CHAPTER TWENTY TWO #2
But how? When? The trip is supposed to be an escape, a chance for us to connect, for Madison to see a different world. Now it feels like I’m carrying a bomb.
The decision solidifies, hard and clear. I can’t let him continue. I need to talk to Sophia, yes. But not yet. Not until after I’ve tried to deal with Troy myself.
Two text messages, a phone call to the station, and a small schedule swap later, I’m sitting in the back corner of a coffee shop at 4:45 PM the next day, positioned to see the entrance but partially hidden by a large fern.
I know from Sophia that Troy picks Madison up here one afternoon a week for dinner—a neutral territory agreement from their custody arrangement.
Madison arrives first with her soccer bag, immediately gluing herself to her phone while she waits. She’s ordered some frozen sugary concoction that’s more dessert than coffee. The barista knows her by name.
At precisely 5:07 PM, Troy strolls in—twelve minutes late, not that I’m counting.
He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt with “ALPHA” emblazoned across the chest in gold letters.
I think of the smug voice from the podcast, and my jaw clenches.
Madison doesn’t look up from her phone until he’s standing over her.
“Hey, kiddo. Ready to go?”
She nods, gathering her things. They’re heading for the door when I step out from behind the fern.
“Troy!?” I feign surprise. “Kia ora, mate, I thought that was you.”
His eyes narrow slightly, passive-aggressively “trying” to place me. “Ohhh. Right. You’re the Australian paramedic. John?”
“Close enough.” I gesture to the counter. “Just grabbing coffee before shift. How are you?”
Madison brightens. “Jack! Mom said you were working today.”
“Change of plans.” I smile at her, then turn back to Troy. “Actually, could I have a quick word? Professional matter.” To Madison, I add, “Medical confidentiality stuff. Super boring.”
Troy hesitates, clearly irritated at the interruption. “Madison, wait by the car. I’ll be right there.”
She rolls her eyes but complies. “Bye, Jack. Tell Mom I’ll be home by nine.”
Once she’s out of earshot, Troy’s demeanor shifts. “What do you want? I’ve got dinner reservations.”
“Just a friendly chat.” I gesture to a corner table, away from the other customers. “About your online content.”
His expression freezes for a microsecond—so brief I would have missed it if I wasn’t looking for it. “My what?”
“Your Alpha Male Revolution podcast appearance was particularly interesting.” I keep my voice conversational, non-threatening. “The one where you call daughters ‘liabilities’ unless they marry well. Where you say they need to ‘obey men’ to have value.”
All the color drains from his face.
“I don’t know what—”
“I’ve read the Discord comments too. The newsletter. The YouTube channel.” I lean forward slightly. “All that talk about single mothers being ‘damaged goods.’ About how women need to ‘obey’ men to have any value.”
“That’s taken out of context,” he hisses, looking around nervously. “It’s a persona. For marketing.”
“Well that’s an interesting marketing strategy.” I open my phone to the screenshot. “Calling your own daughter a ‘liability’ seems like a bold choice.”
“I never said—”
“You never used Madison’s name, no. But you have exactly one daughter.” I put the phone away. “She’s fifteen now. Spends hours online. How long before she finds this content, Troy?”
Real fear flashes in his eyes, quickly replaced by anger. “Are you threatening me?”
“Oh, no. Not at all. Trust me,” I assure him, “you’d definitely know if I was. No, I’m giving you a chance to fix this before she sees it.” I keep my tone calm, reasonable. “Because she will find it eventually. Kids always do.”
“What do you want?” His voice has lost its alpha male confidence. “Money? Is that it?”
I physically recoil. “What? No. Christ, no.”
“Then what?”
“Delete it. All of it. The podcast. The videos. The Discord messages. Everything that talks about women’s ‘value’ or daughters being ‘liabilities.’ Everything that makes Madison sound like a fucking investment property instead of a human being.”
“That’s my livelihood—”
“Find another one.” I stand, towering over him. “Madison loves you. God knows why, but she does. And if she ever finds those videos, that podcast—it will destroy her.”
“You can’t—”
“I’m not doing anything, Troy. I’m just pointing out that your content exists forever unless you delete it. And Madison is getting older, more curious. One day, she’ll Google you.” I let that sink in. “What do you want her to find?”
I see conflict in his eyes—the financial incentive of his ‘brand’ wrestling with whatever parental instinct might still exist.
“How did you even find all this?” he asks finally.
I shrug. “Anyone with internet access could find it. It’s all public.”
That seems to hit him harder than anything else I’ve said. The color drains from his face again.
“There’s more, too,” I add casually. “I notice how you reply to Joe Rogan and Jordan Peterson tweets. Like, within seconds of them posting. Every. Single. Time.”
His face reddens. “So what? They’re thought leaders—”
“You’re literally waiting by your phone to lick their arseholes the instant they post.” I shake my head. “Maybe try touching grass sometime, mate.”
Troy’s jaw tightens. “Are we done here?”
“Almost.” I keep my voice level, measured. “Look, I’m not going to force you to do anything. For the moment, anyway, freedom of speech is still the law in this country. But I want to be crystal clear about something: I’m not telling Madison about any of this. Because I know it would destroy her.”
I let that hang for a moment between us.
“Take some time to think about what kind of father you want to be, Troy. What you want your daughter to find when she inevitably googles you. Because that day is coming.”
“I’ll…think about it.”
“Do that.” I step away from the table. “And Troy? This conversation stays between us. For Madison’s sake.”
Outside, Madison is sitting in Troy’s Tesla, head bowed over her phone. She looks up as I pass, waves cheerfully. I wave back, my heart breaking for this incredible kid who has no idea what her father really thinks of her.
I drive home in a daze, wondering if I’ve done the right thing. Should I have told Sophia immediately? Is confronting Troy directly a mistake? What if he retaliates by trying to limit Madison’s time with Sophia?
At a red light, my phone buzzes with a text.
Sophia: Just finishing up at work. Can't wait to see you. Madison will be back by 9pm so we have the place to ourselves for a little. ;) Decided to wear something interesting under my scrubs today. Here's something I took earlier to show you what you have to look forward to.
I open the message and nearly drop my phone.
It’s Sophia—my God, is it ever Sophia—in her bathroom mirror at home, wearing a lacy black bra that’s doing God’s work.
Matching panties that barely qualify as clothing.
Her hair’s pinned up, tendrils falling loose against her collarbone, and her mouth is curved in a knowing, wicked little smirk that tells me she knows exactly what this picture is doing to me.
I stiffen instantly. There’s not a prayer I’m shaking this off.
A second message pings through:
Sophia: We won't have long. You gonna make it worth my while, McKenzie? Or should I send this to someone else who knows how to use their hands? ;)
I groan aloud. Jesus Christ. She’s really trying to kill me.
I fumble to type back with one hand, the other now useless thanks to the steel bar forming behind my zipper:
Jack: You send that to anyone else and I will personally drag them into the bay and drown them with my bare hands.
A moment later, her reply:
Sophia: That's the energy I like to see. Better bring it. I shaved my legs for this.
A horn blares behind me. The light’s green.
I toss my phone onto the passenger seat like it burned me, shifting in my seat with a grimace. My jeans are now a prison. I need a cold shower—or Sophia. Preferably both.
I quickly do the math in my head: Sophia gets off at 7. Madison’s with Troy until 9. Two hours. I had planned to head home first, shower, change—I’m still in the clothes I wore to confront Troy. But with traffic, I’ll barely make it to Sophia’s by 7:45. Maybe 8:00.
Fuck that.
Fuck that!
I make a hard right at the next intersection, ignoring a blaring horn, and head directly for Sophia’s house.
I’ll damn well wait in her driveway if I have to.
After the day I’ve had—after seeing what Troy really thinks about his daughter, after worrying about telling Sophia—I’m not wasting a single minute of our time together.
Six days until New Zealand. Six days until we’re far away from Troy’s toxic bullshit and hateful ideology.
Six days to figure out if I should tell Sophia what I found.
But one thing I know with absolute certainty—I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Madison never sees herself as just a “liability.” Never believes her value comes from “obeying” men.
Even if that means protecting her from her own father’s poisonous worldview.
For now, though, I’ll have about ninety minutes alone with the woman who just sent me that photo. And I plan to make every single one of those minutes count.