Page 67 of Under Southern Stars
I laugh again, a little less hysterically this time. “Thanks, Em. I needed that.”
“Anytime. Now go sort it. And bring this Sophia and Madison home. Mum’s already planning enough food to feed the entire All Blacks squad.”
After we hang up, I sit there for a long time, the weight of it all pressing down. Emma is right. Sophia has to know. Madison has to be protected.
But how? When? The trip is supposed to be an escape, a chance for us to connect, for Madison to see a different world. Now it feels like I’m carrying a bomb.
The decision solidifies, hard and clear. I can’t let him continue. I need to talk to Sophia, yes. But not yet. Not until after I’ve tried to deal with Troy myself.
Two text messages, a phone call to the station, and a small schedule swap later, I’m sitting in the back corner of a coffee shop at 4:45 PM the next day, positioned to see the entrance but partially hidden by a large fern. I know from Sophia that Troy picks Madison up here one afternoon a week for dinner—a neutral territory agreement from their custody arrangement.
Madison arrives first with her soccer bag, immediately gluing herself to her phone while she waits. She’s ordered some frozen sugary concoction that’s more dessert than coffee. The barista knows her by name.
At precisely 5:07 PM, Troy strolls in—twelve minutes late, not that I’m counting. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt with “ALPHA” emblazoned across the chest in gold letters. I think ofthe smug voice from the podcast, and my jaw clenches. Madison doesn’t look up from her phone until he’s standing over her.
“Hey, kiddo. Ready to go?”
She nods, gathering her things. They’re heading for the door when I step out from behind the fern.
“Troy!?” I feign surprise. “Kia ora, mate, I thought that was you.”
His eyes narrow slightly, passive-aggressively “trying” to place me. “Ohhh. Right. You’re the Australian paramedic. John?”
“Close enough.” I gesture to the counter. “Just grabbing coffee before shift. How are you?”
Madison brightens. “Jack! Mom said you were working today.”
“Change of plans.” I smile at her, then turn back to Troy. “Actually, could I have a quick word? Professional matter.” To Madison, I add, “Medical confidentiality stuff. Super boring.”
Troy hesitates, clearly irritated at the interruption. “Madison, wait by the car. I’ll be right there.”
She rolls her eyes but complies. “Bye, Jack. Tell Mom I’ll be home by nine.”
Once she’s out of earshot, Troy’s demeanor shifts. “What do you want? I’ve got dinner reservations.”
“Just a friendly chat.” I gesture to a corner table, away from the other customers. “About your online content.”
His expression freezes for a microsecond—so brief I would have missed it if I wasn’t looking for it. “My what?”
“Your Alpha Male Revolution podcast appearance was particularly interesting.” I keep my voice conversational, non-threatening. “The one where you call daughters ‘liabilities’ unless they marry well. Where you say they need to ‘obey men’ to have value.”
All the color drains from his face.
“I don’t know what—”
“I’ve read the Discord comments too. The newsletter. The YouTube channel.” I lean forward slightly. “All that talk about single mothers being ‘damaged goods.’ About how women need to ‘obey’ men to have any value.”
“That’s taken out of context,” he hisses, looking around nervously. “It’s a persona. For marketing.”
“Well that’s an interesting marketing strategy.” I open my phone to the screenshot. “Calling your own daughter a ‘liability’ seems like a bold choice.”
“I never said—”
“You never used Madison’s name, no. But you have exactly one daughter.” I put the phone away. “She’s fifteen now. Spends hours online. How long before she finds this content, Troy?”
Real fear flashes in his eyes, quickly replaced by anger. “Are you threatening me?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. Trust me,” I assure him, “you’d definitely know if I was. No, I’m giving you a chance to fix this before she sees it.” I keep my tone calm, reasonable. “Because she will find it eventually. Kids always do.”
