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“Thank you for coming.”

“You asked.”

A faint smile appeared, but it didn’t last. He finally stepped back and nodded toward the living room.

“Come on.”

I followed him and sat beside him on the couch. The house was so quiet that I found myself lowering my voice even though I didn’t know who else was home. MJ leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stared at the floor. I wasn’t going to urge him to tell me what was going on, so I waited.

He rubbed his hands together a few times before finally speaking.

“Somebody shot my pops.”

My stomach dropped.

“What?”

“Today… well, yesterday.”

Everything clicked into place at once. It was like it all made sense. The unanswered calls. The texts. Him not returning to the apartment. The way he looked when I walked through the door.

“Oh my God, MJ.”

“He’s alive.”

He said it quickly, and I released a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“He made it through surgery. He woke up and everything.”

I reached for his hand.

“Okay. That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

But the way he said it told me there was more. MJ looked down at our hands.

“He got hit three times.”

My fingers tightened around his as he continued talking.

“One in his shoulder. One in his side.” He paused. “One in his back.”

I didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything I could say that would make that better, so I didn’t try. Instead, I moved closer. MJ swallowed and stared straight ahead.

“The doctors are saying that he has to learn how to walk again.”

MJ pulled his hand away long enough to wipe underneath one of his eyes before looking off toward the other side of the room.

“Shit crazy.”

I reached for his hand again. This time, he let me take it.

“He been walking around like nothing can touch him my whole life.” MJ shook his head slowly. “Even when shit went wrong, my pops always handled it. That’s just him.”

His eyes filled again.

“So, seeing him lying in that bed…”