Page 82 of When a Soul Cries

“What thing?”

“That annoying thing where you make noises instead of saying what you’re thinking.”

“Mhm.”

“A’Zaria.”

I laughed and leaned my head against the couch.

That smile on her face was exactly why I’d told her to go.

When she’d mentioned Rome earlier, she’d tried to make it sound like nothing.

Just some man.

Just dinner.

Just a conversation.

But I knew Sol.

There had been something in her voice I hadn’t heard in a long time.

Curiosity.

Maybe even a little excitement.

And I wanted that for her.

Not Rome specifically.

Hell, I didn’t know that man.

For all I knew, he could’ve been a handsome psychopath with good teeth.

But I wanted Sol to remember she had a life outside of struggling.

For the last two years, everything about her revolved around survival.

Halo.

Work.

Bills.

Halo.

Me.

Halo again.

And somewhere underneath all of that was a twenty-four-year-old woman who barely remembered what it felt like to do something simply because she wanted to.

That scared me sometimes.

Because I loved Sol.

I loved being her best friend.