Chapter 2
Sammy the Malamute
WADE
“I made my family disappear.” I grin as I stand in the middle of Bossman’s fancy-ass house, dropping my duffel bag at my feet.
The house is quiet, the only sound the ticking of a clock somewhere and a beeping coming from the home monitoring system.
The place is wired for fucking everything.
Lights, heat, security, leak monitoring.
The Christmas lights are on a timer. The hot tub temperature can be turned up or down from the tablet that I was told is in the kitchen, and Google Home will probably know if I even think about touching the liquor cabinet.
Like alien electronics picking around in my brain.
It’s damn near the Big Brother house, but I don’t give a shit, because…
“I made my family disappear,” I repeat, kicking off my shoes by the front door. This feels like a no-dirty-ass-sneakers-in-the-house kind of house.
I love my family, but I have four older sisters and they gang up on me.
When I was a little kid, they treated me like a baby doll, alternating between aggressively caring for me and disciplining me. In a playing-house-kind-of-way.
I guess I would have appreciated their collective imagination if I wasn’t the one getting fake grounded all the time.
My gag reflex is overly sensitive from having a spoon shoved down my throat with too much enthusiasm. And I still shudder when I see a curling iron because it brings back memories of them practicing beach waves on my four-year-old head of hair that my mother refused to cut.
It does things to a guy.
I’m a real person, man.
Even if I spent my early twenties wearing a fuzzy dog costume.
Now that I’m twenty-five, Mr. Armstrong still thinks I’m an idiot, but at least I work in the special events department for the Racketeers. I’m finally back in college after dropping out at nineteen and hoping to work my way up in the marketing department.
But the last few weeks it’s felt like everyone wants to kick me when I’m down.
My roommate moved out and in with his girlfriend so I had to move back in with my parents.
I flunked my final exam in statistics because I didn’t have enough time to study because I had to move on two days' notice. My sisters are over every day because they claim to have Christmas stuff to do, like baking a zillion cookies and wrapping presents using Mom’s gift wrap room.
What they really like is coming over to get away from their kids, drink Mom’s wine, and try to grind me down about being single.
Which leads me to my love life.
I sigh as I make sure the front door is locked behind me and make my way toward the kitchen.
I don’t have a love life.
Erika, the mascot for the Dallas Dragons, just dumped me for no fucking reason.
After two years of flirtation, we finally got there, and then she just pulled back.
Some bullshit about long distance relationships not working.
I think it has more to do with the dude who is Seattle’s mascot and has fucked his way through every mascot in the league, both guys and girls.
I don’t have proof of that but they did start a separate text thread without me now that I’m technically not Sammy anymore.
I still put on the suit—the dog one—for charity events and special appearances but at the games I’ve been replaced by an eighteen-year-old kid named Jameson that everyone fucking loves.
Not that I’m feeling sorry for myself or anything.
Okay, that sounded like I’m feeling sorry for myself.
Fuck that. That’s not my vibe.
I have three days solo in a house that can do just about anything short of jerking me off.
Maybe it can even do that for all I know.
But I wouldn’t do it because boundaries.
This is still Bossman’s house.
Even though he told me he’s turned the interior cameras off I still have a job to do and I don’t want to let him down. He’s trusted me to keep the house occupied and intact.
There’s been some break-ins in the neighborhood recently and Nathan doesn’t want his home sanctuary violated.
This is a family house. Nathan and his girl, Danielle, and Crew McNeill and Dr. Hughes are raising a couple of babies here and that shit is sacred.
Got to keep the house safe.
“But first, let’s see what’s in the fridge.” I tell Google to turn on the kitchen lights as I move into the kitchen.
“Okay. Ambient or overhead?” the voice asks from the tablet.
I don’t know what ambient means so I say, “Overhead.”
“Sure.”
The lights come on.
“Whoa. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome, Wade.”
That’s a little…weird. Bitch knows my name.
“Play Christmas music.”
Might as well set the mood.
“Okay. Traditional or contemporary?”
“Traditional.” I don’t need like Olivia Rodriguez singing a Christmas song or anything. She’s an angry hot girl and I don’t want to think about girls.
White Christmas starts playing.
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
The fridge is double a normal-sized fridge. It’s organized like someone has control issues.
I’m guessing that’s Nathan’s doing.
Everything is label forward, in little pull out drawers, in food groups like it’s a store instead of a house. There is a whole freezer drawer that has nothing but ice cream and frozen dessert bars. There’s a sticky note on a lid of chocolate chunk that says, “Crew’s. Don’t touch, old man.”
On the fruit bars there is a much more extensive note that says, “Do not eat the children’s fruit bars unless you put them on the delivery order. Signed, the man who pays the grocery bill.”
I guess McNeill and Bossman have a freezer flame war going on.
I end up making myself nachos with shredded cheese, olives, onions, and guacamole.
I add fresh cilantro and feel pretty content as I sit at the kitchen island and tell my Google friend to put on the Racketeers hockey game on the kitchen TV.
The game is already over but I managed to avoid seeing the score and I want to watch it from the beginning.
I do love hockey.
Once I’m done stuffing my face and have watched half of the game, I pause it to wander downstairs into a game room that kicks ass. I play skee ball, golf virtually, play a couple of old school arcade video games, and sing some karaoke.
This might be more fun if I was high, but I gave up weed for Lent and never started again. I kind of like having a clear head. Gotta keep evolving and all that.
When I finally make my way back upstairs I see it’s snowing like crazy outside.
The Christmas trees (there are six of them in the living room alone) have all lit up on timers and I’m loving it.
For being a big house, it’s cozy and comfortable. Not stuffy, like Nathan.
There are reminders everywhere that kids live here.
There are tiny shoes and coats in the front closet when I hang up my winter coat and I stumbled on the sippy cup cabinet when I was looking for a glass.
The half bathroom off of the family room has a kid’s step stool next to the sink.
Crayon drawings that look like nothing but just scribbled lines are hanging on a bulletin board by the back door.
It’s cool to see how normal Bossman lives with his family.
He also trusts me, which is cool.
He’s still scary though.
I’m making my way upstairs to check out the hot tub situation when he texts me.
Do not fuck up my house.
Yep.
Still scary.