Page 8

The block over on the south side of Trinity Bay never changed; same hustle, same faces, same reckless energy.

Music blasted from somebody’s open car door, bass rattling cheap speakers. Kids were running a full-on basketball game in the street, dodging cars like they had no fear of death.

Trinity Bay’s signature scent, somebody’s grill smoking up the block, the sharp tang of gasoline, loud weed, and just enough gunpowder lingering in the air to remind you this was not the place to be lacking.

Kenyatta pulled up in his raggedy-ass Impala, the engine rattling like it was one bad decision away from giving out.

He spotted Jay-1, Nub, and Tez right where they always were posted up near the curb, talking shit like they had nowhere better to be.

Jay-1 had a blunt pinched between his fingers, talking animatedly, probably on some bullshit conspiracy theory or wild-ass money scheme. Nub, Kenyatta’s older brother, was posted against a mailbox, one arm tucked in his hoodie pocket; the only arm he had left. His gold tooth flashed every time he smirked, which was often. Nothing rattled Nub. He took life the way he took gunshots: head-on.

Tez was the only one not talking, just sitting on the curb with a red Solo cup, nodding like he was listening to some higher spiritual frequency only he could hear.

The second Kenyatta stepped out, Jay-1’s grin widened. “Well, look who decided to crawl out the house. Nigga, you been put on house arrest or something?”

Nub shook his head, eyeing the Impala with pure disrespect. “Damn, boy. You still driving that weak-ass car? That shit is holding on for dear life. Thought prison humbled niggas, not sent ‘em back to square one.”

Kenyatta chuckled, dapping them up. “That’s funny coming from a one-armed nigga.”

Nub let out a deep, throaty laugh, clapping Kenyatta on the back with his good arm. “One arm still get more action than you, lil bro. Don’t play me.”

Jay-1 snickered, taking a deep pull of his blunt before squinting at Kenyatta. “Bruh, for real though, when you gon’ upgrade that piece of shit? I know a nigga that’ll fix it for the low.”

Kenyatta side-eyed him. “Nigga, I seen your ‘low price’ mechanics. I’d rather push this bitch before I let them touch my car.”

Tez snorted into his cup, while Nub shook his head.

Jay-1 shrugged. “A’ight, nigga, be broke-down then. Anyway, what’s up? We got some shit lined up. Money on the floor.”

Kenyatta knew exactly what that meant. Jay-1 always had something lined up. If Nub was standing there, it meant it was real money. But after that little stint over the weekend, Kenyatta wasn’t risking his freedom again.

“Like Saturday night, nigga?” Kenyatta asked.

Jay-1 sucked his teeth. “Man, that was some other shit.”

Kenyatta let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah.”

Jay-1 frowned. “Nigga, you ain’t even hear what it is.”

“Don’t need to. I’m cool. Yo’ ass gon’ have a nigga back locked the fuck up.”

Jay-1 sucked his teeth. “Man, I knew that bid was gon’ have you on some new-leaf bullshit. Nigga, the way you living, I know your back screaming from sleeping on yo’ Ma Duke’s couch. That shit got you rethinking life yet?”

Nub and Tez remained quiet, watching, waiting on how Kenyatta would respond.

Kenyatta clenched his jaw. He hated that. The assumption that prison had softened him.

Jay-1 leaned in. “Bro, this ain’t no small-time play. I’m talking real bread. Fast.”

Kenyatta let the silence stretch, gaze locked on the pavement like he was considering it. And that part of him was tingling, threatening to awaken. Because money like that, fast, easy, and familiar was tempting.

But then, he thought about Kaliyah. He had missed being there physically her whole entire eight years of life. He hated how now Brooke made sure he only saw her when it was convenient for her to see Kaliyah.

Then, out of nowhere, Krys popped in his mind. Not in a romantic way, but in a “ What else is out there ?” type of way.

She had options. Power. She wasn’t running from the law to get it.

Kenyatta dragged a hand over his face, shaking his head. “Nah, man. I’m cool.”

Jay-1 studied him for a second before scoffing. “So that’s it? You about to be one of these working ass niggas?”

Kenyatta pondered the thought. “Maybe.”

Jay-1 squinted at him. “Maybe? Nigga, what that even mean? You got something better lined up?”

Kenyatta hesitated, then shrugged. “Got a job.”

The other three men fell silent.

Then—

They erupted into laughter.

Jay-1 damn near dropped his blunt, stumbling back. “A job, nigga? You went from running shit to clocking in?”

Nub took another slow sip of Henny, then side-eyed him. “Real talk, Yatta? A job? Doing what?”

Kenyatta exhaled, already knowing how this was going to go.

“…Maintenance.”

Jay-1 choked mid-laugh, coughing. “Nigga, what? So, you out here fixing sinks and unclogging toilets now?”

Kenyatta sucked his teeth. “Laugh it up, nigga.”

Nub, who had been through his fair share of struggles, tilted his head. “You cool with that?”

Kenyatta exhaled. “It’s money. It’s legit. And it’s a start.”

Tez finally spoke up, voice smooth. “That’s some real shit, though.”

Jay-1 still wasn’t convinced. “Man, be for real. You really think that nine-to-five shit gon’ keep you straight? You touched real money before. Now you just gon’ be okay with scraps?”

That part stung. But he knew what came with it. Kenyatta exhaled. “I got a daughter, nigga.”

That shut Jay-1 up real quick. He nodded slowly. “A’ight. I get it. You tryna stay out the way. But let me ask you this; who running the spot?”

Kenyatta hesitated. “…Krys.”

Jay-1 and Nub both squinted. “Who?”

Tez questioned. “Gas station bae?”

Kenyatta affirmed. “Yeah.”

Nub frowned. “Wait—hold on. Gas station what?”

Jay-1 turned fully toward Kenyatta. “Nigga, what the fuck is Tez talking about?”

Tez chuckled, shaking his head. “Long story short…Kenyatta met some bad-ass shorty at the gas station the other night to duck the police. Now she ‘bout to be his boss…Ain’t that a bitch.”

Jay-1’s mouth fell open before he cackled loud as hell. “Wait, wait, wait. So, you working for her now? A bitch you just met? That’s crazy.”

Tez chuckled but then leaned in slightly, his tone more serious. “That remind me. I heard some shit about the little situation y’all got into the other night.”

Kenyatta’s smirk faded. “Yeah?”

Nub nodded; his voice lower. “Some K9 shit.”

Silence. The energy shifted.

Even Jay-1, who always had something slick to say, grew quiet. Because you didn’t throw that name around lightly.

Nub took another swig of Henny, rolling the bottle in his palm. “Heard a lil somethin’ ‘bout that. Word is, K9 had something to do with your seven-year bid too.”

Kenyatta’s jaw tensed.

Jay-1 shifted uncomfortably. “Damn, for real? You sure?”

Nub nodded. “I ain’t saying K9 personally did it. But if K9 gives the green light on something, it don’t get questioned.”

Kenyatta didn’t respond because deep down he knew Nub was probably right. Again, this was a rumor that had always been in the air, but now it seemed as if it was being confirmed.

Tez tried dismissing it. “That’s just what niggas saying in the streets. It might not even be true.”

Jay-1 sucked his teeth. “Man, fuck that nigga anyway.” But his voice lacked conviction.

Kenyatta exhaled sharply. “I don’t care about none of that. What I do care about is Jay-1 pulling me into some bullshit.”

Jay-1 put his hands up. “A’ight, a’ight. My bad. You right.”

But a few minutes later, after dapping them up and parting ways, as Kenyatta got back in his car, he couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how much he tried to walk a different path…

The streets weren’t done with him yet.

**********

Kenyatta pulled up to Brooke’s townhouse, the kind of spot that screamed “I leveled up” from where she used to stay when they were together.

It was nice. Cleaner. Quiet. A neighborhood full of nurses, teachers, and social workers; people with steady paychecks and no real connection to the streets. The duplex sat neatly on the block, trimmed hedges in front, a small yard, a porch with rocking chairs that nobody actually sat in.

A Dodge Challenger SRT Hellcat sat parked in the driveway, sitting on 22-inch Forgiatos gold wheels, deep dish with a black lip, sitting on low-profile Pirelli tires; a mix of luxury and street muscle. Shining under the streetlights like a trophy.

Must be the whip she had been throwing up in his face last week. She said it was okay for him to stop by, already knowing she wanted him to see that damn car.

Brooke was calculated. Always had been. This wasn’t just about having her new man’s car in front; this was a statement. A reminder that while Kenyatta was out here piecing his life back together, she was “living good” off a nigga still knee-deep in the game.

Kenyatta clenched his jaw, flexing his fingers against the steering wheel.

She wanted him to feel a way. He did. But not how she thought.

Taking a deep breath, he let the irritation roll off. This wasn’t about Brooke. Wasn’t about whoever she was currently fucking. This was about Kaliyah.

Stepping out, he knocked on the door, already bracing for whatever energy Brooke was about to be on.

It didn’t take long. The door cracked open, and there she stood.

Brooke. She was undoubtedly one of Trinity’s finest, a woman who had always turned heads without trying. But there was a difference between “a bad bitch” and “a woman that commanded a room.” Brooke could never pull that off; too busy with her hand out, a sense of entitlement based on pretty-White-girl privilege.

She leaned against the frame, gray crop top displaying her waist, matching gray leggings hugging her curves, her hair in a messy top bun, lashes full, lips glossed up like she just stepped off somebody’s yacht.

The faint scent of lavender, vanilla, and expensive-ass candles floated past her, wrapping around him before she even spoke.

That smirk was already in place. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

Kenyatta exhaled through his nose. She was on bullshit already.

“Where’s Kaliyah?”

Brooke barely moved as she widened the door.

The inside was exactly how he expected. Neutral tones, sleek decor, throw pillows she’d probably curse him out for touching, a candle flickering on the glass coffee table. The big-screen TV mounted on the wall played some kids’ show on mute.

Curled up on the couch, wrapped in a pink blanket, tablet in her lap, was his baby girl: Kaliyah.

His chest tightened, the weight of fatherhood hitting him hard.

She was eight now, petite like her mama. Though she was biracial, she had his whole face and resembled Traci too much. She was perfect.

Her box braids, beaded at the ends, swung slightly as she shifted, glasses slipping down her nose as she tapped something on her tablet.

He crouched down beside her. “What’s up, baby girl?”

Kaliyah barely glanced up, barely acknowledged him.

“Hi.”

That was it. No smile. No excitement. Just…indifference.

That shit stung.

“You good? How was school?”

“Fine.”

His fingers curled slightly against his jeans. Damn .

She was watching him. Guarded. Seeing if he was really here, or if this was just another visit that wouldn’t mean shit in a week.

He swallowed and forced some energy into his voice. “I got some good news. Got a job. A real one this time.”

That made Brooke glance up from across the room, arms still crossed. Her curiosity deepened. “Oh yeah? Doing what?”

Kenyatta stood, leveling her with a look. “Maintenance work. Apartment complex. It’s steady, legit.”

Brooke snorted. “Maintenance?”

Kenyatta’s jaw ticked. “Yeah. Maintenance.”

Brooke sipped from her oversized wine glass, shaking her head, eyes twinkling with amusement. “That’s wild. From running the city to fixing leaky pipes? That’s the glow-up?”

Kenyatta exhaled hard. His patience was thin as hell already. “You think it’s funny, huh?”

Brooke shrugged, setting her glass down on the counter. “I just never pictured you as a blue-collar type.”

“Nah.” Kenyatta smirked, but it wasn’t humorous. “You just never pictured me working for my money the right way.”

Brooke tilted her head, like she was debating on whether to push it further.

She did. “I mean, it’s just funny ‘cause…you struggling, and meanwhile, other dude’s out here winning. I’m so in love with that Hellcat out there. Ain’t it fire?”

The words hit like a gut punch.

She wasn’t just flexing. She was reminding him that while he was starting over, she was riding luxury on another man’s dime.

Kenyatta let out a slow breath through his nose, a smug grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Good for you. Guess when yo’ nigga get locked up, you can drive that bitch to go put money on his books.”

Brooke’s smirk vanished. “You so damn bitter.”

Kenyatta chuckled darkly. “Nah, you just love comparing me to that clown ‘cause you think it makes you look like you won. Where your nigga at anyway?”

Brooke scoffed, flipping back a loose tendril of hair. “Handling business.”

Kenyatta, amused, leaned against the wall. “Yeah? That’s what he told you? I’m sure he at some other bitch’s house while you over here goofy about a damn Hellcat.”

Brooke’s lips pursed slightly, her nails tapping against the stem of her glass. That little flicker of something in her expression told him everything he needed to know.

Brooke folded her arms, shifting slightly. “I mean…you wasn’t much better when we were together.”

That had some truth to it. Kenyatta had been wild back then. Doing dirt. Ducking commitment. Making promises he couldn’t keep. But the difference was that he grew up.

Turning away, Kenyatta crouched back down beside Kaliyah. “Listen, baby girl. As soon as my checks start rolling in, we gon’ hit up—” he paused, trying to think of somewhere special. “—The Trinity Bay Zoo & Safari Park. Just me and you. How that sound?”

Kaliyah barely reacted. Didn’t even look up. “Okay.”

That hurt. She didn’t believe him. Didn’t trust that his promises were anything more than words. And, honestly, she had every reason to feel that way.

Kenyatta forced a smile, leaned in, and kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

She mumbled it back, still focused on her tablet.

Kenyatta straightened, his chest tight.

Brooke had been watching the whole exchange, shaking her head. “You can’t just pop in and out and expect her to jump for joy, Yatta. That ain’t how this works.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?”

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

He just exhaled hard and turned for the door. “I’ll be back Sunday.”

Brooke called after him, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Hope you don’t flake like last time.”

Kenyatta didn’t respond. Just stepped out, letting the door shut behind him. The weight of everything settled on his shoulders.

This was what starting over felt like. Humbling. Frustrating. But this time he wasn’t going to fold.