Echo #2
I barked out laughing, scooping her up and attacking her sides with my free hand. She squealed, laughing so hard she damn near slipped out my grip, her little body going weak against me.
“Oh, so you just gonna play me like that? I should take it back,” I said out loud, unable to sign while holding her heavy ass. I set her down on a clear space on the kitchen island. “Juliet Simone Everette, how could you do me like that?” I asked, fighting a grin.
“A wise man once said, you play stupid games and you win nothing. Losing ass nigga,” she signed and said at the same time, her little evil ass beaming with pride.
One thing I always taught Juliet was that she had an advantage over millions of people in this world—she had two voices.
And no matter how they showed up, through her mouth or her hands, nobody had the right to take either away.
So, she always used both, as if she were making sure you heard her twice.
A small tap landed on her head from a stack of mail, and we both looked up.
My father stood there, holding the envelopes like he’d been watching the whole exchange for a minute. Axel Everette—five years later and another mouth to feed—still looked like money, power, and discipline wrapped into one. Tall, fit, fly, smooth… like age never touched him.
“Don’t say losing ass, Ju-Ju,” he said, dead serious for half a second. “Say losing head ass.”
Juliet gasped like he had just upgraded her vocabulary, and I shook my head, laughing as he leaned in and kissed the top of her head, then mine.
“How about we don’t say ‘ass’ at all?” my mother cut in, walking into the kitchen like she owned every square inch of it—because she did. Mylo and Zion trailed in behind her, already arguing about something under their breath.
She stepped right up to Juliet, bending down and pointing to each cheek, one at a time, silently requesting her kisses. Juliet obliged, quick pecks and a bright smile following.
“You ready for today, mommy’s favorite girl?” she signed, her expression soft but proud.
“Yes!” baby girl shouted. She was a thug around the men, but when my mother came around, she was a princess.
“Not with those wack-ass shoelaces tied like that,” Mylo signed, playfully teasing her.
He stepped in front of Juliet, fist balled, then crossed both hands in front of her. “Pick one,” his body language said, eyes already plotting.
Juliet lit up, curiosity taking over. She tapped his left hand without hesitation.
Mylo slowly opened it.
Empty.
Her face dropped instantly, like someone had pulled the light right out of her. And just like that, the whole kitchen shifted. Every set of eyes landed on Mylo—sharp, warning, ready. If one tear dared to fall from her eyes, Mylo and this kitchen floor were about to get real familiar.
He must’ve felt it too, because he straightened up quick.
“Aight, aight—I’ll give you a bonus chance,” he said, holding his other fist tighter this time. “But only if you answer this question correctly.”
Juliet nodded fast, relief washing over her as she bounced slightly on the island ledge, locked back into the game.
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 head like 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 read Ju-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 word sex might 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.
Smirking at the scene, I responded, “You know I got that meeting with Historical Records this morning, Pops.”
Historical Records housed some major artists, and any collaboration with them brought home millions—and a Grammy—every time.
Their artist Ocean was dropping a comeback project after taking time off to give birth and enjoy her new role as a mother, leading into an album and tour.
And they wanted my lyrical sauce producing the entire project.
Ocean was to Historical Records what Sade was to Epic Records in the ’90s.
Legendary.
“Yeah, you know they want me all over Ocean’s project,” I continued.
“Aye, that’s my boy. New contracts equal new money,” my father said with a proud smile, dapping me up.
“Echo,” my mother’s voice chimed in, soft as silk.
“What up, Ma?” I responded.
She glanced at me, then at Juliet, her expression warm—too warm.
“I am very excited to hear about your new project. Ocean is a pleasure to work with. You know she was on the soundtrack to that Pixar film I did a voice-over for—she was my singing voice. Such a sweet girl she is, and her baby is absolutely the cutest.”
I stared at her.
That tone? Yeah, I knew it.
She was setting me up.
My mother had a way of wrapping bad news in sugar, talking all soft and innocent like she wasn’t about to drop some shit that could irritate your soul.
“What all that mean to me, Ma?” I asked, cutting straight through it.
“It means,” she said gently, “you don’t have to come along this morning to take Juliet for her first day of kindergarten.”
Juliet’s head snapped up so fast it was like she caught the words midair.
“That meeting is important,” my mother continued, still calm, still smooth. “And I can tell you barely got any sleep last night. Besides, you and your brothers all went to this school when you were younger, and our family is loved there. She will be just—”
Clap.
The sharp sound of Juliet’s hands slapping together cut through the room, stopping everything.
We all turned.
She was upset.