Chapter 3: The Truth Hits Home
The Chicago dusk settled over the South Side, casting long shadows across the cracked sidewalks as Kevin Williams trudged up the chipped stairs to his family's apartment. The weight of the day clung to him—Jake's text still unanswered, Jemma's Instagram story looping in his mind, the workshop registration glowing like a lifeline in his inbox. He pushed open the door, the familiar creak announcing his arrival. The living room was dim, lit only by the flicker of a muted TV playing reruns of Martin. Nina Williams sat at the kitchen table, her laptop open, a stack of overdue bills neatly aligned beside her coffee mug. She glanced up, her eyes softening at the sight of her son but narrowing slightly as she caught the tension in his slumped shoulders.
"Long day, huh?" Nina said, closing her laptop with a gentle snap. Kevin dropped his backpack by the couch and nodded, his throat tight. He'd been wrestling with a decision all afternoon, ever since he'd ignored Jake's text and walked home alone. The spark he'd felt last night, that steady glow from this morning—it was urging him to stop running from the truth. He couldn't keep pretending everything was fine, not with Jake, not with Jemma, not with himself. He needed to say it out loud, to someone who'd listen. And Nina, tired as she was, had always been his rock.
He sank into the chair across from her, the vinyl cushion squeaking under his weight. "Ma, I gotta tell you somethin'," he said, his voice low, almost lost in the hum of the fridge. Nina leaned forward, her braids slipping over one shoulder, her full attention on him. Kevin took a breath and let it spill—everything. He told her about Jake's smirk at the arcade, the way he'd mentioned Jemma like he owned her. He told her about the Instagram story, Jemma's laugh, Jake's arm around her, the betrayal slicing deeper than he'd expected. He told her about Andrea last summer, how Jake had swooped in knowing Kevin's crush, and all the little jabs since—Jake mocking his gaming dreams, calling him soft, leaving him to face cops alone that one time by the corner store. He even told her about Coogie's murder, the secret he'd carried since summer, how he'd seen Ronnie pull the trigger and ran, too scared to speak, while Jake acted like it was just another day.
Nina listened, her face a mask of calm, though her eyes flickered with something fiercer—grief, maybe, or anger held tight. When Kevin finished, his hands trembling slightly on the table, she reached over and squeezed his wrist. "Baby," she said, her voice steady but heavy, "I'm so sorry you been carryin' all that." She paused, choosing her words like she was laying out cards. "But I ain't shocked. Not about Jake."
Kevin's brow furrowed. "What you mean?"
Nina leaned back, folding her arms. "Jake's been usin' you, Kevin. He ain't your friend—not the way you deserve. He's the kinda boy who takes what he wants and don't care who gets hurt. You're loyal, you're good, and he knows it. That's why he keeps you close—to prop himself up." She shook her head, her lips tightening. "You think I ain't seen it? All those times he let you down? Let me remind you."
She started listing them, her voice rising just enough to cut through the room's quiet. "Last year, when he went after Andrea, knowin' you liked her—did he ever apologize? No. He laughed it off, made you feel small for even carin'. Then there's Jemma now, sneakin' around with him, and he's bold enough to flaunt it. What about that time with the cops, when he walked away and left you standin' there, heart racin', knowin' you coulda got jammed up? Or when he tried pullin' you into that mess with Reg, askin' you to hold some package like it was nothin', when he knew you was tryna stay clean? And don't forget all them times he clowned your dreams—your games, your schoolwork—like he's scared you might outshine him."
Kevin sat there, each word landing like a pebble in still water, rippling through his thoughts. He'd known these things, felt them, but hearing them laid bare, one after another, made his chest ache. Nina wasn't done. "You remember Coogie's funeral?" she said, her voice softening but no less firm. "Jake was there, actin' tough, but he didn't check on you. Not really. You was hurtin', Kevin, and he let you drown in it. That ain't what friends do."
Kevin stared at the table, tracing a scratch in the wood with his thumb. "You're right," he said finally, the words heavy but true. "Maybe I should stop messin' with him." He looked up, his eyes searching hers. "But what do I do now, Ma? I can't just… act like none of it happened."
Nina's face softened, a small smile breaking through. "You love video games, don't you?" she asked, leaning forward again. Kevin nodded, a flicker of warmth cutting through his haze. "You ever think about bein' a streamer, a live streamer, or maybe makin' your own games for real? You're always talkin' about that stuff—codin', designin' characters. I see how your face lights up when you're playin'."
"Yeah," Kevin said, his voice brighter despite himself. "I love games. All of it—playin', buildin', figurin' out how they work. I been watchin' these Twitch dudes, and I think… I think I could do that."
Nina nodded, her smile widening. "There you go. That's your dream, baby. You wanna get outta this hood, you gotta work toward it. Forget about Jake—he's nothin'. He's holdin' you back, keepin' you stuck. And them girls he's stealin'? Jemma, Andrea—they ain't worth your heart. They're runnin' after a bad boy, chasin' some idea of Jake that ain't even real. They don't see you, Kevin, not the way you are—a good guy, a smart guy, with so much to give."
Kevin let her words sink in, each one stitching up a piece of the hurt Jake and Jemma had left. He thought about the workshop on Saturday, the laptop they'd give him, the chance to pitch his game idea—a 2D platformer about a kid escaping a city that tried to swallow him whole. He thought about Kiesha's texts, Papa's hype at lunch, the way his fingers felt alive on a controller or a keyboard. Jake's shadow had been so big for so long, but maybe it was time to step out from under it.
"What if I mess up, though?" he asked, his voice small. "What if I try and it don't work?"
Nina stood, walked around the table, and pulled him into a hug, her arms strong despite the weight she carried. "You're gonna mess up sometimes, Kevin. Everybody does. But you don't stop. You keep goin'. You're smarter than you know, and you got heart. That's more than Jake'll ever have."
Kevin hugged her back, his face pressed against her shoulder, the scent of her lavender lotion grounding him. For the first time all day, he felt like he could breathe. When he pulled away, he grabbed his phone, opened Jake's text—Yo, where you at? Got somethin' to tell you—and deleted it without replying. Then he pulled up the workshop email, rereading the details, his mind already sketching code and characters.
Nina watched him, pride in her eyes. "You hungry?" she asked, heading to the stove. "I got some spaghetti left."
"Yeah," Kevin said, a small grin breaking through. "I could eat."
As Nina heated the food, Kevin opened his notebook, flipping to a page of game sketches—a hero with his face, dodging traps, collecting power-ups. The TV laughed in the background, the city roared outside, but in that kitchen, Kevin felt a quiet strength building. Jake was out there, probably with Jemma, probably thinking Kevin would come running like always. But Kevin was done running. He had a dream, a plan, and a mom who believed in him. For now, that was enough.