"Make yourself at home," he muttered.
I glanced behind me at him taking his shoes off at the door. With my gloss-covered lips, I mouthed silently,"Where is she?"
He shrugged, his brows knitted together, seemingly annoyed by the question. "I don't know, and who gives a fuck?" he stated aloud, not bothering to whisper.
Following his lead, I took my shoes off at the door and padded into the living room, then into the kitchen, my bare feet soft against the cool tile.
That's when I caught everybody's attention.
My eyes met Trecee's puzzled expression first. Then Romelo followed immediately after me, his presence filling the room.
"Synthiaaaa!" my little cousins bellowed in unison, rushing toward me with open arms.
I closed my eyes and hugged them as tight as I could, swaying them side to side. This—this right here—was what I needed.Romelo couldn't top this feeling, but he'd put his dark ways aside and given me this gift.
He didn't have to do this.
But I could see him revealing himself like layers of an onion—breaking out of the cocoon, showing me parts of himself he kept hidden from the world.
In the beginning, I hated him. Despised him.
Now I was growing to love him—the real him, not the advertised commercial image that people painted him to be.
"How'd you get here?" Trecee spoke, her tone hasty and sharp.
Our eyes met, and I focused on the attitude flaring on her face. Her perfectly arched brows were knitted together, and there was a shade of fawn highlighter etched underneath them to make them more defined.
"I was walking to the grocery store, and Romelo gave me a ride instead," I responded quickly, the lie rolling off my tongue smoothly.
"It shouldn't matter no way," Romelo grumbled, walking past me and purposefully shoving Trecee with his shoulder.
"We hungry!" Monterrius blared after releasing me from the hug. The rest of the kids followed suit—all four of them sounding off in ripples.
"You haven't fed them anything?" I asked, my voice rising with accusation.
Romelo frowned, but I matched the mug on Trecee's face before he could say anything. He bent down and picked Moriah up off the floor as if she couldn't walk. Her little arms clung around his neck, and she looked at him like he was her protector.
"I told them to fix noodles, and there's smoked sausages in there," Trecee answered dismissively.
"After the shit they've been through, why the fuck would they want to cook noodles, Trecee?" I snapped, unable to hold back my anger.
"Girl, don't be raising your damn voice in my house," Trecee snapped back, stepping toward me.
Romelo's brow rose, and his head tilted in her direction. "Yo house?"
She cut her eyes at him, holding back what she really wanted to say. Romelo chuckled—a sinister, mocking sound—humiliating her in front of everyone.
Trecee knew better than to push him.
"Say it wit' ya chest!" he challenged.
"Romelo..." Sighing, she dismissed him with an eye roll. "I need to talk to you about something."
"I'm right here."
"In private," she responded, her arms folded over her flat chest.
"Maneeee," Romelo dragged out. "Don't start no bullshit wit' me today, Trecee."
