End Game
“This crib always open for you.”
I nodded. “I know.”
“And if your pops got a problem with it—” he shrugged, lips curling into a grin, “—that sound like a him problem.”
I smiled then. A real one. Small, but real.
“Thanks, Q.”
He rolled his eyes. “Don’t get all soft on me now. Eat your food.”
And I did.
A little later, Quinton told me he was gonna drop the dude in his room off and be back soon. They grabbed their stuff and headed out, Quinton calling a quick, “Don’t touch my shit,” over his shoulder before the door shut behind them.
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