Chapter 33
Lucky
My condo is dark except for the under-cabinet lights in the kitchen and the soft glow from the city lights outside the window. I’ve been pacing for an hour. My phone’s been in and out of my hand a dozen times. The words I want to say are stacked up in my throat like they’re waiting for permission.
But I can’t start with her.
Not yet.
I sink into the corner of the couch and tap my mom’s name. It’s late, but she picks up halfway through the first ring.
“Lucky!”
I drag a hand down my face. “Hey, Ma. Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“What’s wrong?” she demands. One would think that’s a mom just being intuitive, but she can hear the distress in my voice.
My jaw tightens. “It’s Winnie.”
A soft inhale of breath. “Tell me.”
“She’s… hurting. Not because of me exactly but because of the fallout from being with me. There’s a lot of hate online. A lot of bullying. She’s been trying to blow it off but today at school, someone vandalized her car… painted a nasty message.”
“Oh no,” my mom cries out softly. “Poor Winnie.”
I lean back, head hitting the cushion. “She told me she hasn’t posted in almost a week because she’s afraid of the backlash.
People are using her content against her.
Big influencers. Trolls. What’s worse, this is her livelihood.
It’s not just something she can walk away from.
She shouldn’t have to walk away from it. ”
“Do you think she can recover?” my mom asks.
I rub at my jaw, try to flex the tension out of it. “I don’t know. She’s overwhelmed and I don’t know how to fix this. I thought I could protect her. I thought maybe if I kept showing up for her, it would be enough.”
“Sweetheart,” she says softly, “you’re not the problem.”
“I know,” I say wearily. “She said it wasn’t my fault, but that doesn’t make me feel better.”
“You may not have caused this, but you can be the solution,” she muses.
“Please tell me you have a good idea.” I sit up straighter, because I’m all for fixing this for her. “She asked me to leave tonight. Said she was tired. She’s never done that before. And I get it. I do. But it still felt like someone slammed a door I wasn’t ready to see closed.”
“She’s tired because she’s carrying the weight of other people’s hate,” Ma says.
“And probably blaming herself for not being able to carry it better. That’s what kind people do.
They think it’s a failure when the world breaks them.
But I’m sure this is temporary. She cares about you way too much to let you go. ”
“Then what do I do?” I ask, voice quiet now. “Because I’m not about to let her drown in this.”
“You have something they don’t, Matty. You have a voice people actually listen to. You want to help her? Be louder than the hate. Be the storm that drowns them out. Make it so no one forgets whose side you’re on.”
I blink in surprise, because… surely it can’t be that simple. I sit with that for a beat, my ma’s words anchoring me. A plan dawns. “I have a hell of a following on social media,” I muse.
Ma laughs gently. “Yes, you do.”
So simple.
But will it be enough?
“I love her, Ma,” I whisper, throat tight.
“I know,” she says. “So go tell the world.”
?
I’m at the kitchen island, and even though it’s brightly lit, I set up a ring light. I rarely use it as I’m more of a spontaneous filmer, but this is too important not to look as good as possible.
My phone is clipped into the middle of the ring and the only sound is the hum of the fridge. I hit record and then take two steps back to settle on a stool, one foot planted flat on the floor, the other on a rung.
No script. No second takes.
Just me and what I know in my heart to be true.
“Hey,” I start, exhaling hard, and now that the camera’s rolling, needing a few seconds to collect my thoughts. I stare at the floor, remind myself that I have power to help my girl.
My gaze lifts and I look directly to my followers. “This isn’t a post I thought I’d ever make, but it’s one I need to. Because something happened, and I can’t be quiet about it.”
I swallow, fingers clenched on the edge of the counter.
“Some of you already know about Winnie—about how we met, how we started dating. It was a TikTok thing at first. But then it became something real. Really real. And along the way, something ugly started happening.”
I pause. Let it sit.
“People are going after Winnie. She’s been harassed.
Bullied. Mocked. People have made videos about her.
Said horrible things. Even vandalized her car at her workplace.
And for what? To get your own bit of fame on TikTok?
And why someone as genuine as her? Are you attacking her for being kind?
For being vulnerable enough to share her life? For daring to be happy with me?”
I shake my head slowly, my voice low.
“You don’t know what a few cruel words can do.
Maybe it’s just content to you. A throwaway comment.
A snarky video. A chance to be seen. But on the other end of that screen is a human being.
One who’s scared to open her phone. Scared to be seen.
Scared that being herself will never be enough.
That’s what online bullying does. It doesn’t just hurt feelings—it robs people of joy, of safety, of the very thing that makes them shine. ”
Another pause… perhaps the most important thing I’ll say. “To anyone who has said a mean comment about Winnie or anyone online… that is bullying. You are a bully. It is not cool to mess around with other people’s mental health. In fact, it’s downright cruel.
“Winnie didn’t ask for this. I’m the one who went after her. I’m the one who stitched her first video and kept showing up. I’m the one who fell for her so hard, I forgot to be afraid of what people might say.”
A beat, eyes steely in my resolve to fix this as I lean toward the camera, bracing my forearm on my thigh.
“So, if you want to come for someone? Come for me.” My jaw clenches and I lean in a little.
“But just know this—every time you say something cruel, every time you try to tear her down, I’m going to be right there.
Reading the comments. Responding. Fighting back.
You want to pick a target, you pick me. You come after her, I’m coming after you. ”
Another breath as I settle back, assume a non-threatening pose.
I give a slightly apologetic smile. “Now, this is just as important. If you’re one of the good ones—the people who believe in love, in kindness, in standing up for someone who’s struggling—then I need you.
I need you to flood this app with support.
You blast out love and support for Winnie because she’s the absolute best human I know.
If you see hate, drown it. Hold people accountable for their harmful words.
Call bullies out. Show Winnie that she’s not alone.
That there’s more light in the world than darkness. ”
I swallow hard.
“If you think this is personal to me, you’re not wrong.
Winnie wants to walk away from a satisfying career because of all this, and I’m going to do my damnedest to talk her out of it.
But if I can’t, and she walks, then I’m walking too.
Because yeah… this is personal. It’s more than personal, because I love her.
And I’m not letting the noise steal her light.
I am not going to let her be stolen from me. ”
I stare for a dozen or so seconds at the camera, then reach out to stop the recording. “Please be kind to each other. Lucky out.”
I hit the red button.
I don’t bother watching the video. There’s no way to improve upon it. It’s going live with no edits. Just the truth.
And I hope like hell it’s enough to remind her—and the world—who she really is.
And who she is to me.
I sit back on the barstool, phone in hand, heart pounding like I just skated a double shift in overtime.
The post is live.
And now I wait, my eyes roaming over the screen as activity kicks in. At first, the likes start jumping. A couple comments. Then the dam breaks.
Hundreds. Then thousands. Notifications rolling in so fast my screen glitches.
@penguinfan88: This is what a real man looks like.
@thehockeymomlife: Winnie doesn’t deserve an ounce of this hate. Sending love.
@spilledmatchalatte: We ride at dawn for Winnie Shaw.
@bransonfan42: Who hurt Winnie?? Drop their @. I just wanna talk.
A few trolls pop in—predictable, tired insults. But they barely last two minutes before they’re buried in replies. People call them out, stitch their profiles, push them back into the dark corners they crawled from.
I can’t stop scrolling.
It’s like a flood of light. Comment after comment. Messages of support for Winnie. For kindness. For not letting online hate win.
This was what my mom told me to do. Be louder than the hate.
My thumb’s still twitching when my phone buzzes with a call.
Foster.
I answer instantly. “Yo. What’s up?”
“Just saw your post,” he says, his voice low but steady. “Well, Mazzy saw it first and shoved her phone in my face. You okay?”
I blow out a breath. “Not really. But I’ll be fine.”
“Well, I just called to tell you we’re backing you up. You’re not carrying this alone. Besides, Winnie is one of us and no one fucks with one of us.”
I laugh, the first time in the last few hours that I’ve felt a bit lighter in my heart. “I appreciate it, man.”
“We’re getting ready to rally the rest of the gang. Those assholes posting that negative stuff have no clue who they’re fucking with.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say, shaking my head in amusement.
Foster’s tone is deadly. “Dude… you’re talking about a very serious issue. Bullying won’t be tolerated. Not against Winnie, not against anyone. And we’re all going to stand tough around your girl.”
“Hopefully she’s still my girl,” I mutter, rubbing my jaw. “That might take a little more work.”
“I have faith in you, brother. Listen, I’m out of here. Mazzy wants us to film our TikTok. She’s created the hashtag #BeKindLikeWinnie.”
“Love it.”
“We’ll flood the app with it. Make the algorithm work for us for once.”
I nod even though he can’t see it, my chest aching in the best way. “Thanks,” I say, voice rough now. “For this. For all of it.”
“You don’t have to thank me. You just have to let us show up.”
We disconnect and I stare at my phone again.
The comment count keeps rising. The support isn’t slowing down and it looks like the trolls have been quelled at least for now.
And in the pit of all this chaos, one thing shines through.
Winnie’s not alone.
Not anymore.
Tomorrow, Winnie Shaw’s going to wake up to an army behind her.
And I hope to God it reminds her just how much she matters, and with that kind of support, she’s got to put herself back out there.