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What have they done now?
The phone rings, and Dad answers on the fifth one. I can barely hear through my overworking body, and I struggle to keep my voice down.
“Nova?” he says, and tears well up in my eyes.
“Daddy,” I say. It slips out. I don’t even remember the last time I called him that.
“Are you hurt? Where are you?”
My heart drops, and I sit up, despite the rolling in my gut. “I’m fine. What’s wrong?”
He breathes heavily into the phone for a moment, then sniffs hard like he’s about to start crying.
“Christ, Nova.” Anger in his voice tightens up all my muscles.
“Dad, talk to me.”
“I got a call,” he starts, and I clutch the phone tighter to my ear. “It was just noise. A lot of noise, but I could hear your voice. You sounded scared. You were screaming at someone to put you down.”
He lets his frustration out through a long, gruff sound. The video.
The video that’s hanging over my head, one step away from hitting the internet with one of my most embarrassing moments. They’re using it to scare my dad now. Tears collect on my lashes, but a surge of anger keeps them from falling. Talking to him right now is dangerous, but at least he knows now I’m safe.
“I’m okay, dad. Maybe I butt-dialled you. I was at the park,” I lie. “A friend picked me up, and I didn’t like it. We were goofing around. Dad, I’m so sorry.”
He’s quiet, and I pray that he believes me.
“You’re okay then?” he asks forcefully, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe me.
I’m a shit liar and always have been, especially with Dad, who spent the last five years learning to be very in tune with what was going on with me. We decided I should live with Dad for a while when I was diagnosed. So, I moved back to Alabama and went to private school to give me a chance to rest and get my MS to a manageable place. Dad took care of me during the week. Dru would come out on weekends. Together, they parented me while Mom was busy trying to keep her label afloat.
“I’m okay. I promise.” I tip my head up to keep the tears in because I’m not fine. I’m so confused. I don’t know how to manage this pregnancy and the trouble I’m in and keep my family safe while also making them believe that I’m safe. It’s too much. I need help, but I can’t trust anyone. I can’t put anyone at risk.
“You’re sure?” Dad pushes, and I close my eyes, letting my body numb out all the emotions. A wash of dissociation drowns out everything and drains it from my mind.
I’m nothing more than a shell now, but it’s the only way I can manage this. Empty everything out. Nothing more than bright blue eyes and a charming smile. That’s all people want me to be, anyway.
“I’m sure,” I say as tendrils of fear snake around me. “I have to go, Dad. It was nice to talk to you, though. I’m so sorry.”
When I hang up, my phone falls into my lap through numb fingers. I stare at the closed door. On the other side, Zeke’s still watching hockey.
Maybe I can tell him. I turned off all the GPS and location settings on my phone, just in case. My blackmailer’s aware I’m in Canada, but not where I am, specifically. They have no idea that there’s a man in front of me, asking me what he can do to help.
I should tell him. Call him in here right now and tell him the truth.
He would help me.
But he shouldn’t have to.
Sinking down onto the bed, I roll to my side and curl myself into a fetal position. Figgy jumps up onto the bed and tucks himself next to me.
I can’t lay all this on Zeke. This is my problem.
My whole life, every time something goes wrong, I run to Dad or Dru. I call Case or Mom.
I fucked this up.
I made this mess.
Now, I want Zeke to fix it.
Tears slip out, wetting the pillow and falling from the tip of my nose.
I need to fix my problems for once, but I don’t know how.
