She whipped around, eyes flashing. “You let that woman flirt with you. On air. While I was sitting right there.”
“So? I kept it professional,” he said, voice even. “Like you asked.”
“Bullshit.” Her laugh was sharp, bitter. “Professional doesn’t mean sitting there while she offers to fuck you and you say nothing but let’s get back to business.”
He laughed. “What you want me to say, Ken?”
“You should’ve told her, Temu wig wearing ass, there wasn’t a door to leave open. Period.”
“You’ve been running from me for months. Now you care.”
“That’s not fair?—”
“Man fuck being fair. I’m a single man. ”
That made her pause. Because he was right, and they both knew it. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. But he was also so very wrong.
She’d booked that interview months ago, before Rolani meant anything to her. Before LA. Before the two pink lines. Back then, Riya’s little flirty tone had been background noise. Now it felt personal.
He stepped closer, voice hard. “You’re the one who said this was complicated. You’re the one who left without even saying goodbye and dodged me for months. Stand on that.”
The words hit her like a slap. Her chest heaved, tears burning behind her eyes.
“So the door is open?” She asked with her hands on her hips, fighting back tears that he didn’t understand.
His eyes bore into hers. “I’m confused, Ken. What you want from me?”
“I don’t know!”
“Cool,” He gestured between them, his voice loud now, raw. “Let me know when you do. I’m not chasing somebody who don’t wanna be caught. I got enough shit going on.”
“That’s not—” Her voice broke. Tears spilled over, hot and fast, and she pressed her palms to her face. “You don’t understand.”
“Then make me understand!” His hands flew up, frustration pouring out. “Because I’m right here, Ken. I’m here even though the only reason you came back is for work...not me.”
“That’s not why I’m back!” Her voice broke as her hands hit his chest—not to hurt him, to make space to breathe. He barely moved, and that made it worse. She shoved him again, harder, tears streaming. “You don’t?—”
He caught her wrists before she could finish, his grip firm but not painful.
“Ken,” he said, voice low and steady, “keep your fuckin hands to yourself and use your words.”
His hands released her wrists, but he stayed right there.
She froze, trying to work through this because he wasn’t backing down or letting her spiral. She couldn’t pretend this was another argument she could talk her way out of.
“Tell me what’s up,” he said. “Be honest with me.”
Her breathing turned uneven. Everything she’d been holding back came up at once—the anger, the jealousy, the fear, the months of running and lying by omission. She searched his eyes, hoping for something that would soften the landing.
There was nothing.
Just him.
Just the truth.
“Rolani I’m… I’m pregnant.”
The words ripped out of her, raw and desperate, echoing in the parking lot.
