Blend

32:00 | 5th & grove

THE MOMENT Crawley escorts me to the exit, I bolt.

The game clock in my head becomes more aggressive, each tick hammering into my ears. But I run further and further away from the jail.

Tick tick tick.

The Phoenix sun is hot on my back but I don't dare take off this hoodie. Crawley warned me that cameras were posted all around the vicinity. Gave me specific directions to follow 4th Street until I hit the high garage structure. Then head for 5th.

5th and Grove. 5th and Grove.

How long will it take them to discover I'm gone? And won't Crawley get his ass handed to him the moment they realize he helped me escape? All they gotta do is check those cameras.

The garage comes into view.

I can't worry about Crawley. Even though it's wild what just happened, I gotta stay focused on the present. Because the man's right. Yes, Chris will fight tooth and nail to get me off, but we all know the outcome is set. Can't win a game that's fixed.

Fifth and Grove. Look for the Volks Bug.

On a Sunday afternoon like this, downtown Phoenix is eerie. The traffic is minimal and so are the pedestrians. The few I do pass don't appear to recognize me. But the moment I turn the corner from the parking garage, I come to an abrupt stop.

Fuck.

Two cops hang out on the curb, laughing at their phones.

At least they're distracted.

I tighten my hood straps, trying my best to act natural.

Be cool.

If I want to make it to 5th and Grove, the path is through them. And the greatest way to avoid detection is in plain sight. Heard that on some TV show.

They whoop at trending reels while I casually tuck my hands into my pockets. I stroll right behind them—heart pounding in my throat.

TICK

TICK

TICK

One of them explodes with excitement, making me look back for a second. But I continue on, counting it the grace of God the moment they're out of sight.

I use every muscle to run straight for 5th, welcoming my relief with steady intakes of breath. There are no more city cameras in this neck of the woods. The scenery devolves from large office buildings to random mom and pop shops to old crumbling homes in the Historic District.

5th and Grove. Volks Bug.

Repeating these details grounds me until I finally catch sight of a yellow beat up Bug halfway down the street.

Slowing down, I reassess my situation. It reopens like a fresh sore.

I just escaped jail.

If I'm caught, they'll have even more fuel to use against me.

There is no turning back—I can't get caught.

And now I have no choice but to work with Crawley's friend to find the proof that exonerates me.

Seriously, who would've thought Crawley would turn out okay? I'm still trying to make sense of that. Obviously, I misjudged him. Unless this friend of his turns out to be some psycho. Then I'll really commit murder.

The driver's door swings open. Out steps a young Black woman with twists to her booty. She's wearing jeans so snug, every curve is amplified. Her v-neck is deceptively modest. It dips low enough that it puts me in my feelings and I can't think about nothing else. Not my recent escape from jail. Not how much shit I'm wrapped up in. Not Crawley. My mind is stuck on her—from her booty to the silver hoop on her nostril. She's fucking divine.

I stop about three feet away, unable to say anything yet. She looks...familiar.

"You're Crawley's friend?" I finally ask, my voice plain disbelief.

I wonder how she knows him? Maybe she's that Black niece he said he has. But he used the word friend.

She rolls her eyes, sending a glare towards the hood of her car. She returns her attention to me. "Yeah. That's me."

"Ace." I hold out my hand.

"Devyn."

When our hands meet, that's when it all comes back.