Page 191 of Kentrell

That’s when Kentrell finally spoke.

“You ain’t no secret now.”

His voice… low and rough… sat somewhere between grit and gravel.

That tight edge he got when he was fighting to keep himself in check.

I blinked, looking at him. He still wouldn’t look back at me.

But I heard him.

And I felt it.

“He’s been watching me like a goddamn trophy,” I muttered, the bitterness back. “Like I’m some prize he gets to admire from a distance. I’m not his daughter… I’m his investment.”

A long, heavy beat.

“That’s how they all treat me. Zora included.”

I turned back to the window, watching the cold gray of Chicago slide past.

“Like something to protect and parade… but never… never tell the truth to.”

The wind picked up outside, whistling faint through the seams of the truck doors as Kentrell curved us down I-294.

“My mama really let me mourn a man who was alive,” I said, voice barely above a whisper now. “Do you know how fucked up that is?”

Kentrell didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He knew.

“Only time I’ve ever seen her cry was when she told me about his ‘death,’” I said, voice shaking. “And I thought… I thought she was so strong for surviving it.”

My eyes squeezed shut.

“Turns out… she was just good at performing.”

I tilted my head back against the seat, breath shaky but slowly leveling out.

The tears were drying… but my throat still felt like it was lined with glass.

“I don’t even know who I’m madder at,” I whispered.

Her?

Him?

Or myself…

For not seeing it sooner.

Kentrell let a few heavy seconds pass before he spoke.

“Ain’t your fault,” he said low… voice steady but laced with something darker underneath. “They made the rules… before you even knew you was in the game.”

Something about the way he said that—calm… blunt… like fact—broke me all over again.

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