Page 6 of Tangled Hearts

The sky was gray like ice, but it wasn’t cold.

Just that kind of cloudy where you couldn’t tell if the sun was hiding or gone for good.

Knycole tugged at the hem of her denim jacket as she leaned back on the bench, feet in the seat, legs folded in front of her.

Rock was slouched beside her, his sketchbook open across his lap, pencil gliding over the page while his blunt dangled from the corner of his mouth.

“You gon’ draw all day or you gon’ talk to me?” she smirked, eyes following the slow-moving kids on the playground across the lot.

Rock didn’t look up. Just scratched in a few more lines and handed her the sketchbook. “Mine.”

Knycole looked down at what he was claiming as his and just blinked.

It was her.

Her lips.

Her nose.

That little smirk she always hit him with when she was about to call him a liar.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was close.

“You act like you don’t like me half the time,” she mumbled through a half smile, “but be drawing me like I’m somebody worth looking at.”

Rock flicked ash off the blunt and reached for the juice bottle between them. “I ain’t gotta act like nothing. You already know what it is.”

Knycole studied the page one more time, then handed it back. “What is it, then?”

“You my girl,” he muttered. “I be fuckin’ up sometimes, but that don’t change it.”

Knycole exhaled slowly. “You don’t think that’s a problem?”

Rock leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Y’all always want the perfect version of a nigga before he even figure out who he is.”

“That ain’t true,” she frowned, “I just want to feel safe and respected.”

“I’m tryna be that for you.”

“Are you?” Knycole glared at him, challenging him to see shit from her perspective.

She felt his love was true maybe it really wasn’t.

She had such a skewed view of love thanks to her father.

She’d fought Shakeisha too many times to count and yet he still found himself caught up in some shit with her.

He tapped the pencil against his knee, then closed the sketchbook and leaned back on the bench.

Rock wasn’t easy to deal with, but he wasn’t careless either.

He carried things in silence, let them pile up until they spilled out in ways that didn’t always make sense to her.

He had that mix of being young, reckless, and still thoughtful when he wanted to be.

The type to fight his demons with the same breath he used to protect her from hers.

He wasn’t the kind of boy who would say much about how he felt, but it was always sitting in him—in his drawings and the way he kept showing up, the way he wanted to be seen as more than what people counted him out for.

That was Rock. Always halfway between the man he swore he could be and the boy who didn’t know how to leave old habits behind.

“You smarter than me,” he finally shrugged. “Smarter than most people I know. You got your head on straight. I look at you, and I already know you gon’ be somebody.”

Knycole shifted in her seat. “Then why don’t you act like I’m somebody worth protecting?”

“I do.”

“Not with words, Rock. With choices. You think fighting for me means knocking a nigga out in front of the corner store, but you won’t stop doing shit that breaks me like fuckin’ the same bitch over and over.”

His chest rose, allowing her emotions to sink into him. Rock hated when Knycole got emotional. He already felt bad about what he did but seeing it in her face broke him too. “You think I don’t know that?”

Knycole pulled her jacket closed. “Sometimes I think you don’t care.”

“I do care. That’s the part that fucks me up.”

He reached over and pulled her hand into his lap. He didn’t squeeze or stroke or lace his fingers with hers. Just let it sit.

“I be thinking about what it’s gonna look when we older,” he muttered. “If I got my shit together, had a real crib. If you became a nurse or social worker or whatever. We’d come back here with our kids and tell ‘em this the bench I used to draw you on.”

Knycole laughed under her breath, her heart skipping beats listening to him see a future for them. “You be thinking like that?”

“All the time.” He looked down at their hands. “I just don’t know if I’ll ever make it to that version of myself. I don’t got no blueprint for that shit at all.”

“You don’t need a blueprint. Just need to want it bad enough.”

“I do. But wanting don’t be enough when the rent due and your stomach growling.”

Knycole moved her hand and grabbed his chin. Made him look at her. “You ain’t gone be no fuck nigga or no statistic. You got too much heart for all that.”

“This why I love you.” Rock’s eyes softened, his dimples settling into his cheeks. “Don’t nobody ever say shit like that that to me.”

“Maybe they should.”

They sat there for a while just sitting in the silence and the rawness of their emotions. Watching the world move slow. Watching the aunties pull toddlers from swings. Watching old heads play cards under the pavilion. Watching teens walk in circles trying to flirt without saying it out loud.

Knycole leaned into his side. “You ever think you’d fall for somebody?”

She remembered the first time Rock laid eyes on her, how he locked in like he’d already made the decision for both of them.

Hov was in the picture, and that made her guard herself tight, but Rock didn’t back off.

He stayed consistent in a way that was quiet but heavy…

walking her home, sketching her face when she wasn’t looking, making sure she felt chosen even when she didn’t feel whole.

Little by little, he wore her down. Not with sweet words, but with his presence.

With loyalty that felt raw and complicated.

He didn’t get all of her, but he claimed the pieces she was able to give.

“Nah. Thought I’d always be too numb.” Rock answered.

“And now?”

Rock looked down at her, lips close to her temple. “Now I’m scared to lose you.”

“You think you might?”

“I think I might deserve to.”

Knycole’s chest pulled tight, her skin clamming up with truth.

She reached into his backpack and pulled out a highlighter, then flipped open his sketchbook. On the page where her face lived, she scribbled: Don’t fold on me. Not like them.

Rock blinked at the words, wondering if he could stand against all the temptation that seemed to find him.

“You still got time,” she whispered, like she could read his mind. “To grow into the kind of man I see in you.”

“And if I don’t?”

She stood up, brushing her jeans off, and looked him dead in his face. “Then I’ll still love you… I just won’t wait for you.”

Rock stood up too. His hands digging into his pockets. “You tryna be grown.”

“I am grown.” Knycole rolled her neck.

“You tryna be somebody wife or some shit.”

“I’m tryna be somebody’s everything. You should try it.”

He stepped forward. “Com’ere.”

Knycole didn’t move.

Rock kissed her anyway. Slow. With his eyes open. With a kind of hold that asked for nothing, just reminded her he still meant it.

When they pulled apart, her heart was thudding but her face stayed calm.

“You hungry?” he grinned, trying to shift the mood.

She rolled her eyes. “You always ask me that after you get deep.”

“I’m serious. You want something or not?”

“Only if you buying.”

“I got food stamps,” he laughed, digging into his pocket for the card he got from a smoker in exchange for something to get high on.

She laughed, nudging him, and following him toward the sidewalk.

They didn’t know it’d be their last slow day for a while. Didn’t know he’d be gone by the end of the week. Didn’t know that the version of Rock she wanted would take years to develop.

But for now, they had this.

A blunt, a bench, a sketchbook… and love that came with strings.

The small kitchen in Knycole’s apartment smelled like grease and flour, even though the oil in the skillet refused to heat right. She had her hair tied back with a scarf, a T-shirt on that was already stained with cornmeal, and a focused frown on her face.

“Rock, is this supposed to bubble like this?” she asked, leaning over the pan.

Rock was slouched on her couch, sketchbook spread across his lap. He didn’t even look up. “Turn the fire down some before you burn the whole spot up.”

Knycole rolled her eyes, grabbing a fork, and flipped the fish too early. The batter slid off, exposing the raw pink inside. She groaned. “See? This why I don’t fry nothing. I’m a bake-only girl.”

Rock smirked without lifting his pencil. “Ain’t nobody ask you to cook, Knyc. You insisted.”

“Nigga you said you had a food stamp card… I wanted to try,” she muttered, cutting her eyes at him. “You know I ain’t wasting no stamps.”

They both laughed, knowing having stamps was most times better than actual money.

Before Rock could agree, there was a knock at the door. Knycole wiped her hands on a towel, switching over to the door to pull it open.

Noir breezed in, camera already in her hand, with a ring light poking out of her tote.

“What y’all got going on?” Noir asked, scanning the room. She lifted the camera, snapped a quick picture of Knycole still holding the towel. “Yes, chef Knyc.” She snapped her fingers twice.

Knycole laughed. “Don’t play with me. I’m in here fuckin’ this fish up.” She went back to the food she was messing up.

Living with Nick, Knycole learned how to cook things early… some came easier than others but she was always willing to try.

Rock glanced up acknowledging Noir. “You always got that camera with you, pretty girl. Ain’t nobody trying to be in your little YouTube vlog.”

“It’s not YouTube, dummy, it’s content,” Noir shot back, adjusting her braids in her phone screen reflection. “And one day, when I’m viral, you gon’ be begging me to put you on.”

Rock shrugged. “I’ll pass.”

The skillet popped, making Knycole jump. “See? That’s exactly why I don’t fuck with frying.”

Another knock rattled the door. This one held some weight. She opened it again, this time to Hov and Cash. Both of them walked in like they owned the place.

“Damn, you cooking like that, kid?” Hov teased, pulling Knycole into a quick hug. He lingered a little longer than necessary, his hand sliding down her arm before he let go. His eyes held hers for a second, soft in a way that brought a warm blush to her face and made her look away quick.

“Don’t gas me, Quameek… I’m just practicing,” she said, brushing him off with a laugh.

“Practice gon’ set the whole block on fire,” Rock threw in with a laugh.

Hov dropped down beside his boy on the couch, giving him a nod. “What’s up, Rock?”

“Same ol’.” Rock dapped Hov up.

Cash had already made his way to Noir. “Lemme rap for your camera real quick,” he grinned, tugging at his hoodie strings.

Noir laughed. “Boy, nobody asked for that.”

“Nah, for real.” Cash cleared his throat and started spitting a few rough bars.

His flow was raw, but his energy was loud.

He rapped about growing up in the hood, about wanting to buy his mama a house, about one day being the one everybody quoted.

He ended it with a grin and pointed at Noir’s lens.

“That’s history right there. You sitting on gold. ”

Noir laughed so hard she almost dropped her camera. “History of what? Cringe?”

“Nah, history of greatness,” Cash corrected, dead serious. “Y’all gon’ see. I’m up next.” He rubbed his hands together, already feeling it.

“Boy, you next up to clean that kitchen when the grease pop on the walls,” Noir waved him off, everyone laughing, including Cash.

“I believe in you, Cash.” Knycole assured him, pulling another soggy piece of fish out the pan.

Hov leaned back on the couch, watching Knycole move around. His voice was lower when he spoke, like he wasn’t trying to be heard. “She got a good heart. Always trying.”

Rock heard him anyway and glanced over. “Yea, she do. But she can’t fry worth a damn.”

Knycole threw the towel at him, hitting his shoulder. “Shut up.”

The room filled with noise only close friends could make. Noir filming pieces of it, Cash rapping over the TV that wasn’t even on, Rock sketching like he was half-present but still locked in, and Hov watching Knycole like she was the only reason he’d showed up.

When the fish finally came out halfway decent, Knycole set plates on the table. “Y’all better eat it whether it’s good or not.”

Cash made his plate first, biting into it exaggeratedly. “Five stars. Chef Knyc with the win.”

Rock shook his head. “Lying ass, nigga.”

Hov chuckled. He broke a piece with his fingers and tasted it. He chewed it slowly, his eyes on her again. “It’s good enough,” he said.

Knycole smiled without meaning to.

Hov’s opinion always held so much weight with her—like if he said the sky was falling, she knew to take cover because he’d never lie to her.

The night carried on with them eating and clowning each other. Cash kept freestyling in between bites, Noir caught angles on her phone she swore would blow up online, and Rock and Hov went back and forth like brothers.

Knycole loved her worn apartment when her friends found themselves there.