Page 142 of Kentrell

And just like that, we were off.

Headed somewhere quiet. Somewhere close, but not too close. Just far enough for it to be ours.

I watched his hands.

The left gripped the wheel, steady. The right dangled just over the center console, thumb brushing against the tips of his index and middle fingers while he navigated the one-ways, easing through late afternoon traffic until we reached the turn for the expressway.

Then, without warning, he leaned forward—his right hand lifting to turn the volume up a notch—before easing back into place. But instead of settling, that same hand drifted into mylap, curling around mine and pulling it with him to the console. Interlocking our fingers.

Our eyes met like clockwork, pulled together by the gesture alone.

I couldn’t even pretend not to feel the way my chest swelled. Or keep the smile from breaking across my face.

He smirked, slow and low, his eyes half-lidded as he brought our joined hands to his mouth. Kissed the back of mine. Then placed them right back down, like we belonged in that position.

I melted into the seat with a soft sigh. Finally... at ease.

“Kentrell?” My voice matched the volume of the music—gentle, unsure—but he heard me anyway. He let go just long enough to turn the song down, then laced our fingers right back together. Like contact was as essential to him as steering.

“I know who your parents are.” I tread carefully, not wanting to stir the peace between us. “I did look into you.” The words hung there—honest, a little exposed.

He nodded, wearing a smirk like he’d expected nothing less.

“I looked into you, too,” he shot back.

I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t hide my smile. “Why am I not surprised?”

A beat passed before I swallowed my nerves and said what I really meant. “But... I wanna know you. For real.”

“Whatchu mean?” He glanced over at me, eyes leaving the road just long enough to let me know I had his full attention.

I bit down on my bottom lip, trying to find the right words. Let it go, then pushed the rest out with a soft exhale. “I know your childhood wasn’t normal by most standards... but what was it like toyou?”

I didn’t push.

Just kept watching him from my seat, tracing the cut of his jaw, the set of his brows, the way the light hit his profile throughthe windshield. He looked so unbothered, but I knew better. Silence filled the truck, thick but not uncomfortable—just... real.

We merged onto the expressway, the hum of the tires below us filling the space where words didn’t need to be yet.

He let the question sit there a little longer. Like he was weighing whether I earned the answer.

Then finally, he exhaled a short breath and said, “Shit... it was different.”

I let out a soft laugh, not even meaning to. “Wow. Real deep.”

He chuckled low, eyes still forward. “I mean, I’on know what you thought I’d say. But shit—it was the hand I was dealt.”

He squeezed my hand gently before continuing.

“I know if you looked into my parents, then you know why my mama locked up. But it’s more than that. She came from a broken ass home, yeah... but she still had family. Her daddy did some bogus ass shit to my granny that my mama ain’t never really recover from.”

My head turned fast. “What happened?” I asked, fully pulled into the story now. His story.

He paused for a moment, letting go of my hand to reach up and adjust the heat inside the cabin.

“You cold?” he asked, glancing over at me.

“A little.” I nodded, and he raised the temp a few clicks.

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