Page 180 of Kentrell

Her fingers tracing lazy patterns across my chest.

“I don’t wanna land yet,” she whispered after a while.

“Me neither,” I said, voice low… honest.

But I already knew…

This wasn’t the end of the weekend.

This was just the beginning of us.

The wheels toucheddown in Chicago just as the sun broke over the horizon—gold streaks slicing through the gray morning like hope pretending it belonged here.

Zoe and I got dressed, moving slower than usual, both of us holding onto what was left of the weekend. But the second we stepped off the jet… reality smacked us hard.

That infamous Chicago Hawk didn’t waste no time. Hit us straight in the face like a slap from the city herself.

My truck was still parked right where I left it Friday night—coated in frost, cold inside and out. I helped Zoe into the passenger seat, passing her the keys. She leaned over, hair still tucked under her scarf, and hit the push start.

Jogging back to the driver’s side, I popped the trunk. The crew loaded our bags while I let the engine run, heat creeping slow through the vents. By the time they finished, I cranked it to full blast and pulled off. Straight to the expressway… headed back to the South Side.

Monday morning mist clung to the windows as we cruised down Drexel.

Zoe was curled up against her seat, lips still a little swollen from that last kiss we stole mid-flight. My hand stayed on her thigh… my mind stuck somewhere between that moment and all the shit waiting for us back in the city.

I’ve never been a hopeful ass nigga.

I’m the type—if something needs doing, I do it. That’s it.

But with her…

Zoe had me looking forward to things that hadn’t even happened yet.

And still… none of that prepared me for what we rolled up on.

As I turned onto her block, my stomach dropped.

“What the fuck…” I sat up straighter, slowing the truck to a full stop right in the middle of the street.

Cars everywhere. People on sidewalks. Police cruisers. A fire engine still idling out front.

Zoe’s brownstone—5344 South Drexel—was swarmed.

Smoke curled from the back corner of the building, the roof half-charred, black streaks staining the brick. Ash floated in the air like dark snow.

Zoe gasped beside me. “No. No, no, no…”

I didn’t need to ask.

This was her worst-case scenario… live and in color.

“Pull over,” she told me, already reaching for the door handle.

I caught her wrist. “Zoe, wait?—”

“Let go, Kentrell.”

And just like that, she was out…

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