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“What’s up, my boy?”

“Hey, Dad.”

He nodded, stepped inside and dapped me.

I pulled him in against me afterward.

He tolerated it for about two seconds.

“Aight, Dad.”

I laughed.

“Too grown for a hug now?”

“Nah.”

“Sound like it.”

He picked his duffel back up and headed farther inside.

I looked at Cheryl.

Of course my first baby mother had to be Spanish.

Fertile-ass women.

Cheryl was still fine too.

Pretty face. Thick dark hair pulled back. Fitted jeans underneath a long coat.

She nodded.

“Levin.”

“Cheryl.”

“Thanks for the cash this month.”

“Of course.”

She never put me on child support.

Never had to.

Even while I was gone, I made sure envelopes got to her.

Eight thousand every month.

Faithfully.

She had my son full-time when I couldn’t even be there part-time.

Money couldn’t raise him.

Couldn’t take him to school.

Couldn’t show up to his games.