I pushed the thought away. Cassie needed to be locked up. That part wasn’t negotiable. How I felt about my methods could wait until after this was handled.
“We’ll do it,” Mr. Patterson said quickly. Too quickly. “We’ll call first thing in the morning.”
“Good choice.”
Langston pulled out the paperwork. I’d had my lawyer draw it up that morning, everything official and binding. They signed with shaking hands. And just like that, it was done. We left out the house, and I didn’t look back. I’d done what needed to be done, put the fear of God into two people whohad to learn this wasn’t a game anymore. By next week, Cassie would be in custody.
On the ride back, she crept in again.
She didn’t even need to be in the room; Halo just existed in a nigga’s bloodstream, now. That beautiful face stayed in my head longer than I wanted to admit; sometimes it never left. I pictured her batting those long lashes, knowing she could get anything she wanted out of me. Her light lived in the melanin God blessed her with. Her mouth, smart, slick, always moving, had me shifting in the back seat before I caught myself. I tried not to think of her like that, tried to care about what was in her head and heart first, but I was a man before anything. And today, seeing her in that damn dress, ass sitting just right, stomach flat, breasts high and perfect, I folded to my own flesh.
I was down bad over Halima “Halo” Grant.
Now that Cassie was handled, I could finally look Halo in the face without any drama sitting between us. No more pretending she hadn’t grabbed my heart the same day she grabbed my shirt. I hadn’t felt that kind of excitement for anything in a long time, and chasing Halo had me charged in a way nothing else did.
???
The next morning…
I needed to see Pops before I left town for the next stretch of away games. We had three cities in five days, and I couldn’t get on that plane with my head still spinning from last night. Stetson Bryns had a way of cutting through bullshit and handing me clarity, and right now, I needed that more than I needed sleep.
Something that had eluded me all night.
I pulled up to my parents’ estate a little after eight. The gate read my plates and slid open without me having to buzz in. I drove past the fountain, past Ma’s rose garden that she babied like it was her third child, and parked next to Pops’ Cadillac.
The house was quiet when I walked in. I already knew where he would be. His office. That was his corner of the world when he wasn’t at one of the restaurants or in a room with investors. Stetson Bryns did not believe in idle time. Never had.
I found him exactly where I expected, sitting behind his mahogany desk in a crisp white button-down and slacks, reading glasses perched on his nose as he scrolled through something on his tablet. If you didn’t know hewasn’t my biological father, you wouldn’t be able to tell. We favored in many ways.
“Morning, Gayla,” I said to the housekeeper.
“Vinny, how are you?”
“I can’t complain. Did Travis get his jersey?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m the best g-mama, he said.” Gayla smiled widely with gratitude.
“I’ll send some tickets for the next home game. He might move in after that.”
“Thank you, sir. And I assume you know where to find your father?”
“I do.”
The office smelled like leather and Ma’s Donna Karan perfume. Framed photos lined the walls: their wedding, Omni’s graduation, my first championship. Proof of what he’d built.
He looked up when I knocked.
“You look like shit, baby boy,” he said, setting the tablet down. “What’s going on with you?”
I stepped inside and dropped into the chair across from his desk.
“I need to talk before I head out,” I said. “I’ve got practice at eleven, then we fly to Phoenix tonight.”
“Coffee?” he asked, already reaching for the pot on the credenza.
“Yeah.”
He poured two cups, black, and handed me one. We took a moment and just drank. Pops drilled into me early: you never rush a conversation about something that could affect your future.
