Chapter 22
Georgia
“Just delete it,” I stare down at the voicemail notification on my phone. “Just fucking delete it.”
But I can’t bring myself to do it. Instead, my gaze just zones out on my father’s name, wishing I could delete the voicemail but knowing I have to listen to it first.
The hull of the Serendipity creaks in its slip, and I finally hit play.
“Georgia,” his voice is sharp. “I can’t even process the kind of disgusting arrangement you’ve gotten yourself into.
I can’t believe you’d let yourself get wrapped up in some sort of sick, polyamorous bullshit.
” He pauses and lets out a breath. “I’m driving to St. Augustine, and I expect you to meet me at the marina—alone.
Don’t make me come hunt you down, because I sure as hell will.
You owe me answers. I raised you better than this. ”
My pulse throbs in the side of my head. I replay the voicemail.
I raised you better than this, his words echo in my head.
I blink, thumb trembling as I press stop. A cold, tight pressure builds at the base of my skull. I dig my nails into my thigh and try to focus.
The sound of Catherine’s voice from yesterday slithers through my brain.“You’re disgusting. I hope you get what you want out of this, because trust me, it won’t last.”
I wipe a tear from my eye before it even has a chance to fall. I want to throw up, but there’s nothing left in my stomach. I haven’t eaten since yesterday when it all happened.
I check the time on the voicemail, and then sigh. He’s coming for me.
Well, he’s coming for all of us.
I go back to my phone and pull up Daisy’s name. I hit the call button and wait, listening to it ring.
Nothing. It goes to her voicemail. I squeeze my eyes shut, and this time, let the tears spill over my cheeks. I try Daisy once more, and when she doesn’t answer, I toss the phone on my bed.
Fuck.
She must be in a meeting or maybe just sick of my drama. I have no idea, but I need her right now.
I tuck my knees up to my chin and try to think. But all I can picture is my dad’s face, thundercloud-dark and radiating a kind of fury I’ve seen so many times. And this is going to be so, so much worse.
Because now, it’s not just one, it’s three.
That nearly sends me into a spiral. I try to breathe, as the walls of the room feel like they’re caving in, every shadow stretching until it smothers me.
My vision goes fuzzy at the edges, and for a second I’m sure I’m going to pass out, so I bolt for the porthole, wrench it open, and suck in hot, briny air until my lungs burn.
The humidity is suffocating.
I turn around and check my phone again, seeing a message on my screen.
Daisy: In a meeting. Everything okay?
I want to answer, but I don’t even know where to start.
Maybe I should just leave. That’s what a smart person would do. They’d get off the boat, get a cab to the airport, and disappear before the bomb goes off.
I drag my suitcase from the closet and start chucking clothes into it. Every few seconds, I freeze, picturing Dad screaming at me, Catherine’s sneer, and the sense of pure dread tripwires every freaking muscle in my body.
Halfway through shoving my laptop charger into a side pocket, I pause, remembering the last time I did this. When I almost left the boat that morning…
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My knees buckle, and I sit down hard on the edge of the mattress again. I clutch the phone to my chest and breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth, like Daisy always said to do. It barely does anything for my racing heart.
A sharp rap at the door makes me jump. For a moment, I think it’s my father already here.
But it’s just Emmett.
“Georgia?” His voice is gentle. “Can I come in?”
I swallow, my voice a rasp. “Yeah. It’s open.”
He pushes the door in. When he sees me, all his usual easy humor drains from his face. He zeroes in on the half-packed bag and the trembling phone in my hand.
“Shit,” he says. “He called, didn’t he?”
I nod, unable to speak. My mouth won’t even open.
Emmett closes the door behind him, crosses the cabin, and kneels at my feet. He puts his hands on my knees, thumbs stroking slow circles, anchoring me with the heat of his palms. “Tell me what happened.”
I can’t meet his eyes, so I just play the voicemail. The harsh words of my father fill the small space. Emmett’s grip on my legs tightens as it goes on, but he doesn’t say anything. When the message ends, I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the tears all over again.
“Catherine called him,” I whisper, voice catching. “She had to have told him everything. About us. About the…” I can’t finish the sentence, my face feeling hot with embarrassment all over again.
He pulls me into a hug so sudden I almost topple off the bed. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay.” His hands rub soothing patterns on my back. “He can’t hurt you, Georgia. Not anymore. You’re not a kid. He doesn’t get to make the rules. It’s your life to live.”
I want to believe him, but the fear chokes me. “You don’t know him,” I whisper. “He can make anything sound like it’s the end of the world, and this…this is going to be really bad.”
“I know him, too, you know,” Emmett says, voice lower, more serious than I’ve ever heard him. “I know how he can be. But you can stand your ground. You can do it.”
The image of me standing my ground is almost laughable, but I hang onto the words anyway. I burrow into his chest, letting him hold me while I struggle to not lose it. This is the worst thing I’ve ever had to face.
He rocks me gently, then pulls back, framing my face in his hands. “We’ll face him together. Okay? I’ll get the others. You need all of us right now.”
I nod, tears leaking down my cheeks without me even realizing it.
He wipes them with his thumb, then bolts from the room, leaving the door swinging wide behind him.
I sit there for a few beats, missing the warmth of his arms around me. He made it sound so easy, like standing up to my dad is no big deal. But he has no idea what it’s like to have been under his thumb for my entire life.
As I start to feel myself spiraling all over again, I hear voices in the hallway.
Footsteps, a shuffle of bodies. A minute later, Emmett’s back with Miles and Brody trailing behind.
Miles’s jaw is set, his glasses perched low on his nose, and Brody’s eyes are bloodshot, his movements stiff as if he doesn’t know what to do with himself.
Everyone is feeling it.
“Hey,” Miles says, his voice painfully quiet, and sits on the other side of me. Brody stands back, arms folded so tightly across his chest I can see the veins popping out of his forearms.
I open my mouth, but no words come.
Emmett picks up the phone, taps the voicemail, and lets the guys hear for themselves.
After it finishes, nobody speaks for a solid ten seconds. Then Miles, ever the pragmatist, sighs, “How long do we have?”
I try to think, my mind snapping to logistics. “He’s driving from Savannah. If he left at first light, maybe an hour. Two, tops… I don’t know.”
Miles nods. “We should get ahead of it. Decide what we want to do before he gets here.”
I can’t tell if he means run, or fight, or just hunker down and hope my father isn’t really coming. I look to Brody, searching for any sign of what he wants. His face is carved in freaking stone, but his eyes are a storm.
“I can’t face him,” I say, shaking my head. “Not after what Catherine told him. Not after…” My voice breaks.
Emmett squeezes my shoulder. “We’ll face him with you, just like I said. And you’re tougher than you think.”
Miles reaches over, smooths my hair back. “If you want to go, we’ll help you. If you want to stay, we’ll stay. But for the record, running won’t make the situation go away.”
I know he’s right. But the fear of my father is so damn heavy, and it roots me to the mattress, paralyzed.
Brody speaks at last. “He’s not going to touch you, Georgie. I won’t let him. I swear to you.”
The tears come again, this time hot and silent. I press my face to my knees and let them fall—but only for a minute. I then lift my head and wipe my eyes. “I don’t want to run,” I breathe out. “But I don’t know how to stand up to him.”
“You won’t have to do it alone,” Emmett says.
“We’re with you all the way,” Miles echoes. “I promise.”
Brody unfolds his arms, crosses the room, and kneels in front of me. He takes my hands and holds them. “Your father doesn’t get to tell you what to do anymore, Georgia. You decide what happens next, and we’ll back you up.”
He holds my gaze, and I feel the smallest flicker of strength.
“Okay,” I say, voice still hoarse but a little steadier. “We’ll face him. Together.”
Because there’s still no way in hell I can do this alone.