She wanted to call his ass back into the room, tell him her truth, and then get dicked down, but her eyes were already closing, the exhaustion pulling her under. And as she drifted off, part of her—the part she wouldn’t admit out loud—was glad he was staying.
Kennedi rose from her pillow, disoriented, the apartment darker than before. The TV was still on, volume low, playing a basketball game. She blinked, trying to orient herself, and realized she’d been out for hours.
The smell of food hit her, and for once, it didn’t make her stomach revolt.
She sat up slowly, stretched, and set off to find Rolani. She found him in her kitchen. Stove on, a pot simmering, and moving around like he’d been there a hundred times before.
“What are you doing?” Her voice came out rough from sleep.
He glanced back at her. “Making you soup. How you feeling?”
“Better,” she admitted, watching him work. “What time is it?”
“Almost six.”
“I can’t believe you stayed all day. Thank you, Rolani.”
He stirred whatever was in the pot, then turned the heat down. “You needed somebody to make sure you didn’t pass out and crack your head on something.” He filled a bowl with chicken and rice. “Come eat.”
On shaky legs, she made her way to the small table in her kitchen. He set the bowl in front of her. It smelled so damn good.
“It’s not gonna upset your stomach,” he said, sitting across from her. “My grandma used to make this when we were sick. Rice soaks up the broth, easy to digest.”
She took a spoonful. It was warm and salty and exactly what her body needed. “Your grandma taught you to cook?”
“Yeah. Her mindset was different. Especially for her time. She didn’t believe in all that boy this and girl that shit. If it was a skill she wanted us to learn it. I can sew a little, too.”
“Now that I gotta see.”
He leaned back in the chair, watching her eat.
Her face was bare, bonnet slipped back just enough to show the edges of her boho braids. Brown skin smooth under thekitchen light. Heart-shaped face, full lips pressed together after each careful swallow. He knew what those lips felt like, and his thoughts went straight back to that hotel room.
He wanted her. Sick or not. Attitude or not. That hadn’t changed and wasn’t changing now.
“What about your parents?”
“What about them? Giovanni and his people were more family to me than my own blood.”
She heard the weight in that. “The Southside Bad Boyz years — was that part of filling the gap?”
His jaw flexed. “You did your homework.”
“It's my job.”
“We’re not at work, though.”
“Right.”
He studied her for a long moment. “I did what I had to do to survive. Made choices I ain’t proud of. Hurt people who probably didn’t deserve it. Sometimes what’s necessary isn’t always what’s right.” He shook his head. “I’m off that shit now. Lost too many people to bullets and cells. So now my focus is on doing my own shit. I’m legit. And I ain’t looking back.”
“I like that you still have this edge.” She wasn’t sure why she said that; she was stating a fact. “You still move like somebody who knows how to handle himself.”
“Because I do.” His eyes didn’t leave hers. “Contrary to how you try to handle me, I ain’t no soft ass nigga, Ken. I’ve done shit that would probably make you look at me differently. I’m trying to be better.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
