“I feel you. That’s why I don’t need you saying that. You my pops. Period.”
“I always knew you’d do great things,” Stetson said. “Watching you become the man you are, watching you build this life with Halo, that’s my legacy too. You understand?”
He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Yeah. I understand.”
“Good. Now go take care of that wife of yours. Get some rest. You’re gonna need it when those babies get here.”
“You ain’t lying,” DaVinci said, smiling. “Love you, old man.”
“Love you too, kid.”
He hung up, carried the tea upstairs, and found Halo wrapped in one of his shirts, eyes half closed.
“You took forever,” she mumbled.
“I was on the phone with Stetson,” he said, easing into bed beside her. “He wanted to tell me how proud he is.”
“He should be. I hope tonight was perfect for you,” she said.
He settled in, let her curl into him, her belly pressed against his side, their babies moving between them. His hand found her stomach, fingers spreading wide.
“You know what I was thinking about earlier?” he asked.
“What?” she asked, lifting her head just enough to see him.
“How Cassie thought she was ending my life when she set that fire. How she thought taking my house would break me,” he said. “But she gave me the best thing that ever happened to me. She brought me to you. To this.”
“You would have found your way here eventually,” Halo said softly.
“Maybe,” he said. “I’m glad it happened the way it did. I’m glad you were the one who showed up that day. I’m glad you checked me and made me listen.”
She smiled and pressed a kiss over his heart. “I’m glad you were stubborn enough to keep showing up even when I tried to push you away.”
“I knew what I wanted,” he said. “I just had to make you believe it.”
“You did,” she whispered. “You really did.”
This was the win. Not the rings, even though they meant something. Not the jersey in the rafters, even though that was special. This. This woman. These babies. This house. This purpose. This peace that came from knowing he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
And he was just getting started.
A Year Later
Draft night took over Sheena’s, and no one could have foreseen this coming. When Sametra put her son into T-ball, she had no idea where it would lead. But it was here, and everything that she’d done and all the sacrifices they’d both made had landed them here at Sheena’s.
The restaurant's private event space was packed wall to wall—family, friends, and half of Silverrun showing up to watch Samaj's name get called. John-Dale and Lorana had closed the restaurant to the public for the night, transforming it into draft central, with big screens on every wall, tables loaded with food that kept coming out of the kitchen, and energy that made the whole room feel electric.
The smell of Sheena's famous fried chicken, ribs, collard greens, mac and cheese, and cornbread filled the air. People were already making plates even though the draft hadn't started yet. This was their spot—the place where Sametra and Malik got married three years ago, where they'd gathered forcountless Thursday dinners, where John-Dale had watched Samaj grow from a little boy to the man standing in the corner rolling a chain through his fingers.
Samaj paced near the bar. Stopped. Turned. Paced back. The chain between his fingers had been a gift from Malik the day Alabama offered him a full ride. No ceremony, just Malik pressing it into his palm and saying, “I told you if you handled your business, I’d handle mine. You earned this.” Samaj wore it every game after that. Now he rolled it through his fingers like it might steady the chaos in his head.
“Boy, sit down before you wear a hole in my floor,” John-Dale called from behind the bar, voice gruff but eyes soft. “You’re making everybody nervous.”
“Leave him alone, Daddy,” Sametra said, weaving through with another tray of drinks. “It's draft night. He earned the right to pace.”
John-Dale grunted but smiled, pride written all over his face as he watched his grandson.
From the corner booth came Summer's voice, loud and insistent. “JJ, that’s MY crayon!”
