“No… you really don’t see that too often.”
“Bitch, that ain’t the only thing that changed.” She smirked.
“And what’s that?”
“That nigga’s whole damn definition of love. Kyrie used to be out here dogging females, not giving a damn about nobody but himself. That man was heartless as hell.”
She pointed at me.
“But now? Soon as you walk in a room, that nigga lights up. Hell, he probably don’t even realize he be doing it.”
A slow smile crept across my face.
I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t.
As we continued talking, my mind drifted back to everything we’d been through over the past few months.
“Uh… Sianni?”
I turned, and that’s when the first flash hit.
Then another.
Voices followed right behind it.
“Sianni, can we get a comment?”
“Do you know who shot Kyrie Maddox?”
“Is he going to be able to play this season?”
My stomach dropped.
Oh, hell no.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing my bag and pulling Drayla up with me.
They followed. Cameras up. Phones out.
“Was it gang-related?”
“Is Kyrie cooperating with police?”
My jaw tightened.
“Y’all need to back up,” I said, my voice low and steady.
They didn’t. If anything, they got closer.
“Yeah, we’re leaving.”
We made it to the parking lot and split once we reached our cars.
“I’ll call you!” Drayla said.
“Alright!”
Another flash hit my face as I slid into my car and slammed the door. I glanced in the mirror—they were still there. Watching. Waiting.
