Page 53 of Bedtime Stories
“You’re mine now,” Keane murmurs with feeling. “My boy. And I don’t walk away.”
The dam inside me cracks, relief flooding out with more tears. I fold forward, burying my face in his chest, clinging as if I’ll drown if I let go.
“When I first started talking to you online, and then when I met you, I worried I couldn’t be what you needed. That I wasn’t wise enough, experienced enough of a Daddy to give you what you need, but now, now I know I’m exactly what you need.”
His words settle all my insecurities and fears about being too needy, too Little, too… everything Vince made me question about myself.
I let him scoop me up into his lap as though it’s the most natural thing in the world—knees under my thighs, head tucked into his collarbone—and let my breathing slow against him. My face is still damp from crying, small and trembling, and I feel that fierce, stupid protectiveness radiating off him, strong enough to make my chest ache.
He rubs slow circles on my back and talks out loud, calm and soft, running through a plan. I hang on every word, letting his steadiness sink into me.
“Okay,” he says. “First thing, whatever number texted you, don’t respond. Ever. Don’t feed this.”
I nod, burrowing closer.
“Second, screenshots. Every message, every call, every voicemail—timestamp it and back them up. Email them to me, copy them to a throwaway account we control. I’ll put them in a folder.” His hand threads through my hair. “If it escalates, we’ll have everything we need.”
“Third, block. Block the number, block the account. Change your privacy settings—Instagram, Twitter, whatever. Don’t post where you are.”
I shiver at the thought, and he hums encouragement.
“Fourth, physical protection. Change any door codes he might know. We’ll check your building cameras. We’ll adjust routines if we have to.”
I tighten against him.
“Fifth, witness and documentation.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Write dates, times, exactly what he said. Small details matter. If he shows up anywhere, get plates, take pictures, call me and call the police.”
My eyes widen; the weight of it makes me gulp.
“Sixth, legal steps.” He lets it sit. “Harassment report if this keeps up. Restraining order filings—handled by me. Anything criminal—threats, stalking—that’s a different track. My team will be on it immediately.”
Relief trickles through me.
He rests his chin over my head. “Seventh, community. Adiel knows. I told him to watch for Vince. We’ll tell mutual places you go—bookstore, cafés. Stay close to your friends. They’ll keep you shielded too.”
“Eighth—”
“There’s more?” I ask, still shaky but trying to stay strong.
“Don’t engage. Never respond, even to taunts. If he escalates, I deal with the words. You deal with being okay.”
I let out a laugh, half sob, half grateful. “You’re a walking handbook.”
“Lawyer handbook,” he corrects, but it’s soft. “And Daddy handbook, apparently.” He kisses the top of my head. “Practical first. Then the rest—counseling, security, sleeping arrangements—whatever makes you feel safest.”
I murmur into his shirt, “Stay.”
“I’m not going anywhere tonight,” he promises. “If you want me in the morning while you block and back up everything, I’ll be there. Next to you while you change all your passwords? I’ll be there.”
The promises stack up, sensible and measured, and I drag in a ragged breath in hopes it shores up my courage.
“Do you want me to call Adiel now?” He brushes his thumb over my knuckles. “Or should we grab screenshots first—messages, call logs, anything with Vince’s number—then I’ll call so Adiel has details?”
I lift my head, eyes burning but focused. “Call him. Just… stay with me while you do.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m staying. Always.”
