Naomi is staring after them in awe when I check on her again. Hadley is still glaring at me.
I have nothing left by the time we wrap our first rehearsal and head home. With her Genevieve Fox Dream Date over, Naomi is back to sulky and silent. I try to make conversation a few times, but give up when my attempts seem to transform her sulking into hostility. I have no energy for a fight. For anything, really, and I look forward to a couple rigorous hours in our apartment community gym to burn off some frustration and anxiety.
I’m cleaning up the dinner dishes when Naomi’s phone buzzes on the counter.
Wanna meet up tonight?
I stare at the text on her screen, a chill rushing down my spine.
Who the fuck is “Danny P” and why is he asking to meet up with my eleven-year-old niece late at night? After the day I’ve had, I have no patience for predators and swipe her phone from the countertop. Another message lights up her lock screen.
Hey sweet girl. Where u at?
“The bathroom, you fucker,” I growl.
I glare at the messages as if my rage will somehow travel through the phone and disintegrate this bastard. I never should have gotten her a phone, it’s just, I don’t know. She begged me, and I naively thought giving her what she wanted would somehow improve our relationship.
Besides, it seemed like having a way to communicate with her when we were apart was a responsible parent thing. I found an article in my “parenting preteens” research that said the average age of kids getting phones was even younger, so figured maybe she had a point.
I didn’t consider the Danny P’s of this world as seriously as I should have.
Naomi returns to the kitchen and freezes when she finds me holding her phone. We’ve been at a frosty stalemate since dinner, and I see the moment she realizes she screwed up by leaving it behind. Thank god she did.
“Who is Danny P?” I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady. Inside, my brain is exploding, my blood firing hot and shooting my fist into a rock at my side.
“Just a friend,” she says, but I can tell by the way her eyes shift, she knows it’s not a friend I’d approve of.
“From school?”
She shrugs again, and my fist trembles.
“Is he a boy from your school, Naomi?” I seethe out.
“What does it even matter?” she snaps back, reaching for her phone. “Since when do you even care?”
I step away and shove it behind me.
“No way you’re getting this back. Why does he want to meet up, and why the hell is he calling you sweet girl?”
Tears spring to her eyes as they bore into me. She’s trying so hard to maintain her angry façade through her fear. “He’s no one! Just some guy! Yes, he goes to my school.”
“You’re lying,” I fire back.
“I’m not!”
“Yeah? Then how about we call him? He wants to meet up? He can come here and we’ll meet up as a family. How’s that sound?”
Her eyes widen in horror, and I know, I just know this dude is a creep I will murder if he so much as comes near my niece. How can she not see that? How could she be so stupid?
“Give me my phone back, Uncle J!” she shouts, charging forward, hands outstretched.
“Not a chance.”
“It’s mine!”
“Yeah? Do you pay for it?”
“I hate you!”
“Join the club. But you’re not getting this back until I understand exactly who this Danny P is and make sure he never contacts you again.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Watch me.”
“You’re not my father!”
“No, thank god.” The words slip out before I can stop them. We both freeze. I didn’t even mean it like that. I just meant because I… fuck! Her eyes well as she steps back, shaking. “Naomi… that’s not what I meant… I…”
She shakes her head, tears slipping from her big green eyes. “I hate you, Uncle Julian. I hate you so much I wish you were dead!” she shouts, storming off.
I flinch through the sting, trying to make sense of what just happened. What needs to happen next. God, why does every damn thing have to be so hard?
“Naomi!”
She runs down the hall, slamming her door in my face.
Shit! “Naomi, that’s not what I meant,” I call through the door. “Naomi!” I pound on the wood when I hear the scrape of furniture on the other side. “Don’t you dare blockade this door!”
I hit harder, tugging at the handle when she doesn’t respond. I throw my weight against the barricade, but it doesn’t budge. Dammit, should have removed the locks when she moved in. “Naomi!”
Music blares to life behind the wall. It must be as loud as those speakers go. Wild drums and wailing guitars. Incoherent screaming from the lead singer who clearly hates the world as much as the two of us do right now.
I bang on the door again, shouting to her for several more seconds, seriously considering trying to kick it down. In fact…
“Naomi!”
When she still doesn’t answer, I back up and smash the sole of my shoe against the wood. Damn that hurt. I’m about to try it again anyway, when a different kind of knock trickles down the hall.
My gaze snaps to the front door, and I curse again. Not now. Please not now. But the knock thumps out harder, and somehow I know she’s not going to give up.
Throwing up my hands, I limp down the hall toward the door and yank it open.
Hadley. Of course she came here to yell at me over the noise.
“I know, okay?” I hiss at her. “You can keep your fucking opinions to yourself. Buy headphones. Download a white noise app. Or—I don’t know—how about you go live at your boss’ castle for a while. I’m sure she’s got a secluded wing or two that would make any cranky old-timer happy. Sound good?”
Her eyes, wide with shock at my outburst, suddenly narrow fiercely. “You are a certifiable asshole, Julian Campbell. You know that?”
I shrug through the fresh burn of her words. “Yeah, I get that, believe me. We done here? If you don’t mind, I’m kind of in the middle of something.”
“She just wants you to see her,” Hadley snaps back. “If you weren’t so self-absorbed, maybe you’d get that too.” She spins away and marches back down the hall.
I slam the door shut, breathing hard. Collapsing against it, I sink to the floor and struggle to control my spiraling universe. Rage, failure, and now a physical pain shooting up my shin all swirl in a suffocating cloud around and through me. I’m a shadow, particles trying to breathe and function in a world I’m not equipped to navigate, let alone direct.
I pull in air at a frantic clip, my head getting light and my arms tingling. The music shrieks from down the hall, Naomi’s phone still heavy in my hand. I glare down at the text that started it all, suddenly overcome with violence.
I punch in the passcode I set up, praying she wasn’t smart enough to change it. She wasn’t, and I open the chat stream.
Scrolling through text after text, I finally land on a photo of the dude. Just as I suspected he’s at least five years older, maybe more. Yeah, fuck this. I go back through the phone, screenshotting anything I can find that might be borderline actionable, but unfortunately (and maybe fortunately) this dude is careful. Nothing sexual. Nothing I could bring to police—yet. What if I hadn’t seen that text?