Page 9 of Juliet's Echo

Mylo grinned, already knowing he was about to be messy.

“Who is the lamest nigga in the room?” he asked. “And I’ll give you a hint—his name makes the same sound as a train.” He started the motion himself, pulling his arm down like a conductor. “Let me hear it, loud and proud. One, two, three—”

Juliet didn’t even hesitate.

“Choo-Choo,” she said, voice clear, arm pumping up and down like she was running a whole railroad.

The kitchen exploded.

Zion folded over laughing. Mylo damn near dropped to his knees. Even my father had to turn his head to hide his smile, shoulders shaking. My mother tried to hold it together, but the corners of her lips betrayed her.

And me?

I just stood there, staring at all of them like betrayal had a sound—and it did. The sound was me smacking Mylo clean upside his head. Goofy ass nigga.

He playfully winced, then opened his other fist, revealing custom gold shoelace charms. “Ain’t no little sister of mine going to kindergarten with plain laces,” Mylo said, shaking his headlike he was personally offended. “I can’t have that stain on my reputation.”

Kneeling, he relaced her shoes with care, threading the laces through like he was working on something crucial. Once he finished, he secured the knot with a gold charm that readJu-Ju, letting it sit right at the center.

Juliet froze for a second, staring down at her feet like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Then her whole face lit up—eyes wide, smile stretching ear to ear—as she admired them from every angle, turning her foot side to side.

Without hesitation, she lunged forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Mylo’s neck.

“Thank you,” she said and signed at the same time, her voice soft but full.

I stepped aside, a little jealous, watching as Mylo lifted her up like she weighed nothing and carried her over to the refrigerator. “Pick your juice, superstar,” he told her.

Mylo and Zion—now fifteen and thirteen—had really grown into themselves. Gone were the annoying little brothers who used to get on my nerves just for breathing. These niggas had presence now.

Both were star players on their respective teams. Zion, with his smooth handle and court vision, was quietly Pops’ favorite—especially since he chose basketball over Mylo’s football path. Mylo, on the other hand, was pure chaos on the field, aggressive, loud, and straight mayhem.

In school, they were just as successful. Grades up, behavior mimicking that of a prince, and every girl their age seemed to find a reason to be near them. It got to the point where random knocks on the door weren’t even surprising anymore.

That right there forced my parents to have “the talk” with them way earlier than planned.

My father would sit them down, serious as hell, only to start sweating and stumbling over his words like the wordsexmight physically take him out. Meanwhile, my mother had no problem cutting straight through the bullshit, asking them point-blank at the dinner table if they were fucking.

But above all, they were the best big brothers to Juliet. Teaching her, protecting her, and spending just as much time with her as they could.

Neither one of them knew the full story around Simone’s death or the agreement that our family would raise Juliet without any involvement from Simone’s family. That decision was made to protect Juliet—and, if we were being honest, to protect our family’s personal life as well.

Her maternal side didn’t put up a fight. As a matter of fact, before we even gave our reasoning for keeping Juliet away, Simone’s mother had already expressed that Juliet was a constant reminder of the daughter they lost.

That analogy was weird as fuck to me.

Why wouldn’t they want a piece of their daughter? Something that looked like her, breathed like her, carried her forward in some way. I couldn’t wrap my head around that shit no matter how many times I tried to make sense of it.

But… everyone grieves differently, right?

We had our lawyers draft an agreement, filed with the court, stating that the Hills willingly gave up their rights and would refrain from contacting Juliet in any way.

As far as the media knew, the best friend of Hall of Famer Axel and Oscar-winning actress Olivia Everette’s son—highly achieved music producer Echo—was killed in a domestic dispute by her troubled boyfriend. Because of the power both my parents held in the media, the gossip was laid to rest the same day Simone was.

Mylo and Zion, being only ten and eight at the time, didn’t ask many questions.

Secrets aside, they treated her just like big brothers should—making her cry by teasing her one minute and spoiling her with extra dessert the next.

“What’s going on at the studio today, son?” my father asked, pulling my attention away from Juliet, who was swooning over Mylo and Zion.