Page 122 of Heavy Is The Crown

“Nah,” he muttered, jaw tightening. “I just don’t feel like talking about her. Not on the way to this cookout shit. Not while I’m tryna have a good day.”

Krys lifted her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Noted.”

Another pause.

Then, a shift in energy.

Krys turned slightly toward him, her voice lighter, more pointed. “What about your love life?”

Kenyatta flicked his eyes to her briefly. “What about that?”

“Any special friends?” she asked, crossing her legs again.

Kenyatta smirked, knowing exactly what she was doing. He let the question hang in the air for a second before responding. “I got friends.”

Krys made a face, unimpressed. “That’s a safe answer.”

He chuckled. “It’s a true answer.”

Krys rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. So, none of these ‘friends’ are special?”

Kenyatta exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. “Ain’t none of ‘em sitting in the passenger seat of this Porsche, so you tell me.”

That shut her up for a second.

A small smile played on her lips before she turned her gaze toward the passing scenery. “Cute deflection.”

He grinned, flicking his signal light on as he merged. “What about you?”

Krys hummed. “What about me?”

“Any special friends?”

Krys smirked, arching a perfectly shaped brow. “I got friends.”

Kenyatta let out a deep laugh. “See? Look at you.”

Krys shook her head, still smirking. “What? I answered just like you did.”

Kenyatta clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Nah, see, now you tryna play my game.”

Krys turned her head fully toward him now, voice smooth. “And?”

He glanced at her, letting the weight of her stare sit between them.

Then he grinned, looking back at the road. “I think I like it.”

Chapter 30

As Kenyatta steered the Porsche down the winding road leading to the lakeside marina, the scene ahead was nothing short of Sunday at The Water in full swing.

The open space sat on the south side of Trinity Bay, where lush oak trees stretched wide, casting much-needed shade over the sprawling green fields. The lake itself glittered beneath the sun, its blue-green waters calm but alive with the occasional ripple from kids splashing near the shore.

A cool breeze rolled off the bay, carrying the scent of smoked meats and charcoal from the dozens of grills lined up in clusters throughout the marina. Hickory, mesquite, and lighter fluid mixed with the unmistakable fragrance of homemade sides; mac and cheese, baked beans, collard greens, and fresh cornbread that somebody’s granny had definitely made.

Laughter and chatter rose above the rhythmic pulse of old-school R&B, blues, and trap beats, blending into the soundtrack of the gathering. Speakers set up under tents blastedBefore I Let Go, only for the DJ to cut it off mid-hook, flipping straight to Lil Baby, sending up cheers and head nods. The mix of old and new, history and culture, family and friends; it was Juneteenth in the Southside.

Kenyatta slowed the car to a stop near a makeshift parking area in the grass, where dozens of SUVs, old-school Chevys, and candy-painted donks gleamed under the sun. He cut the engine and sat there for a second, gripping the wheel.

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