Messiah’s eyes widened in horror at the discovery that his deepest secret was being spoken. That it was tangible and audible and released into the night air. It made him feel see-through. “Mo doesn’t know. I’m the only person breathing who knows. Anybody else who knew is no longer breathing.” Messiah’s chin quaked as he met eyes with Ethic. Bookie was gone. Ethic had made sure of it. For Messiah. Ethic had killed the man that had molested him as a young boy. Messiah knew that had taken some effort, some discerning, because Ethic had changed his life. Ethic was on a journey to be a better man for the woman he loved. For Alani. His wife. He had taken a detour to avenge the trespass that had been done against Messiah, and everyone knew that Ethic only killed for the people he loved. For his family. Messiah was family, and if he hadn’t known it before … felt it before, he felt it now. Messiah nodded in understanding, and Ethic placed a hand around Messiah’s shoulders. “Come hold your babies.”

Messiah nodded and stepped over the threshold to Ethic’s palace. Morgan stood anxiously waiting, tears wetting her cheeks, as she held their daughter in her arms.

“Messari’s asleep,” Mo said. “Messiah, this is Yara Rae Atkins.”

Messiah froze. He had seen the little girl before, but standing there in front of her as her father was different. It was humbling, it was terrifying, and Messiah felt gutted, exposed, like all his insides were being pulled out and put on display for the room to see. He didn’t know what to say. What to do.

Ethic removed Yara from Morgan’s arms and carried her over to Messiah.

“Say hi, Yolly Pop,” Ethic signed with one hand as the pretty little girl with the feather-soft hair and the deep-set brow sat comfortably in his arms.

Yara waved.

Messiah scoffed in disbelief. “She’s mine?”

“She’s yours,” Ethic confirmed.

“This is your daddy,” Ethic signed.

Yara’s brow furrowed deeper. Confusion.

“That’s not my daddy,” Yara signed. Messiah’s stomach plummeted. Nothing could have hurt him more. His daughter, his deaf daughter, didn’t even know who he was. He had left her for two years. The grief was overwhelming.

“She don’t know me, man,” Messiah said, chin quaking violently.

“That’s okay. She will. She’s yours,” Ethic coached. Morgan went to take a step toward them, and Messiah backpedaled. He retreated as if Morgan were someone who had abused him, someone whose touch would injure. As if he were afraid of her.

“Yo, Ethic, keep her away from me. I can’t even look at her. I’m just here for my kids. I just want to know my kids, man.” Every word out his throat broke apart. His voice was vulnerable.