Big Daddy

Chapter 19

chapter nineteen

quincey

I have never felt more out of control than I do now. I had every intention of calming the fuck down, gathering my thoughts, then speaking to Brielle with kindness and clarity. Except, she isn’t home. The apartment I pay for sits empty, the lights off, the doorbell echoing into nothingness.

I realize she’s not a virgin, and that she likely has slept over with men she’s not in serious relationships with. All of that I get.

But knowing now that she’s running off to some fucking weird two-man relationship? The inside of my car has fielded more curses and growls than ever before. And now I’m following my own fucking daughter like a psychopath.

It’s my fault.

All of this is my fault.

Had I been a more emotional father. A kinder father. Had I not given her the silent treatment when I didn’t get my way and extended her more faith and trust to make her own choices.

Still, I can’t let her do this. I can’t let her get into this odd relationship after everything she’s worked for, after all she's accomplished. The wrong relationship can ruin your life.

Before making the call I want to make, I send a text message to Ezra, the fucking genius who got this entire thing started when he assigned Brielle to a porn production company for her film school apprenticeship. I told him then that my daughter needed to be reassigned. When he finds out the whole thing has become a thruway, I’m sure his interest will pique. Next, I make my first and only call. Winnie. The way she picks up the phone makes my dick hard.

“Yes, Big Daddy?”

“Where is she?” I hiss, taking my frustration out on the question, the words curving with anger.

“She is at Augustus’s house,” she starts, her words strung out with caution.

“Where, Winnie?” I ask, though we both know it’s not a question, it’s a fucking demand.

“Quincey,” she starts, but I cut her off.

“Winnie, for the love of Christ, tell me where my daughter is!”

A moment passes and a text flashes, supplying Brielle’s location pin. “Thank you.”

“I hate this,” Winnie whispers. “I want you both to get along, for your sake, not even because of us. I hated seeing her struggle with you, and now I hate seeing you struggle. And I don’t want to be in the middle.”

“You won’t,” I assure her, an assurance I have no right to give. I don’t have a crystal ball, I can’t see the future. All that I know is I don’t want my precious daughter in some insidious gang bang with porn producers, and I don’t want her living with them to boot. “I’ll… talk to you soon.”

Winnie reluctantly says goodbye and I end the call, driving for ten more minutes before I arrive and turn off my car. I give myself a few minutes to think but because I can’t quiet my brain, I pull out my phone and open a text message with Winnie. I just hung up with her and still, I want her words, her wisdom, her take.

It’s alarming how much I’ve come to think about her and concerning how I don’t want to imagine my days without her.

I know I said at the office that I was going to tell her but I won’t. I won’t tell Brielle about us. You’re right. That should come when you’re ready.

But I won’t wait long.

Her instant response soothes my nerves.

Remember that she knows what is best for her, not you. Also remember you’re an asshole when things don’t go your way. Her life shouldn’t be your way.

Do with that information what you will but whatever you do, do not rat me out, Big Daddy. I’m not kidding. I feel terrible for folding because of the dick.

And your pleading. The pleading was mostly what did me in.

I text back easily.

I’ll just tell her that I followed her to what I assume is one of her harem members’ homes.

Don’t make jokes like that about Brielle. She’s my best friend.

And two men don’t make a harem, dummy

I love that you love her first

I stare at the way I just used love twice when I haven’t said it in years.

First? That implies I love someone else.

Be nice if you want it to be nice. It’s up to you.

Quickly, I send her another text that surprises me.

I’d say that I’ll see you at home but you’ve refused me so I suppose I’ll be calling you after.

Thank you

Eyeroll

What for?

For taking her side. For helping me see myself the way she does.

And for being mine

You’re welcome

But I never said I was yours

Stop texting me and go talk to her. You’re just sitting in your car like an old creep. Go. Call me later.

I almost text her back, only to threaten a swat on her ass if she calls me old again. Instead, I tuck the phone away, still throttling my emotions. I want to make it right with my daughter, but I’ve put even more between us with this Winnie stuff.

Following Dr. Wilder’s advice, I take a deep breath and focus on the task at hand. Brielle, and our relationship. The stuff with Winnie can wait. Right now, it’s about Brielle, and mending what we have, while also trying to understand her choice.

I don’t want to betray Winnie. But I won’t let my daughter be used by her employers, be used by men undeserving of her. I burst out of the car, stomp through the street, up the walk, and find myself hammering my fist into the door.

Augustus and Lance answer in tandem, Lance saying, “kind of surprised it took you this long to show up.” Taken off guard, I follow them inside the house and am ushered into their den. I came prepared to speak with Brielle, but before I can, they confess their love and pure intentions for my daughter. My head spins as they tell me how smart she is, how well she’s doing, and how they love her, and plan on taking care of her romantically.

Two men in love with and dating the same woman? I can’t–I stay nearly speechless, interjecting things I won’t even be able to repeat to Winnie when she undoubtedly asks later. Then, with my thoughts still riding a fucking tilt-a-whirl, Brielle appears.

“How’d you know I was here?”

I can’t help but peer around her, looking at whom I thought were the deviants that want to share my daughter and complicate her life. “You’ve been dodging my calls. I followed you here. They let me in.”

“You waited outside my apartment and followed me here?” she gasps, the veins in her neck bulging as her voice rises. Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun, but she’s still dressed in a pencil skirt and blouse, thousand-dollar shoes on her feet.

“Don’t make it sound that way,” I argue.

“You followed me,” she argues again, suspicion suddenly lining her tone.

“Semantics,” I hiss, waving my hand down in an effort to cut the bullshit.

“Liar,” she whispers.

“You keep dodging my calls, Brielle. Seems like you’ve forgotten who pays for this entire operation. Your apartment, the schooling, all of it.” My old fallback doesn’t feel as good as it used to. In fact, saying those words now almost sours me.

“I told you already, you ghost me all the time when you’re pissed. Now you’re getting a taste of your own medicine and you don't like it. Well guess what?” She steps back, out of the den, into the entryway, and I follow her, until she presses a manicured finger into my chest. “Too fucking bad.”

“Don’t make a fool of yourself,” I hiss, my phone rattling in my pocket. I ignore it, focusing on my daughter. “You’re supposed to be an apprentice. This is not the assignment,” I shout, waving my hand up around the large home where she’s clearly staying. “Get in the car, I’ll talk to Mr. Leon, we’ll get you reassigned and move on from this nightmare.”

“Nightmare? A few weeks ago when we had dinner, you were happy, proud and accepting! But all of the sudden you’ve regressed? Is this my punishment for being too busy for you for a while?”

Augustus reappears, dressed to the nines in slacks and a pressed shirt. He’s my age, perhaps younger, and the age difference between them… likely less than myself and Winnie. “Ezra is a personal friend of mine, I’ll see to it that she stays on this mentorship. She’s a great protégé, and rather than fight against what she’s good at, perhaps you should focus on a way to understand and accept it.”

Brielle’s comment hits me, and my gaze slides from this man back to her, her eyes looking so much like her mother’s. They walk me onto the front porch as we argue, and the threshold that separates us feels momentous. “How am I a liar?” I question, ignoring him.

“She didn’t go home last night. She went to a place around the corner first. So, you didn’t follow her here,” Augustus says, as a burn tears through me. “You’re here scolding her, but you’re the dishonest and angry one.”

“She doesn’t belong here with men two times her age! She doesn't belong here! This isn’t right,” I fly off the handle, shouting so loudly that my voice vibrates. I didn’t want to lose my cool and completely unravel. I’m supposed to be working against that habit, not falling into it. Fuck! I smooth my hands down my breast lapels over and over.

Lance reappears, wrapping his arms around my daughter, and anger flares in my guts, scorching and undeniable. Brielle steps out of the man’s arms.

“How did you know I was here? And don’t say you followed me. We already debunked that.” From my pocket, my phone rings again.

“What does it matter?” I lower my voice, attempting to soften it to a fatherly tone and turn this thing around. I fucked it up. I always fuck it up. I just… I fucking want what’s best for her, damn it.

“Is this really what you want, Brielle? What happened to documentary making and—” I swipe a hand over my forehead, coated in a sheen of sweat. “Is this really what you want? How can you get all that you want from life in this unusual relationship? Huh? Or are you just here because this is how you’re succeeding at your mentorship?” I ask, hating myself for the insinuation the moment the words leave me. How am I fucking this up so much? My phone rings again and before I can silence it, Brielle moves for my pocket and snatches it out.

Immediately, panic has me reaching for my phone, my secret I’m desperate to protect. The men with my daughter create a barrier between me and Brielle, and she steps back, looking down at my phone.

The number isn’t programmed in, but it doesn’t need to be. This is her best friend. She knows Winnie’s number.

“Winnie?” she gasps, the phone shaking in her palm. “Winnie told you?”

“I think you should probably give her some space,” the older man says, placing a gentle hand on my chest. “And she’ll contact you when she’s ready.”

“Fine,” I belt, straightening my suit jacket before reaching for my phone. “My phone,” I say, just as it starts ringing again, right as Brielle was about to pass it off. Her eyes veer over the screen, absorbing the words before I can take it back.

I don’t know who texted me, but it’s one of two people and both of those put me directly in the dog house. I have never, ever, not one single time planned to go behind her back. With Ezra, I’ve made it known that I dislike her assignment. Brielle knows this, even though she’s told me to stand down. And with Winnie, well, that just happened. She has to understand. She will understand.

But as soon as her eyes lift to mine, I know it’s not Winnie. I know it’s this stupid apprenticeship, and my message to Ezra. “Why did you text Mr. Leon?” she asks, weak and wavering from the revelation. “Oh my God,” she breathes. “You couldn’t just let me be! You asked my best friend where I am and texted my professor to try and get me out of my job! You--get out!,” she screams, using more strength than I’ve ever heard. Those two words echo off the porch and around my brain as she continues to shout—“Get out!”

She throws my phone at me. “Get out, you asshole! Get out!”

Phone in hand, the men usher me from their entryway, and I didn’t even realize I’d partially moved inside. Everything happened so fast.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone with secrets,” one of the men says, yanking open my car door as if I’m the menace here.

“I want better for her than this,” I hiss, spitting at their feet.

“You don’t even know what this is, asshole,” the other man states, and with that, they turn and walk back to the large home, collecting my daughter in their arms before the door closes and the night is officially shit.

I fucked that up. I yelled instead of listened. And now Brielle knows that Winnie and I have communicated. And that I tried to get her a new assignment.

“Fuck!” I shout, slamming my fists into the steering wheel.

I call Winnie, who answers in tears. And I learn right then, in my car parked on a dark street in the city, that the sound of Winnie’s tears makes me feel like shit.

“You told her I told you?—”

“I didn’t, she took my phone, and?—”

“Shut up!” she cries. “Just—give me time. I need time without you in my head.”

“I didn’t tell her about us—“ I argue, her need for space throwing a wrench in my nerves. I don’t want space. I don’t want to argue with my daughter. I don’t want any of this. “Fuck! Winnie, please?—”

But I’m talking to myself.