Page 190 of Kentrell

Kentrell still didn’t speak.

But I felt the weight of his hand as it landed on my thigh—heavy, warm, deliberate.

His thumb moved slow… back and forth… like he was reminding me I was still here. Still breathing. Still mine.

I didn’t push him away.

Didn’t want to.

That small, steady touch was the only thing keeping me tethered to something real.

The silence stretched again—but this time… it pulsed.

Full of everything I couldn’t say all at once.

The highway signs blurred past above us, muted by the hum of tires on pavement and the occasional rush of cars speeding by.

Kentrell still hadn’t moved his hand.

I turned my head just enough to glance at him.

His jaw stayed tight, gaze fixed on the road ahead. That same unreadable look he always wore when his mind was working overtime.

“You ever feel like your whole life been curated for you?” I asked quietly. “Like… nothing you thought you knew was even yours?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just gave a small nod… eyes still forward.

I exhaled, shakily.

“All the things I believed about myself… how I moved… how I dressed… how I kept my name clean and my image together…”

I swallowed.

“It was because of him.”

Another bitter laugh slid out, cracked right down the middle.

“Because of some imaginary man I thought I had to live up to. Some hero who died for love. That’s what she told me, you know?” I sniffed, wiping at my nose. “Said he died loving her… loving me.”

My throat burned.

“Turns out… he’s alive and well. Wearing designer suits. Going home to his wife and two sons… sons who get to walk around with his last name like it’s some badge of honor.”

I shook my head.

“Meanwhile… I’ve been a fucking secret.”

The word slapped me as soon as I said it.

Secret.

That’s all I’d ever been.

“I didn’t get a number to call.” My voice dropped low. Small. “No birthday cards. No visits. Just… a man at work… who smiled at me like he knew something I didn’t.”

I paused. Swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Turns out… he did.”

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