Page 203 of When a Soul Cries

Halo wasn't the only one getting attached to Roman Devereaux.

I was too.

And unlike my daughter, I was old enough to know exactly how badly that could hurt.

I had officially lost my fucking mind.

There wasn’t another explanation for why I kept checking the rearview mirror like the one-year-old strapped into the back seat might disappear if I went longer than thirty seconds without looking at her.

Halo sat comfortably behind me, one tiny sock hanging halfway off her foot while she watched Crestmont pass outside the window. Streetlights flashed across her round little face every few seconds, and the plastic toy clipped beside her car seat bounced whenever she kicked her legs.

I checked the mirror again.

“Your mama know you be looking this serious when she ain’t around?” I asked, watching her through the glass.

Halo turned those big brown eyes toward my reflection. For a few seconds, she just stared at me, her little face completely serious like she was actually considering the question. Then her lips spread into a gummy grin, showing the two little teeth at the bottom.

A laugh slipped out of me as I shook my head. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Twenty minutes earlier, I’d taken Sol and Halo to grab something quick to eat before dropping Sol back at my place. Even then, I’d found myself watching Sol more than I probably should have. She’d spent most of the meal cutting Halo’s food into tiny pieces, blowing on shit that wasn’t even hot anymore, wiping her mouth, reaching for dropped toys, and making sure her daughter had everything she needed before she finally touched her own plate.

I was starting to understand something about Sol.

She always put herself last.

After we ate, I took her back to my house.

Home.

That word had been fucking with me all week.

It was my house. I’d bought it, furnished it, and paid every bill attached to it. For years, I’d walked through those doors without giving a damn whether anybody was there waiting for me.

Sol and Halo had been there seven days.

One damn week.

Yet somehow, Sol’s shoes sitting neatly beside the stairs already looked like they belonged there. Halo’s toys had slowly started taking over one corner of my living room, and baby bottles now dried beside my glasses in the kitchen like that had always been their spot.

In the mornings, I usually heard them before I saw them. Halo babbling from upstairs. Sol moving around the guest room. Her sleepy voice telling her daughter to stop squirming while she tried to put clothes on her.

At night, when I came home, the house felt different.

Not like some big-ass property I happened to own.

It felt lived in. Warm. Full.

I hadn’t realized how quiet my life had become until those two showed up and filled every empty space in it.

Before leaving earlier, I’d asked Sol if I could take Halo to Sugga’s with me.

The look on her face had almost made me laugh. Her eyebrows shot up, and she looked from me to Halo and back again like I’d asked to borrow her Social Security number instead of her baby.

Then came the instructions.

Diapers. Wipes. Bottles. Snacks. Extra clothes. What Halo liked. What she didn’t like. What time she usually got sleepy. What to do if she got fussy.

By the time Sol finally handed me the diaper bag, I felt like I’d been briefed for combat.