Chapter 11
Chapter eleven
Lottie
I stared at Walker in utter astonishment.
He was a Daddy? But then, the way he’d cared for me, how protective he was, didn’t that just scream Daddy?
In my heart it did, but in my head, I’d imagined meeting someone, dating them, seeing them at the club.
I hadn’t imagined laying my life bare, all the ugly on show, within a week of meeting.
The words were everything I'd dreamed of hearing since I first learned about Daddy Doms. Someone to take care of me, to make me feel safe, to help me manage all the overwhelming parts of life that constantly threatened to drown me.
It was the fantasy I'd gone to Salvation seeking in the first place.
But fantasy and reality were different things.
"Walker, I..." My voice trembled. "This is a lot to process."
"I know," he said gently. "Take your time."
I twisted my fingers together in my lap, trying to organize my chaotic thoughts. "What if you change your mind? What if you realize I'm too much trouble?"
His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"My diabetes isn't going away," I said, the words rushing out. "It's forever. The needles, the testing, the medical bills—it never stops. What if you get tired of dealing with it? What if you decide it's too much work?"
"Lottie—"
"My uncle did," I continued, unable to stop now that I'd started. "He might have thought he could handle it at first, but then he got tired of the hassle. The school nurse calling. The doctors’ appointments. The cost of everything." Tears burned in my eyes. "What if you decide the same thing?"
Walker's expression softened, but I saw something else there too—a flash of hurt that I'd compared him to my uncle.
"I'm not him," he said quietly. "And I don't make offers I'm not prepared to follow through on."
"But you barely know me." I hugged myself tightly. "What if I'm not what you want? What if I can't be a good Little girl? I don't even know what that means, not really."
Walker reached for my hand, his large palm engulfing mine. "Being a Little girl isn't about being perfect, Lottie. It's about allowing yourself to be cared for. To be vulnerable with someone you trust."
"But what if I become completely dependent on you?" The fear that had been building inside me spilled out. "What if I forget how to take care of myself? And then if you leave—" My voice broke.
"Is that what you're afraid of?" Walker asked softly. "Becoming dependent and then being abandoned?"
I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
"I understand that fear," he said. "But a Daddy-Little relationship isn't about creating dependency. It's about creating safety." His thumb brushed over my knuckles. "I wouldn't take away your independence, Lottie. I'd give you a foundation to build on."
It sounded so good, so perfect. But I'd learned early that perfect things didn't happen to me.
"I'm scared," I admitted in a small voice.
"Of course you are." Walker's voice was gentle but firm. "You've been hurt by people who should have protected you. You've had to be self-sufficient for so long that accepting help feels dangerous."
I nodded, tears blurring my vision. He understood in a way no one ever had before.
"What if we take it slow?" Walker suggested, his voice gentle.
"No need to decide everything right now.
You could stay here while you heal and get your diabetes under control.
We could get to know each other better. And if you decide this is something you want to explore, we can talk about what being my Little girl would look like. "
I bit my lip, considering his words. Taking it slowly sounded reasonable, less overwhelming than making a life-changing decision in this moment.
"What about work?" I asked. "I still need income, Walker. I can't just...exist without contributing."
"The job at Kingdom is real," he assured me. "Whether you decide to be my Little girl or not. And Fiona's aunty definitely needs help, whatever you decide."
That was tempting. The idea of working somewhere else was appealing. And if Marco really had pictures...
"I'd need to give notice at Sunny's," I said, my practical side asserting itself.
Walker's expression tightened slightly. "I'd prefer if you didn't go back there at all. We could call, or I could go with you if you want to do it in person, but you do have a doctor’s note."
The protective edge in his voice made something warm unfurl in my chest. No one had ever been concerned for my safety like this before.
"Let me think about all this," I said finally. "But...I would like to stay here for now, if that's still okay. I don't think the apartment's safe."
Walker's smile transformed his usually serious face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "More than okay. And we can still go get your things from your apartment today."
"Okay." I managed a small smile in return, still feeling slightly overwhelmed.
Walker stood, giving me space. "Take your time getting ready.” He hesitated. “There’s some packages that have arrived for you. I'll bring them upstairs so you can look."
After he left, I flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as I tried to process everything. Walker wanted to be my Daddy. The thought sent a shiver of both excitement and terror through me.
I'd gone to Salvation looking for exactly this—someone strong and protective who would take care of me, make me feel safe. But the reality was far more complicated than my fantasy had been.
What would it mean to be Walker's Little girl? Would he expect me to act like a child all the time? Would there be rules? Punishments? The unknown loomed large and intimidating.
Yet when I thought about how he'd cared for me already—carrying me when I couldn't walk, helping with my insulin, making sure I ate properly—it felt right in a way nothing else ever had.
I rolled onto my side, coming face to face with Mr. Snuggles. His worn face seemed to be asking what I was going to do.
"I don't know," I whispered to him. "It's everything I wanted, but..."
But it was scary. Terrifying, actually. Opening myself up to that kind of vulnerability meant risking heartbreak if it all fell apart. And things always fell apart eventually, didn't they?
I reached for my phone, pulling up the message from Fiona.
She'd texted me a link to the patient assistance program she'd mentioned, along with an encouraging note, and mentioned if I was looking for a job her aunt needed someone.
I stared at it, thinking about how easily she'd shared her own struggles with diabetes, how matter-of-fact she'd been about the challenges.
"It gets easier," she'd told me. "Not the diabetes—that's always a pain in the ass. But managing it gets easier when you have support."
Support. Such a simple word for something I'd never really had.
Then I nearly dropped my damn phone as it started to ring, and I stared at the name in shock before immediately powering it off.
My uncle Stephen Mallory. This was the fourth time he'd tried to call me in the last few weeks and every time I'd ignored it.
After no contact for two years, he had nothing to say that I wanted to hear.
I forced myself to get up, to splash water on my face in the ensuite bathroom. My reflection looked back at me—bruises fading to yellow-green, but my eyes clearer than they'd been in days. I looked...better. Stronger.
Maybe I could do this. Maybe I could let myself accept what Walker was offering, even if it scared me. Maybe I deserved someone who wanted to take care of me.
The thought brought fresh tears to my eyes, and I wiped them away impatiently. I'd cried more in the past three days than I had in years. I glanced at my reflection again, left the bathroom, and caught sight of three packages stacked next to the bedroom door.
They hadn’t been there before. My heart gave a weird little stutter.
I padded over, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet, and dropped to my knees.
Each box had my name on it in Walker's bold handwriting. I hesitated. I’d seen unboxing videos; people looked so happy and casual, tearing through pretty tissue paper, showing off their clothes.
I was never that person. I’d never even had packages arrive just for me.
And for a moment, I imagined Walker watching me.
I swallowed hard and started with the smallest one.
My hands shook, but not from low blood sugar this time.
The tape split easily. Inside was a pale lavender hoodie, the fabric so soft it almost felt plush in my hands.
I hugged it to my chest for a second, then pressed my face into it.
It smelled faintly of cardboard and something new.
It was perfect. Like something Abby or one of the other Littles at Salvation would wear.
The next box was heavier. I opened it carefully, not wanting to rip anything, and found three pairs of soft leggings in pastel colors.
One was mint green with little stars on the waistband, another pale yellow, and the last lavender with a silver shimmer.
I’d never owned anything so cute. Underneath the leggings were four t-shirts, one pale blue with a cartoon bunny on the front, the other white with rainbow hearts, and two plain pink and purple ones.
Then a pink hoodie with an adorable kitten on the front.
The sizes were all perfect. He must have guessed by looking at how his own clothes fit my body.
There was something about that—a man noticing, and then buying me things that felt like me, not just whatever was cheap at the discount store. My throat tightened again.