Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to the renovated warehouse. The lights glowed inside. Through the glass, DaVinci saw a family sitting together, parents and four kids, shoulders rounded in that particular way grief and shock made people fold in on themselves.
He knew that feeling. He would never forget it.
Halo stepped out of the car before he could reach for her door. He caught up and rested his hand at the small of her back as they walked in.
“Hi, I’m Halo,” she said, extending her hand to the mother. “This is my husband, DaVinci. We’re so sorry about what happened.”
The woman looked like she had cried herself empty. “The fire department gave us your card. They said you could help.”
“We can and we will,” Halo said. She turned to Trina, who already had a clipboard ready. “Let’s get them set up.”
DaVinci watched his wife move through the space like she had been doing this for years. She knelt so she was eye-level with the kids, asked names, sizes, and favorite colors. She spoke to the parents like equals, not like a project. She never let them slide into feeling like charity cases. Just people who had a terrible night and needed a hand steadying themselves.
It took about an hour to get what they needed: clothes, shoes, toiletries, blankets, toys, and books. Halo insisted they pick what they wanted, not what someone else thought they should have. At the end, she pulled out an envelope and a set of keys.
“We have a house that just finished renovations,” she told them. “You can stay there as long as you need. Six months rent-free to start, and we’ll talk after that. Right now, you just need somewhere safe to land.”
The mother broke. The father sat down hard, head in his hands. DaVinci watched them cling to each other and to the keys, saw something flicker back to life in their faces. Hope. The thing he almost lost once.
He watched Halo stand in the doorway as they loaded their car, her hands resting over her belly, her eyes soft. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, and she leaned into him.
“I feel blessed,” she said. “Look what we just did. Look what we get to keep doing.”
“You did that, Lo,” he said. “That was you.”
She shook her head. “That was us. You could have told me no tonight. You didn’t.”
“I know better than to get between you and something you care about,” he said.
She gave him a smile that was all softness and steel. “I’m going to rest now. I promise. The staff can handle the day-to-day. I’ll just check in.”
He hummed. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
She laughed, and the sound grounded him, the same way it did the first time he heard it. Two years, and that laugh still felt like home.
On the drive back, she drifted off with her head against his shoulder, her hand tangled with his over her stomach. He kept his palm there, feeling the twins stretch and shift, the steady reminder that everything he wanted was finally in his arms or on the way.
Two years. That was all it had been since he tried to run into his burning house, and Halo stopped him with a hand to his chest and a voice that did not shake. Cassie set that fire, thinking she would end his life. In a way, she did. She burned down the man who did not know why he was still chasing the next game. From those ashes, he built something better.
At home, he carried Halo upstairs, removed her shoes, and helped her into the shower. The house was quiet. The nurseries were ready. Two cribs. Two dressers. More baby clothes than any two infants need. For the first time in his adult life, he was not thinking about training camp or next season. He was just here.
His phone buzzed while he filled the kettle. Stetson’s name lit the screen.
“What’s good, Pops?” DaVinci answered.
“Checking on you,” Stetson said. “Hell of a night, son. Your mama is still crying.”
DaVinci laughed. “Tell her to stop. She’s been crying since they announced the date.”
“You know how she is.” There was a pause. “Listen, I wanted to catch you before the night got away. I’m proud of you. Real proud. That speech tonight was something special.”
“I had something written,” DaVinci admitted, pouring water into Halo’s favorite mug. “As soon as I got up there, it didn’t feel right. I just said what I felt.”
“I could tell. You meant every word,” Stetson said. He went quiet for a beat. “Your mother and I talk about it sometimes, how things worked out, how I came into y’all’s lives. You and your mama made me a better man. Gave me a family. And I know I’m not…”
“Pops,” DaVinci said to cut him off.
“Let me finish,” Stetson said. His voice stayed firm, but warm. “I know I’m not your biological father. But you’re my son. In every way that matters. Fuck some blood, you feel me?”
