He grabbed her by the arm, turning her body to face him. “Kill that stubborn shit. It’s just a ride.”

“The nerve,” she said with a smile, “of you to talk about me being stubborn. This afternoon you didn’t have a word to say to me. Now you’re full of conversation.”

“Things change.”

“Nah,” Kennedy rolled her eyes toward the ceiling to divert any tears that were trying to escape. “Nothing has changed.” She snatched her arm from his hand. Kennedy pushed the door, flinging it open. She stepped out, greeted by the flashing lights of the paparazzi. They’d been camped out since the news of her arrest went across the wire. Kennedy covered her face with her hands so the bruises and scratches couldn’t be captured. This was the downside of being a celebrity.

“Fuck,” Chaz mumbled, stepping out behind her. He pulled his fitted Yankee cap low and wrapped his arm around Kennedy, bringing her in close to him. “Keep your head down,” Chaz instructed. “My truck is across the street.”

The paparazzi, made up of about ten photographers, two camera operators, and three reporters, surrounded Chaz and Kennedy as they attempted to get to the truck. They were shoving microphones at them and yelling out questions: “Why did you savagely beat the mother of your husband’s children?” “Is it true she was pregnant by you, Chaz?” “Was that the reason for the violent beating?” They aggressively blocked Chaz and Kennedy from moving across the street.

Chaz was about to lose what little patience he had and was threatening to swing on anyone in his way when a black Escalade EXT pulled up along side of them. The rear passenger’s-side door flew open. Yatta stuck her head out, “Come on, get in,” she said, and slid over to make room for them.

Quickly, Kennedy hopped in first, then Chaz, who slammed the door and almost caught a reporter’s face. The driver floored the gas, speeding away. “You aight?” Strick asked Kennedy from the front passenger seat.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Home.” She lay back on the seat, wanting it all to be over.

In a low pissed-off voice Yatta asked Kennedy, “Are you bugging the fuck out or what?”

Kennedy lifted her head, “What are you talking about, Yatta?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Yatta scolded her younger sister. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. That abortion you got.”

Inhaling deeply, Kennedy shot Chaz a nasty look.

“Don’t look at him; that’s not who told me. Mommy told me.”

“How could she tell you anything when she didn’t know I was pregnant?”

“TaTa, with her big mouth, told her mother, who found it necessary to call down to Charlotte and tell Mommy and Big Ma.”

“Oh the fuck. Well, I can’t worry about who knows what right now. I’m dealing with too much other shit.”