Page 147 of When a Soul Cries

I sat up straighter.

“And if you hurt that baby because you don't know what the hell you want, I'm beating your ass myself.”

I paused.

“Six-five or not.”

Then I frowned because knowing Rome, that probably wouldn't even be the problem.

Let him get attached to Halo and that child would be spoiled rotten.

I could already see it.

That fool would have a one-year-old wearing shoes she couldn't walk in yet and buying toys bigger than she was.

“Little girl gonna have an 800 credit score by kindergarten.”

A laugh escaped me, but it faded quickly.

Because Sol's story had touched something in me that I'd kept buried for more than thirty years.

Something neither of my sons knew.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stared down at my hands.

I was nineteen.

There had been a party. Loud music. Too many people. Somebody handed me a drink.

I remembered laughing.

Dancing.

Then feeling strange.

Not drunk.

Different.

I remembered telling somebody I didn't want anything else to drink.

After that, pieces of the night disappeared.

My next clear memory was waking up in a room I didn't recognize.

My head was pounding. My clothes weren't right. My body hurt.

I didn't know how I'd gotten there.

Didn't know who had been in that room with me.

Didn't know what had been put in my drink.

But I knew something had happened.

I stumbled into a bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror—hair everywhere, makeup smeared, eyes swollen.

Terrified.