Milo left Obsidian through the private entrance, which led out to the club’s private parking garage. Privacy—it was a huge priority for Red Obsidian members. Danny had told Milo that there were some high-profile and public figures who frequented the Red Lounge—the club’s VIP section.

Milo had never been to the Red Lounge, nor had he seen any of the VIPs. But as a regular person, he was grateful to maintain his privacy.

He nodded to the security guard as he exited. “Have a good night, Beau.”

“You too, Milo. Get home safe,” Beau replied. For as large and intimidating as he looked, Beau was always ready with a smile and kind eyes.

Milo walked past the rows of vehicles, many high-end and expensive looking, until he stepped out into the city.

It was a cold November night, and Milo clutched his jacket to keep it closed against the lake winds whipping through the skyscrapers. The jacket’s zipper had busted last year, but his little sister needed a new one more than he did. Kids grow too fast.

Milo rushed through the never-empty downtown streets. The area was known for its nightlife, and a kaleidoscope of neon lights beckoned patrons for all sorts of entertainment possibilities, even on a weeknight.

Two metro lines of the city operated twenty-four seven, and of course, one was conveniently located close to the clubs and bars. Milo settled himself in one of the hard plastic seats, pulling out his phone to check for messages.

Red Obsidian had a strict no-phone policy to prevent photos and videos from being taken. Phones were only allowed out in the designated areas.

Milo had no missed calls or messages, and no news was good news in his experience. But if there had been an emergency, his siblings knew the number for the club office. Milo would never allow himself to be entirely unreachable by them. Because he was all they had.

The metro screeched to a stop at his station. Milo got off and started walking the remaining two blocks west to his apartment. Away from the city center, this neighborhood was much quieter. And it was near a university, so the streets were well-lit and relatively safe.

Finally, he reached a row of identical buildings, all six stories high and made of plain red brick, aging and crumbling in places. Only the numbers above the entrances differed, and Milo climbed the front stoop to his.

He lived on the fifth floor, and the elevator had never worked for as long as they’d been there. The climb up highlighted every ache and twinge his earlier massage hadn’t relieved. But Milo didn’t mind. He liked the reminders for as long as they lasted.

His footsteps echoed up the stairwell and through the acrid smell of cigarettes that always lingered, in spite of the no-smoking policy. The place was what he could afford in order to stay in that neighborhood, so his youngest two siblings could keep going to their schools.

Milo opened the heavy door to his floor, the hinges groaning in protest. The lightbulbs in the hallway needed replacing, but it wasn’t all dark with the Exit sign’s red glow and light coming through some of the apartments’ old transom windows. And even at this hour, blaring TVs and neighbors’ voices could be heard through the paper-thin walls.

Pulling his keys out of his backpack, Milo stood in front of his door, labeled 506 in heavy, antique brass numbers. Then he unlocked it as quietly as he could, despite the lock’s tendency to stick, and slipped inside.

The apartment was tiny for four people. The building was quite old. The pipes always rattled, the heating was not reliable or efficient, there was no AC, the appliances were outdated, and the building super was often unreachable.

But it was home.

He stepped into the living room, putting his backpack down by the overfilled coat rack. He shook off his jacket and added it on top of the others. Then he unlaced his boots and pulled them off.

They always left the above-the-sink light on for Milo when he was away, his bartending job often keeping him out even later than this. The weak fluorescent light only reached dimly into the living room, but he could see the outline of his thirteen-year-old sister lying on the couch with the thick comforter from her bed. His jumbling must have woken her. She rubbed at her eyes beneath her glasses, which she’d been sleeping in again, and slowly sat up.

“Alice? What are you doing out here?” Milo asked softly, dropping onto the couch next to her.

“Raine was working on a paper, and I couldn’t sleep with all the typing,” she said, resting her head against Milo’s side.

They only had two bedrooms, so Raine and Alice shared one. And Milo and their brother Donovan shared the other. They had an old, refurbished desktop computer, and they kept it in Raine and Alice’s room because Raine was a senior in high school and got the most use out of it.

“Why didn’t Raine do the paper earlier?”

“They worked tonight,” Alice said through a yawn. “Didn’t get home till late.”

Milo’s stomach sank with guilt. Raine worked part-time at a fast-food restaurant to buy the things Milo wished he could give them, like nicer clothes and gadgets, or spending money to blow with friends.

He worked a full-time job during the day and bartended at night, and with Donovan also contributing his paycheck—though he didn’t have to—they were able to cover the basics. But sometimes it didn’t feel like enough. Sometimes, he didn’t feel like enough. He worried, as he often did, if he was fit to be their guardian.

The familiar feeling of walls caving in threatened to swallow him, but Milo breathed slowly. He had to keep it together—to keep them together.

“Come on. Let’s get you to bed,” he said to his baby sister, who was nodding off.

Alice grabbed her blanket, and Milo helped her off the couch and down the short hallway where both bedrooms and the bathroom were. Raine was fast asleep in the bottom bunk, huddled in the blankets because the furnace could never keep up on cold nights. Milo took Alice’s glasses and set them on the dresser, then guided her up the ladder, making sure she didn’t slip on her blanket. Then he tucked her in tightly.

“Night, Milo,” she whispered. “Love you.”

“Love you too, kiddo.” He loved them all so much.

Milo tiptoed out of the room and closed the door. He stood there for a moment and brushed his hand over the canvas name plates that Raine had painted for them. Alice’s name was written in beautiful scrolling calligraphy on a background of pink clouds and surrounded by butterflies, swirls, and sparkles. Raine’s name was done in ice blue edgy lines over what Milo called dark chaos—it looked artistic and angsty, which pretty well summed up Raine. Seeing them side by side always brought a smile to Milo.

He walked back into the living room and then the kitchen. On the little round dining table was a stack of papers—a mix of schoolwork, junk mail, and bills. He sifted through them, tossing the credit card offers and political flyers, keeping the grocery sales ads and coupons, and finally looking over Alice’s graded school work, heartened that she was doing well. There was a fundraiser catalog for her grade. The last one she had, Danny had insisted he bring it to the club. And Alice got all the top prizes for the most sales. Maybe they would let him do that again.

Finally, Milo opened the bills, just two this time. The energy bill, which had gone up since the weather had turned cold, and the cell phones. Milo put them in the basket on top of the fridge. He would pay them online tomorrow, after Friday’s payday.

When the table was cleared of papers, Milo turned off the kitchen light. The city glow filtered through the thin curtains well enough for Milo to see his backpack still sitting by the door. He retrieved it and took it to his bedroom.

Donovan was sleeping in his twin-sized bed in his corner of the room. He was too tall for it, and even on frigid nights like this, his bare feet poked out of the blankets and over the edge of the bed. Milo shook his head. He had to wear thick socks to sleep, or it’d feel like he would freeze to death.

Don usually slept like a log, especially if he’d worked that day—he did roofing, siding, and window installation. But still, Milo carefully opened the drawer of his bedside table. From his backpack, Milo pulled out the clothes he wore as a sub and placed them in the drawer. Then he locked it with the tiny key he kept on his keyring.

His family had known he was gay since high school. But they didn’t know about the BDSM. And he had no plans to tell them. His siblings probably—definitely—wouldn’t want to hear the intimate details of his sex life. But also, the BDSM was something he kept just for himself.

With that done, Milo dressed in his pajamas—flannel pants, a long-sleeve tee, and of course the fuzzy socks. He placed his glasses and phone on the nightstand. Then he got into bed, fitting into it better than Donovan did. He pulled the thick blankets tightly around himself and sank into the warmth.

Only a few hours remained before the sun rose and brought with it a new day of work and responsibilities. But tonight had been worth the lost sleep. Milo wouldn’t go out again for a while, but he was okay with that. His family would come first, always.