Page 32 of Bottle Shock
As the father of a daughter, it’s one of my biggest fears. There are good men—I know good men—and I like to think I’m one of them. Still, there are enough bad ones to make me wish I could shield Lily from every horror women face. And you don’t have to be a father or a brother to understand how big the problem really is.
I want to reply but I’m so fucking livid, my hands are shaking.
Scottie
Please keep it between us. I haven’t told anyone yet and I’d rather not. At least not yet.
Her admission has some of my anger dissipating. Out of anyone she could’ve confided in—Elyse, her mom, her close friends, she chose me and I can’t fully explain how honored I feel to be entrusted with something so heavy. Something she shouldn’t be dealing with in the first place.
There’s a lot I want to say, but I’m too angry to say it all through text. What I will say is one I want to kill the guy. Dead serious, I want to kill him. And this is coming from someone vehemently against murder. And two, I think you’re incredibly brave and strong and amazing. And three I hope you’re planning to press charges against this piece of shit or report him to your union. Something. Anything. He needs to pay.
Moments after I hit send, I’m already regretting saying all of that. It was probably too much. She’s probably freaking?—
She’s calling me.
Fuck! She’s calling me.
I answer on the second ring.
“Hello?” My tone is apprehensive, convincing myself it’s likely a butt dial or an accident.
“Hi,” she says quietly. “I have to whisper because my parents are ten feet away.”
“Is everything okay? I’m sorry if I said anything that upset you,” I whisper, despite not needing to.
“What? No. I’m calling to make sure you’re not already halfway to O’Hare to commit a crime.” She giggles softly, and the warmth behind it makes my heart jump.
“Still in bed.” I sigh through a laugh. “But I’m very, very tempted.”
She goes quiet, her breath the only sound left between us.
“I’m going to tell Elyse,” she says finally. “She’s just got her own shit, and I don’t want to tack on my issues.”
“You matter too. I hope you know that.” Her breath catches but she stays silent. “I won’t say anything, I promise.”
“Thank you.”
We’re quiet for a moment, simply existing, breathing.
“So,” she drags, humor in her voice, “what are you wearing?”
I snort and then choke on a laugh. “Jesus Christ. I literally never know what’s going to fly out of your mouth.”
She tsks softly. “Still didn’t answer the question, Ledger.”
I can’t believe our conversation has led to this. “Boxer briefs, if you must know.”
“Ooh la la,” she purrs dramatically, almost like she’s putting on a French accent.
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell her, grinning like an idiot.
“Wanna know what I’m wearing?”
I huff out an exhale like I’m annoyed but I think we both know I’m not. “Tell me, Scottie. What are you wearing?”
Her swallow is thick and audible, the silence between us shifting—wanting and charged, leaving me wondering why this is a bad idea when it feels so good.
“You’re going to laugh.” She sounds shy, and it has my smile widening.
