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"Son of a bitch."
"She's living with me now," I inform him.
"The hell she is."
"No disrespect intended, but you had your chance to watch over her," I say, my voice firm. "You failed. I'm taking over now."
"You think so?" He sizes me up, smirking. "You can take the boy out of the Army, but you can't take the Army out of the boy, son. I may be damn near twice your age, but I'll throw down."
"You could try," I say, shrugging. "Might even get in a lick or two. But it won't change facts. I kept my hands to myself for five months out of respect for you. Damn near moved into the fucking stadium to abide by your rules. I'm done doing that now. Charlotte's mine. You think you're going to take her from me? Try it."
He glowers at me, looking like he'd like nothing more than to lay me out in my own kitchen. And then he lets fly a string of curses loud enough to shake the heavens. He doesn't come at me, though. Instead, he trails off, shaking his head. "You're in love with her."
"Been that way for five months," I say, turning to pull two coffee mugs out of the cabinet. "You didn't know?"
"Suspected," he mutters. A chair scrapes against the floor, and then I hear him drop into it with a grunt. "Didn't think you'd figured it out yet."
"I figured that shit out about the time she smiled at me," I say, pouring coffee into both mugs and then replacing the pot. Like me, John prefers it dark and straight. No sugar, no cream. Strong enough to kill a horse.
He takes his mug from me with another grunt. "She doing okay?" he asks, eyeing me over the rim. "Holding up okay?"
"She's fine. She will be fine," I amend. As far as her landlord is concerned, she isn't dwelling on it. I kept her too occupied to let her think about it too much. But as far as everything else goes? "It's been a hell of a few days."
"She should have called me," he mutters.
"Has she asked you for help a single time since she moved here?"
"No." He scowls, confirming my suspicions.
"You need to talk to your sister," I advise him. "Charlotte thinks she sent her here because she was tired of her. I'm guessing she's been afraid to tell you about her landlord because she was afraid you'd get tired of her, too."
"What the fuck?"
"Didn't think you knew." I take a sip of coffee, letting it work its magic. "Don't know if her mom meant it or if Charlotte misunderstood what she heard, but it fucked with her head. You need to handle it before I do because I won't be nice about it." I don't care if she's Charlotte's mom or not. She hurt my girl deeply, and that doesn't sit well with me. I will protect her with my life, even if that means protecting her from her own mom.
John grunts his understanding. He's a simple man, says what he has to say and not much else. But he doesn't have to say anything for me to know he'll handle it. I see the grim set of his jaw and the anger glittering in his eyes.
He's the exact opposite of my mom. Like Charlotte, my mom chatters. John just smiles indulgently while she does it. I always wondered if he was even paying attention half the time, but he always seemed to know exactly when to respond. I couldn't figure out how until I met Charlotte. I hear every word she says, see every move she makes. I'm guessing it's the same way for him and my mom.
"You should know I plan to marry her," I say, my voice soft. "And I don't intend to ask your permission when I do it." I never understood that tradition, asking for permission like a woman is property to be bartered and sold. No one has a say in what happens between the two of us except the two of us. If anyone thinks differently, they're going to be sadly mistaken when I disabuse them of that bullshit notion. Charlotte is mine. I'm hers. End of discussion.
John barks laughter, shaking his head. "You're a brave little motherfucker, aren't you?"
I shrug instead of answering.
"Break her heart, I will make your life a living hell," he warns me, his eyes glittering with sincerity. "She's the closest thing to a kid I've ever had. You'll be eating through a straw and shitting through a sieve if you fuck up."
"Fair enough," I mutter, earning another grunt from him.
"And you'll be wanting to let your fans know right quick that you're taken," he says. "There won't be another woman for you while you're with my niece. You try that, the only pussy you'll ever see again will be whatever is polluting hell."
"There won't be another woman for me, period," I correct. She could leave me tomorrow, and I'd still be faithful to her. No one will ever mean as much to me as she does. No one will love her better or work harder to deserve her either. The way I feel about her won't ever wane or fade or die. I feel that certainty in my bones. She's it for me, my one. For the rest of my life, she'll be my only.
"Smart man," he says, draining his mug.
"You flying back to Vancouver soon?"
"Why?"
