Page 60 of When a Soul Cries

“Let me go.”

“No.”

“Zari—”

“No.” She wrapped both arms around me tighter, refusing to let me retreat back into myself. “You ain't gotta do that shit with me.”

And I broke.

Right there in her arms.

Everything I’d been holding together all day broke loose at once. I buried my face against her shoulder and cried until my chest hurt, until I couldn’t tell which tears were for the eviction, which were for my car, which were for Halo, and which were just because I was tired of carrying everything by myself.

“I’m tired,” I choked out.

Zari’s hand moved slowly up and down my back. “I know.”

I shook my head against her shoulder as another sob tore out of me. “I’m so fucking tired.”

“I know, Sol.”

My knees felt weak, and Zari held me tighter while I cried into her shoulder. For once, I didn't wipe my face. I didn't straighten myself up. I didn't tell anybody I was good.

I just let myself fall apart.

And for the first time in a long time, I stopped trying to be strong.

I sat behind the wheel longer than I had any business sitting there.

Sol’s apartment was still visible through my windshield, the porch light throwing a weak yellow glow across the front door. The same door I’d just stood on the other side of with my hand raised, debating whether I should knock.

I should’ve. At least, part of me thought I should’ve. The other part kept reminding me that I didn’t know that woman. Not really. I’d met her today. One damn day. Yet I was sitting outside her apartment like I had some kind of responsibility to make sure she was okay.

I leaned my head back against the headrest and closed my eyes, but that only made it worse.

“I’m so fucking tired.”

Her voice replayed in my head. Not loud. Not angry. Defeated.

That shit bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

I’d seen women cry before. Hell, I’d made a few cry. Wasn’t proud of it, but I wasn’t about to rewrite history either. Tears had never been some magical shit that made me lose sleep. But hearing Sol break down on the other side of that door had done something to me.

Maybe because she’d spent the entire day acting like nothing could touch her. Mouth slick. Attitude on ten. Ready to argue with me about any damn thing. Then I’d watched her snatch that paper off the door like she was embarrassed for me to see it.

I hadn’t been close enough to read what was on it. But standing outside her door a few minutes later, hearing pieces of the conversation inside, I’d heard enough to put it together.

Eviction.

She was about to lose her home.

And there was a baby in there. Her little girl.

I rubbed both hands down my face and let out a long breath. “What the fuck are you doing, Rome?”

I didn’t have an answer. That was the problem.

How the hell could somebody I’d known for one day get under my skin this fast?