“Aren’t you off on Tuesdays?” he asks.
“I’m not here to work. You got a few minutes?”
“For what?”
I step inside, walking off the nervous energy, trying to keep my tone even. “I came to talk. Man to man. About Lot.”
He leans back slowly. Doesn’t offer me a chair. Doesn’t speak. Just waits.
Shit, okay. We doing it like this.
“I’m in love with your daughter.”
His eyes narrow, but still he says nothing.
“I have been for a while,” I continue. “But it’s only when she came back that I realized how much. I’ve thought about this on a deep level. The last thing I wanted was to pursue something with Lot just off impulse. I didn’t come to ask for your permission. But knowing how you feel about me, I thought it was only right that youhear it directly from me. I love Lot. I asked her to be with me, and she said yes.”
He tightens his grip on the pen like he’s trying to strangle it. “After all these years of bouncing around women like a pinball machine… using my business as your playground… you think you can just add my daughter to your roster, and I’ll bless it?”
His judgment is like a hot poker, but I let it burn slow and keep my temper in check. “I’ve always prioritized Docks and have never let my personal life interfere with business. But you’re right that I haven’t been serious about relationships. That’s changed. I’m choosing something meaningful with Lot.”
He sets the pen down and removes his glasses. “You talk a good game. Always have. But pretty words don’t make them true. Your mama was a con artist. A thief. That’s where you come from.”
And there it is. Exactly what he thinks of me. Hits like a body blow, being compared to Jasinder. I pull in a breath and push it out.
“You think you know me, but you don’t. You’ve judged me by my mother’s actions and what I did when I was twelve. You never got past that. Me stealing from your car. I don’t excuse it. You had every right to be angry. Every right to demand I repay you… with interest. Every right to question me being around your daughter. But believe it or not, that moment shaped me. It might’ve only been coins, but they weren’t mine to take. I learned something from you. Ownership. Accountability. Respect. I learned who I didn’t want to be.
“I grew up around someone who never thought twice about robbing anybody. But I did. I made mistakes in my youth. Big ones. Things that still haunt me. But I’m not that kid anymore. I’ve worked hard to become someone I can be proud of. Everything I have, I earned honestly. I don’t steal. I don’t run cons. And I for damn sure wouldn’t play games with Lot.”
“Hmph,” he snorts, still unmoved. “Even if that’s true… doesn’t mean I’ll ever trust you with her.”
“That’s your call. But do you trust your daughter?”
That gives him pause. Not enough to back down, but enough toshift. They’ve been rebuilding something, small steps that are still fragile. And he knows that.
Sitting forward, he steeples his fingers and looks me dead in the eye. “Charlotte and I don’t always agree. She’s stubborn. Smart. Independent. She’s got her own mind. If she’s decided on you, I know damn well there’s nothing I can do to stop it. But she’s also got a soft heart, especially when it comes to you. If you break it…”
His voice drops real low, cold enough to freeze fire. “I swear on everything that I hold dear, I’ll make it my mission to end you.”
I don’t flinch. “Your threat is unnecessary. I’m going to do everything in my power to be the man she deserves.”
His stare is like a vise, holding me in its grip. Then finally—finally—he gives me a single nod. Not approval. Not support. Disgruntled acceptance that he can’t prevent this from happening. “I’ll be watching you,” he warns.
“Wouldn’t expect anything less.”
C’s place is already hopping when I roll through the front door. Wings, beer, and smack talk on the menu.
I dap up a couple of the guys from back in the day—Tank, Ray V, Jermaine—dudes we went to school with. The vibe’s the same as ever—cutthroat and cocky. But tonight, I’m happy to take an L.
Not dominoes. Something much bigger.
C leaves the table to sidebar me upstairs in the kitchen. I follow, the noise from the basement fading into the background. He’d checked on me earlier, and I told him I’d fill him in later.
He pops the fridge open, grabs two beers, and hands me one. We crack off the tops, and I clink his bottle with a grin.
“You look good,” he says, studying me. “Faking it?”
“Naw.” I reach into the bag I brought and pull out the grail.Uncanny X-Men #118, 1979. Pristine as the day I scored it off eBay. Clear wrapper. Triple sealed, sacred scrolls type treatment.
