Page 138 of Heavy Is The Crown

Kenyatta exhaled, long and slow.

He gave in. “A’ight, check it…Rico ain’t just on my ass ‘bout money.”

Krys raised a brow but didn’t interrupt.

“He sent one of his niggas to my mama’s house.” His voice was tight, low. “Let me know he ain’t playing.”

Krys’ expression hardened. “And?”

“And I ain’t been staying there for the past few weeks.” He looked away, shaking his head slightly. “I been at Tez’s. That’s why I was there when you picked me up.”

Krys was quiet for a moment. After musing, she stated, “Makes sense. You didn’t want your mom being dragged into your shit or being put in any danger.”

Kenyatta nodded once.

“And Kaliyah?”

His jaw clenched.

“She straight for now. But Brooke?” He let out a bitter laugh. “She fuckin’ with Trell.”

Krys’ brows pulled together slightly. “Trell?”

“Yeah.” Kenyatta nodded, his tone sharp. “The same nigga that used to run under me. The same nigga that’s with Rico now.”

“Was he there earlier at The Water?”

He shook his head. “I didn’t see him. But he done became cool with Rico and tryna make a lil name for himself out there.”

Krys’ expression darkened. “That’s a problem.”

Kenyatta nodded. “Yeah. And not just ‘cause of her; it’s a problem ‘cause of Kaliyah.”

Krys hesitated. She could help and take this shit off his plate. If she did, there was no going back. She’d be all in.

Kenyatta’s back was already against the wall. He didn’t want her to rescue him. He just didn’t want her taking the effect this shit had on him personally.

Silence hung heavy between them.

Kenyatta exhaled, shaking his head. “I just need to make sure Kaliyah’s good.”

Krys studied him, her jaw tightening slightly before she nodded. “Then that’s what we do.”

No hesitation. No turning back. She was in this now whether she was ready or not.

Silence wrapped around them, thick and unmoving.

Kenyatta heard her, but processing it was a different story.

“Then that’s what we do?”

She had said it so damn easy. She had already made up her mind as if she wasn’t standing on the edge of something too deep for either of them to climb out of once they jumped.

He studied her, really studied her, his eyes tracing the subtle tension in her jaw, the way her arms crossed like she was holding something back.

She was basically declaring that she wasn’t going to let him deal with this on his own, and that meant a lot because nobody had ever done that for him before. Not like this. Not without expecting something in return.

Kenyatta exhaled, running a hand down his face. His life had been his own problem for so long. Every choice. Every consequence. Every fucked-up situation. He had always handled his own shit.

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