Chapter 8 #2
But with Lottie...the urges I felt were different.
I wanted to hold her hand while she did her insulin.
Hell no, I wanted to actually give her the damn insulin.
Buy her teddy bears to keep Mr. Snuggles company.
Make sure she ate regular meals and got enough sleep.
Create a space where she felt completely safe, where she could be as small as she needed without shame.
But not just that. I wanted her to look at me the same way Abby did with Gideon.
We needed to talk about her needs once she felt safe.
I didn’t want to put any pressure on her, and the last thing I wanted was her thinking her safety depended on her agreeing to being in a relationship with me.
She’d come to the club looking for a Daddy but she hadn’t had the chance to talk or meet with anyone in the lifestyle.
So that was going to be the first thing.
Take her to the club. Introduce her to Abby.
Help her make friends, and then I could talk to her about what I wanted once she knew more and her consent felt like the real thing, not because she didn’t have any other choices.
It was Thursday, the Little room would be open tonight.
I checked the time. Fiona had been here for nearly an hour. I should check on them, make sure Lottie wasn't feeling overwhelmed.
When I returned to the kitchen, I found the two women laughing, heads bent over what looked like a smartphone app. Lottie's cheeks had more color than I'd seen since finding her in that alley, and she seemed genuinely engaged in whatever Fiona was showing her.
"This one sends you reminders for everything," Fiona was saying, swiping across her screen. "Medications, appointments, when to check your levels. You can customize all the alerts."
"And it's free?" Lottie asked, sounding skeptical.
"Totally free. The pharmaceutical companies fund it as part of their patient support programs. I can't believe the clinic didn't sort this out immediately," Fiona frowned, then glanced up noticing me hovering in the doorway.
"Hey, Walker. I was just showing Lottie some of the apps I use to keep track of everything. "
"Finding them helpful?" I asked Lottie directly, careful to keep my tone casual.
She nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Fiona's been explaining a lot of things the nurse never told me about."
"Like the fact that she qualifies for at least three different assistance programs," Fiona said, giving me a pointed look. "And that there's a community clinic downtown that specializes in diabetes management and offers sliding scale payments."
Relief washed through me. Fiona had accomplished more in an hour than I could have in a day of trying to convince Lottie to accept help.
"That's great," I said, leaning against the doorframe. "Any other revelations I should know about?"
Fiona grinned, tucking a strand of purple hair behind her ear. "I've been telling Lottie about the support group I go to on the first Tuesday of every month. It's mostly service industry folks who work weird hours and have health challenges. She should come."
Lottie fiddled with the hem of her borrowed shirt, looking uncertain. "Maybe. If I can figure out the bus schedule."
"I can drive you," I offered immediately.
Fiona shot me an approving look. "I should get going," she said, gathering her things. "My shift starts at four, but my apartment looks like a bomb hit it. I've put my number in Lottie's phone, and we're going to text about those applications."
After showing Fiona out, I returned to find Lottie still sitting at the island, staring at her phone with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"Everything okay?" I asked, sliding onto the stool beside her.
"Fiona's really nice," she said, not looking up from her phone. "She explained so much that the nurse never did. Or maybe they tried, but I wasn't ready to hear it."
Which seemed odd because helping vulnerable people should be their jam. I studied her profile, noting the color that had returned to her cheeks. "Seems like you two hit it off."
"She doesn't make me feel stupid for not knowing things." Lottie's voice was quiet. "Or like I'm a burden for needing help."
My chest tightened. "You're not a burden, Lottie."
She finally looked up at me, those big blue eyes searching my face.
"I broke down in your club, got attacked, made you rescue me, and now I'm sitting in your kitchen wearing your clothes after you had to call a doctor because I couldn't manage my own medical condition. How is that not being a burden?"
I moved without thinking, reaching out to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
"Is that how you see it? Because from where I'm sitting, I see a young woman who survived years of emotional abuse, who's been taking care of herself against impossible odds since she was a child, and who's still standing despite everything life has thrown at her. "
Her eyes widened, and for a moment I thought she might cry.
Instead, she looked down again, her fingers tracing the edge of her phone case.
Her cracked phone case, and I cursed for not noticing before.
I had a half dozen phones in my office drawer.
"That's on me," I said casually, gesturing to her phone.
"Your bag got dropped in the struggle with those dicks from the alley. "
She glanced down and flushed. "It was already like this."
I shook my head. "I have a few spare phones in my office and company insurance covers them." I said, trying to sound casual. "You need something reliable for safety. It won't be the latest model…" I lied but it worked.
"Thank you. I need to go back to my apartment," she said softly.
I tensed, my hand falling away from her face. "Lottie—"
"I have clothes, and my work uniform and my—"
"Someone broke into your apartment," I reminded her, trying to keep my voice gentle. "Someone who knew exactly where you live and how to get in without leaving evidence. It's not safe."
"I can't just...disappear," she argued, though her voice lacked conviction. "I have a shift tomorrow. I need my job."
I took a breath, reminding myself to tread carefully. "About that. My colleagues have been looking into the break-in."
Her eyes snapped to mine. "What? Who's been looking?"
"Security specialists," I said, deliberately vague. "Friends of mine who work at Salvation. We have reason to believe whoever entered your apartment specifically targeted you, as there wasn’t any anger displayed when they didn’t find anything to steal."
She paled. "Why would anyone target me? I don't have anything worth stealing."
"Exactly, and that's what we're trying to figure out." I hesitated, then decided on complete honesty. "Lottie, I don't think you should go back there. Not alone, at least."
She bit her lip. "I can't afford to move."
"You could stay here for the time being," I offered. "Just until we figure out what's going on. I have plenty of space."
"With you?" Her voice was small. I watched her carefully, noting the way she clutched the hem of the shirt, how her shoulders curved inward slightly. Everything about her body language screamed vulnerability, and something protective surged through me.
"Yes, with me," I said, keeping my voice gentle but firm. "In the guest room, of course. I think it would be good for you to have somewhere safe while you get your health stabilized."
She looked down at her hands. "I don't want to impose..."
"You're not imposing if I'm inviting you," I said, my tone brooking no argument. I softened it with a small smile. "Besides, Mr. Snuggles already knows where everything is."
That earned me a tiny smile. "He does seem comfortable here."
"Then it's settled." I nodded decisively. "We'll go get what you need from your apartment—together—and bring it back here. You can stay as long as you need to."
"But my job—"
"We'll figure that out too," I assured her. "One step at a time, okay?” I looked at my watch. “Doc will be here in a few minutes to check on you.”
Her eyes widened in alarm, but the gate alarm sounded so I knew he was here. I bent down and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “He’s here, but unless you specifically ask, then I won’t leave you.”
I really hoped she didn’t.