Page 25 of Heavy Is The Crown

She wondered what her fake-ass gas station boyfriend was up to. Too bad she didn’t even have his number. Maybe she could call on Tyra to do her dirty work and get it somehow.

Musa huffed, resting his massive head on his paws like he was unimpressed with her predicament.

Krys sighed, rubbing his head absently. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m thinking too much.”

Musa simply blinked. He had no time for her shenanigans, and neither did she.

What was she thinking?

**********

Kenyatta woke up frustrated.

Not the kind of irritation that faded with coffee or a couple of deep breaths; this was deeper. A slow-burning, gut-knotting frustration that came from knowing better but still letting himself get caught up in bullshit.

The cheap blinds over the living room window did a trash job of blocking out the sun, thin rays of light streaking across the peeling beige walls and the cluttered coffee table covered in old mail and loose change.

He let out a slow exhale, rubbing a hand down his face.

Last night was a mistake. Not just the scene at The Velvet Room but letting Jay-1 pull him into some bullshit he should’ve walked away from. He was too damn old for this. But the problem was, the streets don’t come with an exit plan.

His phone buzzed against the faded couch cushion. He grabbed it, expecting Jay-1 or Tez blowing up his line, but instead, it was just one name: Nub

[Nub] 7:02 AM— U good?

Simple. Direct. No extra words, no long-ass paragraphs.

Kenyatta stared at the message for a second before texting back.

[Kenyatta] 7:05 AM— I’m straight

Not even five seconds later, the phone buzzed again.

[Nub] 7:06 AM— Jay-1 still breathing?

Kenyatta smirked, shaking his head. Nub already knew.

[Kenyatta] 7:07 AM— Unfortunately

[Nub] 7:07 AM— I figured. U moving stupid?

That hit different. He wasn’t. Not yet. But last night’s shit was too close for comfort.

[Kenyatta] 7:08 AM— Nah. Just a slip

Nub didn’t text back right away. Kenyatta knew what that meant. He didn’t like that answer.

Finally, the three dots popped up.

[Nub] 7:10 AM— Watch yo’ back. Everybody watching u. See what lane u gon’ pick

Kenyatta ran a hand over his waves, leaning his head back against the stained couch cushion.

The old crew. The new players. The people who heard ‘Yatta was home’ and expected him to fall right back into place. He wasn’t in the game, but he wasn’t out, either, which was the most dangerous place to be.

He didn’t text back. There wasn’t shit else to say. And though he wasn’t in the mood for conversations, he needed to check on Jay-1.

Kenyatta hit his number, pressing the phone to his ear.

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