Page 9 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

She won’t speak to me for a little, but I successfully put her in her place, and that’s worth the trade-off.

Picking up my forgotten duffel, I amble to my own suite, and take a much needed shower. I keep clothes here, so I never pack any. Slipping on joggers, socks, and a black wife beater, I grab the Scrappy Doo stuffed animal and pass three doors until I stop at a door with blue and green marker all over it. The door is ajar, but I still knock to teach the occupant about privacy.

“I’m in the bed!” a small voice yells.

Pushing the door open, I smirk at the ruffling of sheets.

“You telling stories, huh?”

The moving lump in the bed freezes. I take a seat on the bed and snatch the comforter back.

“Tío!” the little boy gasps, grabbing at the comforter. “I’m supposed to be sleep! Nan said–”

“Nan is sleep, Mars. Like you should be. But I got something for you.”

I lift Scrappy into his field of vision, and I’m rewarded with a snaggle tooth smile.

Mars grabs the toy and hugs it, letting me take in his hair. It’s so much longer than it was a year ago, pulled back out of his face into a braided ponytail.

Little arms try to connect behind my back as my nephew hugs me tight.

“I missed you, tío,” he mumbles into my stomach.

I hug him back just as tight, tickled by his accented English. “I missed you more, Mars.”

I’d facetime of course, but kids don’t give a fuck about that. He’d only be tuned in if I was chewing him out. It’s nice to be in person, even if the older he gets, the more he looks like his pops.

The more he looks like me.

He leans back and grins. “You missed my birthday.”

“No I didn’t. It’s today, silly billy. That’s why I got you Scrappy Doo.”

His grin widens. The nigga loves to lie, just like me.

“Gotcha!” he chuckles, grabbing his new toy.

“You got school tomorrow, my boy. I ain’t expect you to be up-up.”

“Can you tell me a bedtime story? About Daddy?” He folds his hands and tries for a puppy dog face, and since he only turned five, it still works.

Tell him the reason why you got him Scrappy.

“Aight,” I say to both of them. “Settle in.”

Mars pulls the covers over him and lays down with Scrappy tucked underneath his arm. I turn down his nightlight, and settle into the arm chair next to his bed. Fredo’s leaning on the wall, smiling at his seed.

The son he never met. The one he barely got to even know about. The one who has his whole face.

“Aight, so, one thing about Fred was…”

Wyn

Age 29

Jesus.

I’ve gotta chill out.