Wyatt
Sundance had told me about Moses’ work with at-risk youth, helping kids who aged out of foster care. I liked him the more I learned about him, but this stuff with Snowcone was troubling.
“Yeah,” Sundance said.
“So, Snowcone basically s**t where he slept, then went ahead and s**t in Moses’s bed, too?”
“Yeah, Dimples, that’s exactly what he did.”
I frowned. “Is Moses okay?”
“Jesus Christ, that’s what you’re worried about?”
“Is that wrong?”
“No, baby,” he said, chuckling. “Just all this worrying about everyone reminded me why I love you.”
“Did you forget?” I asked, popping another chip into my mouth.
“I wasn’t sure where we’d stand after this,” he admitted.
I rolled my eyes. “I told you I was in this. I’m glad he isn’t dead, and although I’m not happy that you cut him up, I k
