The Best Man (Alpha Men 2)

Spencer watched Charlie dig into her burger, his eyes protective, a small—almost proud—smile on his face.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” the girl snapped irritably, more observant than Daff had assumed. Spencer looked startled to have been caught staring but recovered quickly.

“Tell me about your home life with Malcolm. After your mother died,” he invited her, and Charlie’s brow lowered, looking so much like Spencer in that moment that Daff’s affinity for the girl grew even stronger.

“Maybe I don’t wanna,” Charlie grumbled sulkily, and Spencer nodded.

“You don’t have to. I was just curious.”

“Why don’t you tell me about your life with Malcolm,” she retorted, challenge lighting her eyes. “After your mother died.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth lifted, and he stole one of Charlie’s fries and popped it into his mouth. He washed down the potato with a swig of soda.

“You have your own fries,” Charlie pointed out.

“Sorry, force of habit. I usually grab a few of Mason’s. It pisses him off.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Because I can,” Spencer admitted, and Charlie watched him thoughtfully, again with that speculative spark in her eyes. “So after my mother died, Malcolm stuck around till my eighteenth birthday. He left when I turned eighteen, he probably figured I was old enough to take care of Mason by then.”

“That was a douchebag move,” Charlie said, sounding way more adult than her years.

“I think we can safely agree that he was a negligent asshole,” Spencer said with a bitter smile, and Charlie nodded.

“But he tried,” she whispered.

“He did. Sometimes he’d surprise us with takeout, sometimes he’d give me money to get some food for the house, and other times—”

“He’d buy alcohol and forget you existed for days on end?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

He took a sip from his soda and still avoided eye contact with Daff. What the hell was up with that? It bothered her more than she would have expected.

“How long was he sick?” Spencer asked.

“A few months. It was very fast.”

“Who helped you? After he died?”

“Neighbors. A social worker. They were going to put me into care, but I left before they could. Malcolm had some money hidden inside his mattress. He told me about it a couple of weeks before he died. It wasn’t a lot, but it got me this far. He told me to find you and Mason after he was gone. He was always talking about you guys.”

“He was?” Daff could tell that the information stunned Spencer.

“He had old newspaper clippings about your rugby stuff and a magazine with some gross almost-naked pictures of Mason in it.” Mason had been an underwear model for a very brief moment in time. Spencer looked completely astounded and couldn’t seem to find an adequate response to her revelations. He seemed unable to process the words and just sat there blinking at Charlie for a few moments.

“I guess Malcolm was okay. Some of his friends were a bit creepy, but if anyone looked at me the wrong way or said something . . . bad to me, he’d never allow them back. I was scared that one day he wouldn’t notice and—” Her voice trailed off, and Daff’s heart clenched for the young girl. She looked small and lost sitting there in one of Daff’s cast-off dresses. Her short hair growing out into a cute cap of dark, silky waves.

“You were very brave living through that, Charlie,” Spencer said. “You should never have been made to fear for your safety. I know you’re used to taking care of yourself. I know you don’t need my help. But it would mean a lot to me if you would accept it. I have to make up for all those years I wasn’t there to keep you safe.”

“I mean—” Charlie’s eyes left Spencer’s, and she glared at her plate. “It’s not like you knew.”

Daff, who had been holding her breath after Spencer’s heartfelt little entreaty, released it on a wobbly sigh. Charlie’s eyes lifted shyly back to Spencer’s, and Daff could have cheered for both of them.

“I’m bossy and I don’t talk much and will probably tell you no a lot, but I’d really like it if you’d consider living at my house,” Spencer said in an awkward rush, the tips of his ears going pink.

The girl lifted one of her fries and twirled it between two fingers as she contemplated Spencer’s pitch.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be too bad. Especially not with my new dog to keep me company.”

“As long as you understand that it’s time for you to start being a kid. I didn’t get to be a kid. I want that for you, Charlie. But that means following my rules, okay?”

“What rules?” Charlie asked suspiciously.

“I’ll try to keep them fair. But off the top of my head, stuff like curfews, cleaning up after yourself—and your dog—and studying hard.”