helgi were composed,
at different times and in different places, [272]reflecting varied forms
of the story. Many generations afterwards, when Iceland’s literary
period had arrived, some zealous scribe committed to writing such
poems or fragments of poems as he knew, piecing them together
and annotating them on the basis of information which had reached
him through other channels. The prose notes to Helgakvitha
Hundingsbana II frankly admit this patchwork process: a section of
four stanzas (13–16) is introduced with the phrase, “as is said in the
Old Volsung Lay”; the final prose note cites an incident “told in the
Karuljoth (Lay of Kara),” and a two-line speech is quoted “as it was
written before in the Helgakvitha.”

The whole problem of the origin, character and home of the Helgi
poems has been discussed in great detail by Bugge in his Helge-
Digtene i den Ældre Edda, Deres Hjem og Forbindelser, which, as