"Go ahead. I was the one who peeled away the rank in there when I called you sir."
"It's one thing if you're seriously dating, but if you're using her—"
Anger snapped. "Hold it right there." He didn't get outright mad often, but then nothing was logical in his head when it came to Nikki. "I respect your daughter and count myself one lucky bastard that she chooses to be with me."
J.T. pivoted on his boot heels away, chewing on a curse worthy of the saltiest of crewdogs.
Well damn. That was a little insulting.
A lot insulting.
He understood about the older man's wish for a nonmilitary life for his kids, but hell, he wasn't a total slouch.
J.T. cricked his neck from side to side before turning back around. "Is this serious? And don't tell me to ask her. I'm speaking with you."
Carson stepped alongside the old loadmaster and leaned his elbows on the porch railing while a rusted-out truck chugged past, exhaust mingling with the scent of mulchy leaves. He scrounged around for the right words to make this better for Nikki, for this man he'd flown combat with, a lasting bond. "I've heard you say for years no flyboys for your little girl. Was that bull?"
"I want an easier life for her than this—" he gestured back and forth to their uniforms "—a husband who's always gone, and getting shot at too often."
Husband. He didn't even bother denying the possibility existed. He tried a different tack. "You're speaking from a raw place right now because of the bombing and how close it hit."
"Could be." J.T. nodded a concession, ever fair. "Still, the military makes relationships tough enough, and I suspect you've got some extra stresses mixed in battling a drinking problem."
Ah. The real reason he disapproved. Somehow the seasoned chief master sergeant had figured it out when no one else had. "What makes you think that?"
"I don't talk much, but I'm always watching, and you go out of your way to avoid drinking, overly so."
"Plenty of people don't drink for any number of reasons."
"Are you telling me I'm wrong?"
When it came to Nikki, he needed to be honest every step of the way, because there wouldn't be another chance with her. J.T. wasn't the type to bandy the info around the squadron anyway. "You're not wrong. I wouldn't deny the problem if someone asked, but it's also not something I choose to advertise. I've been working at this for a couple of years, been completely dry and in a program for seven months."
Had he sealed his fate with Nikki's father? No hope for approval, ever? Entirely possible and totally more important than he'd expected.
J.T. sagged onto his elbows alongside Carson. "Thank you for being so open. I know that wasn't easy and it tells me you do care about my daughter."
Carson relaxed—for five whole seconds before he realized there was a but at the end of J.T.'s sentence. "And?"
"I respect like hell that you've fought this and seem to be holding your head above water. But you have to know this isn't something a father would wish for any child of his to live with."
"I agree." He had the same fears but staying away from Nikki had just about torn them apart. They needed to work through this insanity one way or another. "I've tried my damnedest to keep my distance."
'Tried." J.T.'s hands fisted before he continued, "Past tense?"
"Again, I'll say that I respect your daughter too much to discuss this further." The guy couldn't possibly want a blow-by-blow discussion. "Nikki's an adult. She deserves to be present so she can speak for herself."
"That earned you a couple more points."
Of course the conversation would have been a surprise for her if she had been here. "Nikki doesn't know about the drinking and I would appreciate it if you didn't say anything until I have a chance to tell her."
A slow growl echoed from the burly loadmaster's chest. "You've been seeing my daughter and you didn't tell her? I can't promise to keep quiet about that, and I'm actually reconsidering that ass kicking."
Well deserved. No denying. "I don't mean for you to stay quiet forever. Just until tomorrow to give me a chance to tell her first. We're going sailing."
"Twenty-four hours?" J.T.'s fists unfurled against his legs. "That, I can do, but the clock starts ticking now."
Wind rustled through the trees, shaking a few more pine needles loose in a tap, tap, tap shower that filled the semi-comfortable silence. "Still want to hit me?"