He had bought companies after ten-minute phone calls, fired executives with a signature, and stood in front of rooms filled with investors who treated his words like weather forecasts for the future.
Jaylen looked at him then, really looked at him.
For a second, the dirt road disappeared between them. The expensive watch on Wendell’s wrist, the dust on Jaylen’s slides, the SUV, the grocery bag, all of it became background noise.
Then Jaylen reached down and picked up the bag.
“I need to get home,” he said.
Wendell nodded, as if he had expected that answer.
“Let me drive you.”
Jaylen’s shoulders tightened.
“It’s not far.”
“It’s hot enough to cook breakfast on the hood of this car.”
“I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t make it right.”
Jaylen studied him again, weighing the danger of kindness from a stranger against the distance home and the medicine in the bag. Finally, he gave one small nod.
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