Page 196 of Kentrell

Leaned my head back against the cool leather headrest.

Stared out the window at the nothing.

“I feel like everything’s unraveling,” I said quietly, almost to myself.

“Like I’m standing dead-center in the middle of a storm… and everybody else already had an umbrella… except me.”

The words sat between us, heavy… thick with every emotion I couldn’t name.

Kentrell’s voice came next… low and steady.

“You ain’t alone in it now.”

And somehow…

Somehow I believed him.

We hit another long stretch of quiet road.

The kind of dark where the sky folds in on itself, and the only thing breaking it is the twin cut of high beams slicing through the night.

Patches of snow lined the ditches on either side—soft, dirty mounds glittering faintly under the headlights like discarded diamonds.

The frost outside only made the warmth inside the truck feel more comforting.

Safe.

Like a cocoon I didn’t know I needed.

I curled deeper inside Kentrell’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over my hands again.

I turned toward him, studying his profile in the soft glow from the dashboard.

“You’ve been real patient with me today,” I said, my voice low… hesitant… like I was testing the air between us.

He smirked faintly, that lazy, lopsided thing he did when he wasn’t trying to downplay how much he cared.

“You sayin’ that like it’s hard.”

I gave a weak huff. Not quite a laugh. My chest was still too tight for that.

“I’m saying it like it’s… rare,” I murmured.

“Please.” He shook his head, eyes still on the road. “You ain’t been around no other niggas… so how you know?”

That almost pulled a smile from me. Almost.

But it fell flat before it reached my mouth.

Instead… another question pushed its way forward.

“Why do you hate Malcolm?”

That did it.

That small twitch in his jaw again… like he regretted ever letting that part of himself slip.

“Didn’t say I hate him,” he muttered after a pause. “Just don’t like the way he move.”

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