Page 102 of Now Their Starlet

Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the one area of life—my work—that I feel remotely confident in, has taken a backseat to getting Andi out of that terrible situation. Most of my work revolves around the documentation of tragic events like that, not actual rescue. That’s been one of the hardest pills to swallow about my job. That I can’t save everyone I meet.

My job is to tell their stories to inspire the people who can make widespread change, to make it. I’m only one man, after all.

I’m lost in my own thoughts as I make her a homemade white-chocolate mocha using Edison’s fancy coffee machine. If I weren’t so familiar with how to make the drink already, I’m sure I would’ve fucked up somewhere, but I’ve been making them for a few weeks now.

I mix the white chocolate sauce we keep in the fridge with the fresh espresso and add some steamed milk to it.

“Here you go,” I say softly, sliding a mug towards her. I rest my knuckles against the counter, watching her with rapt attention as she takes a sip.

Her eyes go wide and a grin brightens her face. I’m struck by how similar her and Edison’s smiles are.

“Holy shit, is this a white chocolate mocha?”

“It is,” I nod, sliding into the seat beside her with a small smile.

“Wait, this is crazy. How did you know this was my favorite? And how in the world do you know how to make it yourself? I don't even know if I know how to make it!”

“All of us... we would watch your vlogs,” I say gesturing to the living room. “… when we missed you,” I rub the back of my neck, a little sheepish to admit that. Will she think it’s stalker-ish? I hope not. She’s the one who filmed and posted those for the world to see.

“Wait, like, you’d put it up on the big screen?” She jerks her thumb towards the large TV in the living room.

“Sometimes,” I answer honestly, my lips quirking up at the sight of her acting all shy. “Sometimes we’d watch it on our own time. But you mentioned that drink was your favorite, so all of us learned how to make it when we were bored out of our minds, waiting for some of the paperwork to be filed.”

“Wow. That’s—you guys are kinda crazy.” She winces as she tries to hide her face behind the mug of coffee.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed about it,” Edison offers, mixing up the batter for the French Toast. “I found your vlogs to be fantastic watches. Your editing skills really highlighted your sense of humor. You did an impressive job, especially if you were limited in the software you could use.”

“I was pretty limited,” she says, brushing some of her hair away from her face. “Did you really like it?”

“I did, Sweetheart. I’m excited to see what you can do now that you’re free to do whatever you wish.”

That comment has her quietly drinking her coffee as Edison cooks a few loaves of brioche bread worth of French Toast. Considering there are three alphas in the makeshift pack we’ve started to form, I guess he’s making enough for all of us. Using multiple loaves is a good bet.

“This is delicious,” she says, covering her mouth to speak between bites. “Seriously, what’s the secret?”

“Flour and sugar in the batter,” Edison says, wiping his hands on the kitchen towel before settling in on the wooden barstool beside Andi. “Helps thicken more than a basic egg batter.”

“Well, it’s magical,” she hums. She sets her fork down after devouring the first few pieces, glancing between us. Her expression that tells me she has something she wants to say at the tip of her tongue.

“Penny for your thoughts, Sweet Tea?”

“Hmm? Oh, that obvious, huh?” She sheepishly takes a sip of her coffee.

“Not obvious in a bad way.”

“You guys seem to be able to read me like I’m a children’s picture book or something,” she says with a soft huff. “I was just... thinking about what you said, Dad.”

Edison straightens, unable to hide the lightness in his shoulders at her calling him dad.

“You said I’m free to do whatever I wish now... but if I’m being honest, I don’t know what I’m allowed to want.”

“If you’d said you don’t know what you’d want, I think I’d have fewer suggestions,” I offer quietly. “But you just said you don’t know what you’re allowed to want, and I think Edison and I are on the same page when I say you’re allowed to want whatever the hell you want.”

“But—but that’s scary,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

The earnest way she admits that reminds me of abuse victims I’ve worked with in the past. Even though Gina herself never directly hit Andi, the kind of psychological warfare she engaged in against her daughter is the kind of thing that leaves long-lasting scars.

“It must be terrifying,” I murmur, reaching out and stilling her anxious movements. She slowly flips her hand underneath mine so our fingers are laced together.