Problem

Callahan

I take a step towards Portia and my uncle, blocking Heathcliff's view of her, not wanting him to look at her any longer. I can't stand the thought that even his eyes should fall on her.

I was twelve when I started fighting. I don't know any other way to be.

Her words kept resounding in my brain.

At least I was an adult.

"Callahan." My uncle nods in greeting and walks past me to the bar. I don't give two fucks about him.

“You look beautiful," I tell her, part of me wanting to put my jacket over her shoulders to hide her from her uncle. From the other ogling, shameless men.

She looks up at me like she has a hundred things to say. Like she wants to curse me to hell and fall into my arms all at once.

“Why is he here? Why are you talking to him?” she asks, eyes just flashing to Heathcliff momentarily.

I put my hand at her lower back, turn her away, walking at an angle to shield her from him.

"He's an asshole, Portia. I know that. You don't have to worry about him."

"An asshole li