Chapter 14 #2
“First thing — come see us when we open Idle Hands. That's exactly what it's for.” He paused. “But bigger than that, where you come from doesn't decide where you end up. Put the work in and trust the process — your win is on the other side of it.”
“Good shit,” Gordan, the male host, added. “Mr. Dowlen was like that man. Believing that men should be men. We need that back.”
“Exactly, and I’mma keep it real, that goes for the young women too.
Don’t leave them out of the conversation.
My grandmother was the blueprint for everything I know about work ethic and showing up.
My niece is fourteen and smarter than my brother and me combined.
The women in our communities carry just as much weight, sometimes more, and they deserve the same opportunities to build.
Idle Hands ain’t only for the young men.
It's for everybody who needs somewhere to go and something to do with their hands.”
He paused, letting that land.
“Everybody got a choice. You can let it bury you, or you can flip it and build something out of it. I chose to turn my pain into purpose, my struggle into strength. I’m living proof your past doesn’t have to be your prison.
You got the keys to your own freedom. The question is, do you have the courage to use them? ”
Riya smiled, lashes fluttering. “That's an incredible story. What drives you now?”
Rolani's eyes cut to the glass. Kennedi's pen had stopped moving.
“That's hard to answer,” he said, tone low. “But I’d say everything — my future, the moves I still gotta make, and definitely my family. Those by blood and the ones I found.”
He glanced back toward Kennedi, hoping she understood what he was saying.
Riya seized on the pause, shifting into a sultry register that made Kennedi’s spine straighten. “Now, switching gears—our listeners want to know about the man behind the business. You married? Dating?”
Rolani’s expression didn’t change. “Aye, I’m focused on the business right now.”
Riya tilted her head slightly, smiling like she was sharing a private joke with the audience. “So you’re focused on business right now… meaning there isn’t anyone special distracting you?”
Kennedi's grip tightened on her pen as Riya's manicured nails traced a pattern against his skin.
She laughed softly. “That’s surprising. A man with vision, discipline, and that kind of presence? I would’ve assumed somebody locked you down.”
Rolani pulled back smoothly, professionally, but he didn’t tell her to stop. “Appreciate the interest, but we should wrap this up or get back to the business.”
“Of course.” Riya’s hand lingered a second too long before she pulled away. “But just so you know, my offer stands. Anytime you want to discuss... opportunities... You have my number.”
Through the glass, Kennedi felt heat crawl up her neck.
“Locked you down? On air?” she muttered.
Her pen pressed into the page.
Wrap. It. Up.
Still didn’t feel strong enough.
Her molars ground together as Riya’s hand drifted again, lingering at his wrist like she was testing how far she could go before someone checked her. Rolani pulled back enough to be polite, but not enough to shut it down.
And that calm had Kennedi’s hormones acting reckless.
Before she could stop herself, she flipped to a clean page and wrote in thick, angry letters:
THIS IS AN INTERVIEW, NOT THE DAMN BACHELORETTE.
She lifted the pad and cracked it against the glass.
The sound engineer pulled his headphones down.
Riya’s smile wavered.
Then Rolani’s head turned slowly.
Their eyes locked. She held the pad with one hand and pointed at Riya with the other — one firm, deliberate finger. Wrap it up.
And instead of lowering it like a sane person, she held it there. Chin lifted. Nostrils flared. Eight seconds of eye contact that said, I will absolutely crash out in this studio. Try me.
Rolani’s smirk was instant. He knew jealousy when he saw it. His hazel eyes locked on hers, hungry, entertained. The sight alone had his dick hard under the desk.
“Well,” he said, still staring at Kennedi instead of the host, “looks like that’s all the time we got today.”
That was the smartest decision for everyone at this point. Because the truth she couldn’t say out loud was simple. He was hers. She hadn’t earned the right to claim that yet, but her body and her temper didn’t care about what she’d earned. They had her fucked up.
She’d shown her hand, and there was no coming back from it. All she could do was try to get as far away from him as she could.
“Slow down, girl, damn.”
Kennedi’s heels continued to click against the pavement, each step louder and faster than the last. She could feel Rolani behind her, but she kept moving. Her throat felt tight, and she hated that feeling. Hated that she’d let herself react like that in public. In front of him.
She reached the Escalade and grabbed the handle.
Click.
Locked.
She blinked.
Pulled it again.
Her jaw tightened. She turned halfway, not fully facing him yet. “Open the door, Rolani.”
“No, what was that about?” he asked, though he knew damn well what was wrong.
She looked at him, then away. “Nothing.”
“Ken.”
“I said nothing. Let it go.” The last thing she needed was to cry in front of both of them. She wouldn't give either of them the satisfaction.
“That wasn’t nothing. You forgot you the media or something?”
He folded his arms, studying her.
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.
Silence.
Rolani froze and stepped back. His hands dropped to his sides, and his face went blank like he’d been struck by lightning. She watched him try to process her words. His eyes moved from her face to her stomach and back, like he was searching for the lie, the joke, the out.
“Pregnant?” he repeated, but it wasn’t disbelief. It was math. Timeline. Memory. That night in LA or Velvet. Shit. “How far? And speak up.”
“Five months. And I know I should’ve told you the minute I found out, but I... I didn’t know how.”
“You didn’t know how?” His voice exploded. “What the fuck, Ken?”
She was sobbing now, her hands trembling. “I was scared you’d want too much. I was scared you wouldn’t want anything. Or that you’d demand I come home. Demand I get an abortion. My mind was filled with what-ifs! I’m sorry.”
He took two steps back, hands on his hips, head tipped toward the sky.
“You really thought I’d make you get rid of my kid? Not be there for you?” he asked, breathing hard as he searched her face. He forced himself to remember who she was to him—the woman who had filled his thoughts without fail since they met.
“You healthy?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Show me,” he said suddenly, eyes dropping to her stomach.
Her hands shook as she grabbed his hand and placed it on the swell of her belly. It wasn’t big, but it was there. He remembered her body, and this wasn’t there five months ago.
His hands found her stomach. Both palms flat against the swell, steady. Real.
His forehead dropped to hers.
“You’re carrying my baby.” His voice was wrecked, barely a whisper. “I knew something was different. Damn, Ken, you got me fucked up.”
“I know,” she choked out.
He wanted to be mad at her—no, he was mad at her—but that didn’t make him want to mistreat her or upset her. The truth was, he saw it as a blessing. A shocking one, but a blessing.
“Are you mad at me?” Her voice came out small, childlike.
He pulled her closer, flesh against his body, and wrapped his arms around her.
“Yeah, I’m mad,” he said into her hair. “I’m mad you thought you had to carry this by yourself. I’m mad you didn’t trust me with it.” His hand stayed on her stomach, steady. “But I’m not running from this.”
He pulled her into his embrace, one arm around her. Neither of them spoke.
He wasn't leaving. He wasn't making her do this alone. That was all she needed to hear. He stepped back and opened her door. She got in. He shut it carefully.
When he sat down, he didn't start the truck. He gripped the wheel and stared through the windshield. Then he reached for her hand and held it. The space between them felt different now. Heavy in a way that meant something.
Then his phone buzzed.
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Pracher, this is Missy from Coupeville Academy. Monroe is not feeling well and may need to be picked up. Will that be a problem?”
“No ma’am, I’ll be headed that way.”
He hung up and sat there for a second, phone still in his hand. He dragged his palm down his face slowly, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
Kennedi watched him. This was the first time she’d seen him look tired.
“Monroe's sick,” he said finally, his voice flat. He looked at Kennedi, and the guilt was right there on his face before he could collect it. “I gotta get her. My bad.”
“My bad? For what? Are you not her guardian?”
“Yeah, but I wanted to focus on this. You. The baby.”
“And we will, Rolani.”
He shifted the truck into reverse. “Let me take you back to your car first.”
“No.” Her voice was firm. He paused, hand still on the gear shift. “I’ll come with you. If that’s okay.”
“You sure?” His voice was quieter now. “This is my life, Ken. It’s messy. It don’t stop.”
“I know.” She reached over and put her hand on his. “We’re doing this, right? So let’s go get her.”