Page 26

When Krys pulled up to scoop Kenyatta and Kaliyah, she immediately clocked the energy. It wasn’t loud or obvious. Kenyatta was there, present, but not fully. His movements were still sharp, his posture still relaxed, but the weight of something sat on him heavy.

His responses were shorter and his energy lower. His mind seemed to be running laps somewhere else entirely.

Kaliyah, tucked in the backseat with her tablet, didn’t seem to notice, but Krys always noticed.

As they rolled through Trinity Bay, she kept her focus on the road, but her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror every so often, catching quick glances of his face.

When they hit a stoplight, she finally let the curiosity win.

“You okay?” Her voice was casual, smooth, but pointed.

Kenyatta dragged a hand over his jaw, exhaling slow. “Yeah.”

Krys let that silence sit for a second before adjusting her grip on the wheel. “Nah. Try again.”

He glanced at her, smirking slightly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You always this nosy?”

Krys smirked right back. “I prefer observant.”

She had dressed down but somehow still looked like she belonged in a lifestyle he had no business admiring. Simple but expensive. Her chocolate brown maxi dress hugged her frame, and the gold hoops in her ears glinted in the soft evening sun. She had her hair up, messy, cascading the sides of her face, showing off the delicate, soft curves of her neck. She had barely done anything to her face, but still flawless as always.

Kenyatta shifted in his seat, his gaze lingering on Krys longer than he intended. Something small, delicate, and almost unnoticeable sat just behind her right ear: a tattoo. It was subtle, damn near faded, but it was there.

He squinted, trying to make it out, but the way her hair was pinned up in that effortless, I don’t gotta try too hard kind-of-way, it was mostly hidden as it has always been once he thought about it. She rarely styled her hair completely up.

“What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward her ear. “I never knew you had a tattoo there.”

Krys frowned slightly, side-eyeing him before catching on. She reached up instinctively, fingers grazing the ink.

She shrugged, turning her focus back to the road. “Something stupid I did a long time ago.”

Kenyatta frowned. “A nigga name?”

Krys scoffed, lips pulling into an insulted frown of her own. “Do I look like I would get a man’s name tatted on me?”

Kenyatta let out a low chuckle, tilting his head. “You tell me. You ever been that down bad?”

Krys rolled her eyes, the corners of her lips still curved. “Not a chance.”

Kenyatta nodded, still amused. “So, what is it then?”

Krys tapped her fingers against the wheel, her response nonchalant. “Nothing important.”

The way she said it made him more curious. It wasn’t the words; it was the way she brushed it off too easily. But he would let go for now. He’d circle back to that later.

He leaned back, watching as she turned onto the cobblestone streets of Old Trinity, the sound of the tires humming beneath them.

The shift in environment was instant. The air smelled different, like aged wood, blooming jasmine, and freshly baked biscuits drifting from the famous Southern eateries that had been there longer than either of them had been alive.

The streets were lined with the usual massive oak trees draped in Spanish moss that didn’t exist in the hood, their shadows stretching long under the golden June sky.

Kenyatta sat in the passenger seat, arms resting casually on his thighs as Krys pulled into the driveway behind a few other parked cars, the scent of something good already drifting from the house.

Located at the edge of the historic district, the place looked exactly how he imagined a mother’s home should: quaint, warm, the kind of spot where memories got made over Sunday dinners and front porch conversations.

Nothing too flashy, but you could tell this house held history. A real home. One that had seen holiday meals, family arguments, kids running through the hallways with bare feet and sticky fingers.

Kenyatta leaned against the passenger door of Krys’ car, watching her with narrowed eyes as she applied a final touch of gloss to her lips in the mirror.

“You ready?” Krys asked, snapping the mirror back into place.

Kenyatta smirked, rubbing his palms together. “Should be asking you that. You bringing me back to the wolves.”

Krys rolled her eyes. “They like you.”

“Mmm,” Kenyatta hummed, unimpressed. “Is that what they told you, or that’s what you telling yourself so you don’t regret this?”

Krys side-eyed him, clicking her nails against the steering wheel. “Don’t make me leave your ass in this car.”

Kenyatta laughed, deep and full. Yeah. He needed this. The past week had been heavy. As for tonight, he just wanted to eat and vibe.

His gaze flicked to Krys, who was now pulling down the sun visor again, adjusting her earrings.

His thoughts went back to a week before when Jay-1 asked if he had hit that yet; that being Krys. He would be lying if he said he didn’t want to, because he found himself thinking about her romantically often. However, he wanted her to want him on the same level, and right now, she was fighting against the obvious chemistry between them.

“You done staring?” Krys asked, arching a perfect brow.

Kenyatta smirked. “You done pretending you ain’t love it?”

She sucked her teeth, grabbing her purse and stepping out before he could get the last word.

Kenyatta chuckled to himself as he glanced back at Kaliyah. “You ready, baby girl?”

She nodded, but he could tell she was feeling things out. He should be taking notes and doing the same. It was time to put on a show; not just for the family, but for Krys too.

**********

Kenyatta barely had a chance to take in the familiar warmth of Pam’s house before the screen door swung open, and Pam stood on the other side, hands on her hips, her expression already knowing.

“Well, well, well. If it ain’t the man of the hour,” Pam grinned.

Kenyatta dipped his head respectfully. “Miss Pam.”

Pam grinned playfully. “Oh, you one of them polite thugs. I like that.”

Krys groaned. “Mama.”

Pam laughed and waved him inside. “Come on in, baby. You family now.”

Kenyatta wasn’t used to that; being let in, being welcomed like he belonged.

But before he could dwell on that too much, the deep voice of Stevie, Pam’s “friend” cut through the air.

“So, this the youngblood?” Stevie asked, peering up from his spot in the living room.

Krys rolled her eyes. “Here they go.”

Kenyatta took the man in; older, salt-and-pepper beard, the kind of presence that commanded respect but didn’t beg for it. He had that old-school cool about him, like he’d seen and done enough to not be impressed by much.

Kenyatta nodded. “Nice to meet you, OG.”

Stevie studied him for a second, then nodded back. “A’ight, youngblood. We gon’ see if you worth all this hype.”

Kenyatta chuckled. “Hype? Ain’t know I had a fan club.”

“Oh, you do,” Ray interjected, walking in with a teasing grin. “Even my mama over here tryna act like she don’t be asking Krys about you.”

Pam swatted at her. “Girl, hush.”

Laughter rippled through the room. That was all it took before Kenyatta felt himself loosening up. Kaliyah had already disappeared upstairs with Mia, giggling and plotting whatever trouble seven and eight-year-olds got into.

By the time they made their plates, the house was lively. The vibe at Pam’s house on a Sunday was something you had to experience to understand. It wasn’t just a dinner, it was a ritual. Family, food, laughter, and the kind of banter that could cut you if you weren’t quick enough to keep up.

Then, the door opened, and Pam’s face lit up instantly. “Oh, look who decided to bless us with their presence.”

Sydnee had that effortlessly put-together look, with thick-rimmed glasses giving her a sexy librarian vibe, her sundress flowing as she walked in. But it was Panda, her girlfriend, that had some eyes widening.

Panda was the opposite of Sydnee. Fair skinned, tall, athletic build, rocking fresh braids pulled back under a fitted cap, tatted, her whole energy screamed cool but don’t try me. She wasn’t loud, but she didn’t need to be.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sydnee said smoothly, already heading toward Pam for a hug. “We got caught up.”

Pam waved her off. “Mmhmm, long as y’all made it. And Panda, baby, you eating this time, right? Or you still on that ‘I don’t trust everybody’s potato salad’ phase?”

Panda chuckled, dropping into an empty seat near Ray. “You already know I’m picky, Aunt Pam, but I ain’t about to pass up your cooking.”

“Damn, Panda,” Ray teased, eyeing her fit. “You was hoopin’ or heading to a cookout?”

Panda chuckled, voice smooth. “You know I stay ready for both.”

Jared, Ray’s boyfriend, dapped Panda up before shaking his head. “You got the energy of a nigga that stay dropping twenty in a pickup game and act like it’s nothing.”

“‘Cause it ain’t,” Panda shot back, taking a seat at the table with an easy sprawl. “But if y’all tryna run one after we eat, just say that.”

“Shit, say less,” Kenyatta chuckled, shaking his head. “I like the confidence.”

Panda studied him for a second before nodding. “You must be Kenyatta.”

An arrogant smile spread on Kenyatta’s face. “Y’all be talking ‘bout a nigga, I see.”

Sydnee’s eyes lingered on him a little longer than necessary. Not in a flirtatious way, but in a measuring, calculating kind of way. Sydnee’s gaze was subtle, barely a flicker of expression crossing her face, but Krys caught it anyway.

Their eyes met, and for just a moment, there was a conversation between them that didn’t need words.

Sydnee said nothing. Just gave the smallest nod.

Panda leaned back in her seat, her gaze full of amusement. “It’s just surprising ‘cause Krys be so picky and secretive…So, yeah…heard a lil’ bit about you already.”

Kenyatta raised a brow, amused. “Yeah? Good things, I hope.”

Panda chuckled, shaking her head. “Mmm. More like interesting things.”

Kenyatta glanced over at Sydnee, who was now casually sipping on some lemon tea, not offering a damn thing.

Krys was watching with mild amusement, letting them go back and forth.

Panda cracked her neck before drumming her fingers against the table. “You got hands?”

That caught him off guard for half a second. “The hell kinda question is that?”

Panda chuckled. “The kind that matter when you tryna date a woman like Krys.”

The table laughed, but the underlying truth wasn’t lost on Kenyatta. Panda wasn’t here to joke.

Krys rolled her eyes, finally jumping in. “A’ight, Panda. Don’t start.”

Panda leaned forward. “Nah, I’m just sayin’. You attract a certain…energy, cousin. You can’t be out here with just anybody. We gotta know that the nigga ain’t no…” She tried searching for an appropriate word, but Kenyatta understood.

He smirked. “Oh, so I gotta go through an application process?”

Sydnee, still cool and quiet, finally chimed in, “Something like that.”

Krys groaned dramatically. “Y’all so damn extra. Can we eat first before the interrogation?”

Panda sat back, waving a hand. “A’ight, a’ight. I’ll chill. For now.”

Kenyatta knew what this was, and from the way Sydnee and Panda were watching him this wasn’t over.

Pam redirected the conversation. “Y’all came in just in time for the great sports debate. You already know how these fools get.”

Panda nodded in Kenyatta’s direction. “So, you be hoopin’?”

Kenyatta gave a passive shrug, grabbing a roll. “I mean, a lil’ bit.”

Jared squinted, skeptical. “A lil’ bit?”

Ray shook her head. “Nah, don’t believe him. Dudes that say ‘a lil’ bit’ either trash or they played overseas and just being humble.”

Kenyatta laughed. “Nah, I ain’t play overseas.”

Stevie grunted, shifting in his seat. “Good. Ain’t shit overseas but bad contracts, bad knees, and bad decisions.”

The room erupted in laughter.

Kenyatta chuckled, shaking his head. He liked Stevie already.

Jared leaned back. “A’ight, so what team you rock with?”

Kenyatta took a sip of his drink. “Lakers.”

Jared groaned. “Man, not another damn Bron fan.”

Krys, who had been scrolling through her phone, perked up. “Wait. You a Bron fan?”

Kenyatta lifted a brow. “Why that sound like a problem?”

“Because I knew something was off about you.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

Kenyatta scoffed. “Oh, you wanna talk basketball now?”

“Been tryna tell y’all,” Krys said, crossing her legs. “I know sports.”

Kenyatta leaned forward, intrigued. “A’ight then, Ms. ESPN, who’s your team?”

Krys whipped her hair over in a dramatic turn of her head. Her answer held a sassy tone. “Miami Heat.”

Kenyatta stared at her, unimpressed. “So, you been struggling since ‘06.”

Pam burst out laughing. “Lord, y’all gon’ argue this whole dinner?”

Ray grinned, sipping her wine. “Oh, they a couple , couple. I like this. This is cute.”

Krys rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Ray.”

Panda shook her head. “Man, what about Trinity Bay teams? Who you rock with?”

Kenyatta wiped his mouth with a napkin, thinking for a second. “Tritons.”

Jared nodded, throwing up the signature sink or swim hand gesture Tritons fans did when repping their squad. “That’s what I’m talking about! Triton Nation, stand up!”

Stevie, from across the table, grumbled under his breath. “Man, y’all Triton fans get on my damn nerves. Defense trash this year.”

Panda laughed. “You just mad ‘cause you a Falcons fan, and y’all stay mid.”

Stevie sucked his teeth. “Tritons ain’t done shit since ‘09.”

Krys leaned back. “Man, the Cyclones are gonna have a better season than the Tritons, and that’s saying a lot.”

Pam rolled her eyes. “See? That’s the problem with y’all now. Argue about these teams like y’all getting a check from ‘em.”

Jared grinned. “Alright, what about college ball? You Trinity State or Bayview?”

Kenyatta responded with certainty. “Man, Bayview Stormrunners all day. You already know.”

Panda snorted. “Knew I liked you.”

Kenyatta joked, “Finally, somebody in here got taste.”

Krys narrowed her eyes at Panda. “You really went Bayview on me?”

Panda shrugged, sipping from the drink Sydnee handed her. “I like winners.”

Krys gasped, clutching her chest like Panda just cursed in church. “It’s Trinity State Barracudas til I die.” She flipped a strand of hair out of her face, smirking at Kenyatta. “I just can’t believe I let a Stormrunners fan sit next to me.”

Kenyatta licked his lips, eyes dark with challenge. “You gon’ do me like that?”

Jared laughed. “A’ight then, we running a game soon. See if you really like that.”

Kenyatta nodded. “Say less.”

Ray nudged Krys. “You ready?”

Krys challenged, “Hope you can keep up, Yatta.”

Kenyatta leaned in, his voice low. “Oh, I plan to.”

Their chemistry did another cell divide; advancing another notch to whatever this was building between them. Not in a way that anyone else noticed; but they did.

**********

The summer night was alive with the soft hum of cicadas and tree frogs croaking, the air thick with the scent of magnolia trees and cut grass. A ceiling fan spun lazily above them, barely pushing back the June heat.

Kenyatta had just stepped outside onto the screened-in porch that overlooked the yard, the warmth of Pam’s soulful dinner still sitting comfortably in his chest. The air was thick with the lingering scent of collard greens, baked mac and cheese, and cornbread, a true Sunday spread. Not a single plate had been left untouched, and even now, the faint hum of conversation and laughter spilled through the screened door behind him.

He let his head drop for a second, rolling his shoulders, letting the peace settle. That’s when he felt another presence.

“Nice night.”

He turned slightly.

Sydnee.

She leaned against the porch railing, effortlessly composed. She wasn’t looking at him at first, just gazing out at the yard like she had all the time in the world. But Kenyatta wasn’t stupid. This wasn’t random or intentional.

He took a slow breath before answering. “Yeah. Good food, good people.”

Sydnee hummed softly. “Pam’s house will do that.”

Another pause.

Then, smoothly, she turned her head toward him, her dark eyes steady. “You and Krys. What’s this about?”

There was no attitude, no judgment. Just a simple, quiet question that carried a hell of a lot more weight than it seemed.

Kenyatta raised a brow, his smirk slow. “She brought me around, didn’t she?”

Sydnee didn’t blink. “That’s not answering my question.”

Kenyatta chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “She don’t strike me as the type to bring people around just ‘cause. So, what you really asking?”

Sydnee studied him. “I’m trying to figure out if you understand who you’re dealing with.”

The smirk on Kenyatta’s face faded slightly.

Sydnee continued, her voice calm, controlled, but firm. “Krys is a lot of things. Smart. Independent. Hard to impress. But more than anything?” She tilted her head just a fraction. “She don’t play games.”

Kenyatta let those words sit between them, the weight of them pressing.

“I see that,” he admitted.

Sydnee nodded, but her gaze didn’t waver. “Then you should also know she’s been…selective.”

He caught the slight hesitation in her words, the careful way she phrased it. She was saying a lot without saying too much.

Kenyatta exhaled. “You wanna know if I’m up for the challenge too. Boy, you and Ms. Pam don’t play ‘bout Krys, huh?”

Sydnee’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “We don’t.”

“That’s good to know. I like that.”

“Good, but are you up for the challenge?”

Kenyatta chuckled, shaking his head. “You ask a lot of questions.”

Sydnee shrugged slightly, tapping her fingers against the porch rail. “I don’t talk just to talk.”

He respected that.

There was something about Sydnee’s energy that reminded him of Krys, but in a different way. Where Krys was fire, blazing, untamed, electric; Sydnee was water. Still. Deep. Watchful.

She wasn’t just feeling him out for fun; she was looking out for Krys.

That motherly, protective energy rolled off of her, unspoken but undeniable. Kenyatta wasn’t sure if it was because of their family bond or something deeper, but one thing was clear, Sydnee didn’t let just anybody get close to Krys. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to let him in easy.

Kenyatta tilted his head slightly, matching her gaze. “What you really tryna figure out, Syd?”

Sydnee took a slow, measured breath, her expression never shifting. “If you’re the type to stick around. Or if you’re just another one of Krys’...toys.”

Kenyatta’s brow lifted slightly. “Toys?”

Sydnee gave him a knowing look. “Krys likes control. She likes things her way. And when they stop being fun for her, she lets them go.”

Kenyatta smiled slightly. “That what you think is gonna happen?”

Sydnee didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Kenyatta huffed a small laugh, shaking his head as he looked out toward the yard. “Yeah, see…I ain’t one of them.”

Sydnee studied him for a long moment. Then, finally, she gave a single, slow nod. “We’ll see.”

And just like that, the conversation was over. No threats. No hostility. Just a quiet, unshaken warning wrapped in a simple “we’ll see.”

Sydnee gave him one last unreadable glance before turning and heading back inside, leaving Kenyatta standing there with the sounds of the summer night all around him. Cicadas humming, the faint laughter of family from the kitchen, and the gentle creak of the porch as she disappeared inside.

And that one, lingering thought pressing at the back of his mind: Did he even realize what he was stepping into?

Chapter 27

The sun had barely begun its descent, casting long shadows over the quiet street, when the first knock came.

Sharp. Firm. Unfamiliar.

Not a polite tap. Not a neighbor dropping by. This was intentional.

Traci, in the middle of folding laundry, froze. The faint laughter from the old sitcom playing in the background suddenly felt distant, insignificant. Her hands stilled over a fresh pile of towels, muscles tensing as a second knock landed, harder this time, more impatient.

Her brows pulled together. She wasn’t expecting anybody. And the last time someone came to her house unannounced…Yeah, it wasn’t for anything good.

She inhaled deeply, wiping her hands on her leggings before making her way to the front door. The second she cracked it open, she knew. The man on her porch wasn’t some lost delivery driver.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dressed in black from the bomber jacket to the heavy boots planted firm on her welcome mat. Attire all wrong for the June heat. His skin was deep brown, his expression unreadable, but there was something about him.

Something that made her stomach twist. Not out of fear, but because this wasn’t random. This was about Kenyatta.

His eyes moved over her, slow, deliberate, taking her in before he tipped his chin slightly. “You Traci?”

The casual tone did nothing to soften the weight behind the question.

Traci’s fingers tightened around the doorframe. She already knew. But she asked anyway.

“Who’s askin’?”

The man smirked slightly, a small, amused chuckle slipping from his lips as he shook his head.

“Ain’t even gotta do all that,” he said. “Just need you to pass somethin’ along to your boy.”

Traci’s jaw tightened. “My boy?”

He nodded once, shifting his stance just a little. “Yeah. Yatta. Kenyatta.”

The name rolled off his tongue smoothly, like it wasn’t the reason he was standing on her damn porch at dusk, bringing this to her front door.

Traci exhaled deeply, arms crossing over her chest. “What kinda message?”

That’s when he stepped forward. Not enough to invade her space; just enough to let her know he could.

“Tell him Rico still waiting on his money,” he said evenly. “And if he got time to be out, flossin’ with some new chick, then he got time to take care of what’s owed.”

That made her stomach twist. Not because she didn’t already know Kenyatta was mixed up in some shit, but because now it was on her damn doorstep.

Her voice came out cool but edged with warning. “You bringin’ this to my house? That’s what we doin’ now?”

The man—Bishop—smirked, lifting his hands slightly, as if to say relax.

“Look, Miss Traci…this ain’t even about you.”

Then his expression shifted, that casual edge fading as his tone dropped lower, sharper. “But if he don’t handle this? It will be.”

The unspoken threat settled between them like thick smoke.

Traci didn’t flinch. She stood there, eyes locked on his, making sure he saw what the hell she was made of.

Bishop must’ve seen enough, because a second later, he adjusted his jacket and took a slow step back.

“No disrespect. Just a message.”

And with that he turned, moving back toward the blacked-out SUV parked at the curb.

Traci watched him the entire way, her hands clenched into fists, rage simmering just beneath her skin.

The second he disappeared inside the vehicle and the tires rolled off the curb, she stepped back inside, the screen door creaking as she locked it twice.

She wasn’t shaken.

She was pissed.

And when Kenyatta walked his ass through that door later, he was going to have to answer for this shit. She told both her sons not to have that street mess come to her door.

Because one thing about Traci, she wasn’t about to let her son’s past become her present problem.

**********

The drive back to Bayfront Heights was quieter than usual.

No teasing. No quick remarks. No playful banter.

Just the steady hum of the tires against the pavement, the soft glow of streetlights flickering through the windshield, and the occasional sound of Kaliyah shifting in the backseat as she dozed off, worn out from the long night.

Krys gripped the wheel a little tighter, sneaking a glance at Kenyatta from the corner of her eye. He was staring out the passenger window, his jaw tight, his fingers lightly tapping against his knee. He wasn’t tense, but he was somewhere else; not here with her. She hated that she even noticed.

Krys let out a slow breath, focusing back on the road. Something was bothering him.

He had been himself at her mother’s house; laughing, eating, chopping it up with Panda, Stevie and Jared. He had even loosened up enough to tease her about her high-maintenance ways when she barely touched her plate because Pam had cooked smothered turkey wings instead of something “clean” like grilled salmon. But as the night wore on, something shifted. Kenyatta had gotten quiet again. Withdrawn.

Like something had settled back onto his shoulders. Something heavy.

One thing was for sure, Krys wasn’t used to caring this much about what was on a man’s mind. However, with Kenyatta, she cared.

By the time they pulled into her long, curved driveway, Krys could already feel the difference between this time and last. The night of the graduation, Kenyatta and Kaliyah had stayed. It had felt natural, easy. Everything made sense.

Tonight, he was leaving. It shouldn’t have made her feel like something was missing, but it did.

She put the car in park and turned off the engine. Kenyatta let out a small sigh and rubbed his hands together before turning to wake Kaliyah gently. She stirred, rubbing her eyes before mumbling sleepily, “We home?”

“Nah, baby, we at Ms. Krys’ house,” Kenyatta said softly, unbuckling her seatbelt.

Krys sat there for a second, gripping the wheel, ignoring the tightness in her chest as she realized he didn’t consider this home.

Wait.

Why would he?

Krys turned toward them, watching as Kenyatta lifted Kaliyah from the seat with the same care she had witnessed before; the kind of care that told her that, no matter what demons he battled, no matter what weight he carried, this little girl was the only thing that truly grounded him. That made her feel something even worse than disappointment.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out.

Instead, Kenyatta cut his eyes at her, already reading her before she could get a word in. “What?”

Krys hesitated. “Y’all not staying?”

Kenyatta didn’t answer immediately. He just held her gaze, like he was debating how much to say. Finally, he exhaled. “Not tonight.”

She nodded, playing it off like that didn’t affect her. “Is there a reason why?”

Kenyatta smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You must enjoy having me around?”

Krys rolled her eyes, but even that felt like a weak defense. “You wish.”

Kenyatta chuckled under his breath, adjusting Kaliyah’s weight in his arms. “Nah, I just think we both know…last time?” He let the thought hang before shaking his head. “Can’t have too many close calls.”

Krys’ stomach dipped. So that was it.

She challenged him, arms crossing. “Scared?”

Kenyatta scoffed, shifting Kaliyah’s sleepy head against his shoulder. “Nah. Just cautious.”

Krys’ lips parted slightly, the weight of those words pressing against something she wasn’t ready to name.

Cautious .

That meant he knew something was there; that also meant he felt it too.

But instead of pushing, instead of prying, Krys just gave him a slow nod. “Fair enough.”

And that was it. No long goodbye. No lingering moment. Just Kenyatta walking off with Kaliyah in his arms, moving like a man who knew he couldn’t let himself get too comfortable.

Krys sat in that driver’s seat a little longer than she should have; not ready to admit that it bothered her, and it hurt more than it should have.

Suddenly, being in her big home, alone, didn’t bring her the same comfort as it had before.

**********

Kenyatta drove through the dimly lit streets of Trinity, his grip on the wheel tighter than usual.

The city pulsed around him, neon lights flickering, sidewalks still busy with people moving through the night. Laughter spilled from late-night lounges, streetlights glowed against wet pavement, and the faint bass of a car rolling past shook the air. But he wasn’t paying attention to any of it.

His mind was stuck elsewhere.

Every time he blinked, he saw Krys standing in her driveway, arms crossed, eyes holding something unspoken. That shit sat heavy in his spirit.

And it wasn’t because she had pressed him, or because she had said anything to make him stay; but because she hadn’t.

She had just looked at him like she knew something was wrong. For a split second, he had almost told her. Almost let the words slip about Jay-1, about Rico. About how no matter how hard he tried to leave the past where it was, it still had its grip on his neck.

But something stopped him, and now he was just sitting with it.

By the time he pulled up to his mama’s house, Kaliyah was still knocked out cold in the backseat. He sat there for a minute, watching her sleep. Her small fingers curled around the fabric of her dress, her lips slightly parted, her little chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. She looked so damn peaceful.

His stomach twisted with guilt because what if he didn’t figure this shit out in time? What if the past caught up to him before he could give her the life she deserved? What if he wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, strong enough to keep her safe?

He swallowed hard, shaking the thought off.

Can’t think like that.

Carefully, he unbuckled her seatbelt and lifted her out of the car. She barely stirred, as he lifted her into his arms, her small frame curling into his chest. He carried her inside, shoulders tensing the moment he stepped over the threshold.

Something was off.

When he looked up, Traci was right there.

Waiting.

Traci sat in the living room, arms folded, knee bouncing slightly, the way it always did when she was holding something in.

The TV was on, but the volume was low.

The moment he shut the door, she cut her eyes at him. She instructed, “Put her in the back. Then sit down.”

Kenyatta clenched his jaw. He hated when she talked to him like that, like he was still that hard-headed nigga she used to cuss out for running the streets. But he didn’t argue.

Not yet.

He walked Kaliyah to his mama’s bedroom, laying her down gently, tucking the blanket around her small shoulders. She stirred but didn’t wake, exhaustion keeping her still.

When he came back out, Traci was already waiting, perched on the edge of the couch, arms still crossed tight.

As soon as he dropped onto the couch across from her, she let it fly.

“You mind tellin’ me why the fuck some man named Bishop was on my porch earlier?”

Kenyatta stiffened slightly, his jaw clenching before he forced himself to relax.

Bishop.

He should’ve known Rico wasn’t playing. Still, he exhaled, rubbing his hand down his beard before answering.

“What he say?”

Traci’s nostrils flared. “Nigga, don’t play with me.”

Kenyatta grimaced slightly, shaking his head. “I ain’t playing, I’m asking.”

Traci leaned back, arms crossing tighter.

“He came talkin’ ‘bout you got unfinished business with Rico.”

Silence.

“You wanna tell me what the mothafucka talkin’ ‘bout? What unfinished business?”

Kenyatta sat there for a long moment, fingers tapping against his knee. He wasn’t surprised. He knew this shit was coming eventually. But showing up at his mama’s house was a bold ass move; a move that meant Rico was done waiting.

Still, he couldn’t let Traci see how much this shit actually bothered him. He didn’t want to alarm her.

He leaned back, his tone calm, but firm. “Ain’t nothing you need to be worried about.”

Traci’s face twisted into something sharp. “Oh, so now I just let random mothafuckas show up at my goddamn house asking about my fuckin’ son and I’m just supposed to ignore it?”

Kenyatta exhaled through his nose. “Man, chill…I’ll handle it.”

Traci shook her head, voice dropping lower. “Nah, see…that’s the problem.” She sat forward, eyes locked on his. “You keep actin’ like you can just handle shit, Yatta. Like you don’t bring this bullshit right back to my front door every time.”

Kenyatta gritted his teeth. “Mama, I got it.”

Traci chuckled, cold. “No, the fuck you don’t.”

Kenyatta’s jaw flexed, but Traci wasn’t done.

She pointed at him, voice low, sharp enough to cut. “You wanna fuck around and pretend like you somethin’ you not?”

Her eyes darkened.

“Then you better make sure your bullshit don’t end up in my house again.”

Silence.

Kenyatta’s hands curled into loose fists, his frustration clear, but his face remained calm.

“Bet.” He stood up. “Then you ain’t gotta worry ‘bout me being here no more.”

He turned to head back to the bedroom for Kaliyah, but Traci was already shaking her head.

“Nah.”

Kenyatta paused, looking back at her, brows furrowed. “What?”

Traci’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You not takin’ her with you.”

Kenyatta’s stomach dropped. “Mama, what the f—”

“You heard me,” she snapped, standing up now, facing him head-on. “It’s too dangerous. I’m not lettin’ you drag her around while you got niggas out there looking for your dumb ass.”

Kenyatta’s jaw tensed. “She my daughter, Mama. She coming with me.”

Traci stepped forward, voice dangerous now. “She my granddaughter, and if you think for one second I’m about to let her get caught up in whatever the fuck you got goin’ on out there,” her nostrils flared, “you got me fucked up.”

Kenyatta and Traci stood toe-to-toe, the weight of the moment pressing down hard between them. Silence, dangerous and charged.

Kenyatta knew he wasn’t going to win this. Not tonight. Not with Bishop already sending messages and Rico tightening the grip. Especially not with Traci standing between him and his daughter, daring him to try her.

His fists clenched at his sides, his breathing heavy. Finally, he nodded once, jaw still locked. His voice was low, edged in something sharp. “Fine. I’ll be back for her.”

Traci’s expression didn’t change. “Make sure you still around to do that.”

Kenyatta didn’t say another word. He just turned, yanked the door open, and stepped into the night, anger and pressure weighing on him heavier than ever.

As Traci locked the door behind him, she closed her eyes and let out a slow, shaky breath, because deep down she was terrified he wouldn’t make it back.

**********

The old warehouse Rico operated out of was quiet. The low bass of a speaker rattled somewhere in the back, its deep hum vibrating through the metal walls like an unspoken warning.

Kenyatta pulled up, cutting the engine, rolling his shoulders once before cracking his neck. His mind was clear now. No distractions. Just business. Right now, that business was Rico. Kenyatta wasn’t the type to let a nigga test him, and Rico was pushing it.

Inside, Rico was already posted up, leaning back in his chair, waiting like he had all the time in the world. Trell stood nearby, arms crossed, watching like a damn referee, clearly enjoying the show before it even started.

Kenyatta walked in, movements slow, deliberate, taking in the space with a practiced eye.

Rico sneered as he sat forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “Well, well, well,” he drawled. “Look who finally decided to pop out.”

Kenyatta didn’t react. Didn’t blink. Didn’t acknowledge the bait. He just stared, slow blinking, like he was already over the conversation before it even started.

He began, voice too calm. “Look here, nigga…Why you sending muhfuckas to my mama’s house like I’m some regular ass nigga off the street? We ain’t on that, my nigga. I know I owe you; I’ma get you yo’ bread when I get it, but that other shit, my nigga…” his head tilted slightly, “ain’t no none of that happening no mo’.”

Trell let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Damn, somebody’s nerve was touched, huh?”

Kenyatta didn’t even acknowledge him; his eyes stayed locked on Rico.

Rico smirked, rubbing his chin. “Nah. You are some regular ass nigga off the street now.”

Silence.

Kenyatta leaned forward slightly, voice dropping lower. “Ain’t shit regular ‘bout me, muhfucka. And you know that.”

Rico’s smug smile didn’t drop, but his eyes darkened just slightly. As much as he liked to downplay it; he knew exactly who Kenyatta was. And the fact that he pulled up alone, unbothered, and standing ten toes down was a reminder.

Rico leaned back, exhaling smoothly.

“Ain’t nobody disrespectin’ you, Yatta,” he said easily. “Just lettin’ you know; it’s been seven years. That shit ain’t disappear just ‘cause you went on a little vacation.”

Kenyatta snarled, tilting his head. “You think I don’t know that?”

Rico shrugged. “Then act like it.”

Kenyatta stared him down. “I’ma handle my shit. But I ain’t never been no nigga you gotta put pressure on.”

Rico chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, maybe not, but you needed a nudge.”

Kenyatta held Rico’s stare a second longer, his expression unreadable. His hands stayed loose at his sides, jaw tight, posture steady. Calm. Controlled. Calculating.

Then, he turned to leave. But before he could step out…

“Oh, and Yatta?”

Trell’s voice slithered through the air, oozing arrogance, laced with the kind of smugness that made a nigga wanna swing first and ask questions later.

Kenyatta stopped, head tilting slightly, waiting.

Trell leaned against the desk, posture relaxed, grinning like the devil himself.

“All that shit you used to say about your baby mama? Yeah…” He chuckled, low and slow, shaking his head. “I see what you meant now. That throat? Never lets me down.”

A slow, deafening pause.

Rico’s obnoxious grin stretched wider, watching the energy shift like a predator watching prey twitch before the kill.

Kenyatta didn’t move. Didn’t react; not at first. His face remained unreadable, inside a storm was brewing.

Trell, standing there with that shit eating grin, tilted his head. “What, nigga? You mad?”

Kenyatta exhaled slowly through his nose, rolling his tongue over his teeth. Then, finally, he glanced over his shoulder. A slow, deliberate look.

“Nah.”

The smirk he gave them was damn near chilling. Just slight enough to let them know he wasn’t rattled; he was processing. Memorizing this moment. Adding names to a list.

The air in the room was thick, suffocating, and laced with an unspoken promise.

Rico let out a slow, dark chuckle. “Good. I’d hate for you to get distracted when we still got unfinished business.”

Kenyatta nodded once. “Yeah. We do.”

Then, without another word, he walked out.

Make no mistake, that shit with Trell was personal; but Rico was a different beast, and before anything else he had to be handled.