Page 29 of Halo

“What?”

“I’m serious, Nick.” She glares at me. “I want Grady to have a father in his life, but not if he’s half-assing it.”

I scowl. “That’s not how any of this works, Tiffany—”

“I’m his mother, and the only family he knows—”

“Because you kept him from me!” I sigh, running my hand across my chin. “Listen, I appreciate you wanting to protect him, but he’s my fucking kid. I don’t know how any of this works or how I will make this work, but we’re going to. I will be in his life.”

I have to be.

“Tiffany!” A burly man in a greasy, button-up shirt with Vinny’s Diner embroidered on the front hollers from the front door. “I need your help with the register.”

Her eyes widen, bouncing between Grady and me. “Um, I—”

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” I say.

“You don’t mind?” She stands, straightening out her dress. “I swear I’ll be right back. You don’t have to do anything. Just—” she hurries toward the door—“make sure he stays safe.”

Okay.

Keep my child safe.

The child who doesn’t know I exist yet. Or maybe he does?

What matters is I now know he exists.

Fuck.

He really is a cute kid. Oblivious to me, he watches the children around him play, like a wallflower, soaking everything in as he continues to rhythmically drum the stick against the metal playground equipment.

I pull out the schedule on my phone, playing a mental game of tetris with my work obligations and how I’m going to bring a five-year-old child into my life, one that clearly needs some help.

A commotion grabs my attention. Three little boys surround Grady. One grabs his stick, breaking it into pieces while the other two hurl insults and laughter at him.

The fuck?

I storm over to the scuffle. “You little shits, get out of here!”

The bullies scurry back into the restaurant, leaving a cowering Grady, sitting in the corner under the playground equipment. He stares at the ground where his broken stick is, pushing up his glasses.

I clear my throat. “You okay, little man?”

“Don’t call me little,” he says sternly in a tiny voice. He pushes up his eyeglasses again, cautiously looking up at me.

Got it. No ‘little.’

I crouch down, sitting on my haunches. “Are you okay there?”

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

Damnit. He’s better at this stuff than me.

“That’s right. Did your mama teach you that?”

He looks around the small playground before pulling his knees to his chest.

“It’s okay, Grady—”