Kennedy slapped his hand away. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t ever touch me.”

She’s about to spaz, Kisa thought.

Placing her weight on her right leg, Kennedy cocked her head to the side and put her hand on her left hip. “Look, my man, you betta find something softer to play with, ’cause I ain’t the one. And since you think I’m such a got-damn joke, let me be clear about a few things before any introductions take place. You see that”—she pointed at Jordan—“that’s my heart. And you … you’re less than dog shit. If you was dying right here and now and the only thing you needed to live was liquid, I wouldn’t even spit in your mouth. I’m telling you right now, you got one time to hurt my son with some bullshit broken promise and I’ma fuck your clown ass up. ’Cause when Jordan hurts, I hurt, and whoever hurts us has to deal with me.”

Before Brian could respond or Kennedy could continue, Jordan ran up and stood next to his mother. He knew that something was wrong, and at the ripe old age of six he felt like he could protect Kennedy from the world. “Mommy? Who is this, Mommy?”

“I’m your daddy, lil’ man.”

Kennedy shot him an evil look. “You don’t have any right. I got this.”

Kennedy’s mean expression went from scowling to a warm smile as she looked down at her son. She squatted so that she and Jordan were face-to-face. Suddenly, she became nervous, “Sweetie, you know how Chaz’s daughters are like my daughters, but they have a real mommy that they live with too.”

“Yes, Mommy.” He nodded.

“So you know how Chaz is your father ’cause he takes care of you and spends time of you?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“But you remember how Mommy told you had another daddy too?”

“Yes.”

“Well, sweetie, this is him. His name is Brian.”

Jordan looked up at Brian, then looked back at Kennedy, “Mommy, if he’s my daddy … why haven’t I seen him before?”

Kennedy looked up at Brian, giving him a smug smirk, then she looked back at Jordan. “Honey, that’s a question he’ll have to answer.”

“Lil’ man, you wanna come over to the court with me and shoot around for a while?”

Jordan didn’t answer immediately as his six-year-old mind attempted to process what he’d just learned.

“Come on, lil’ man,” Brian said as he reached for Jordan’s hand. “We got a lot to talk about.”

Hesitantly, Jordan took Brian’s hand. As they walked toward the court, Jordan looked back at his mother. A confused expression covered his little face. Kennedy watched and wondered if she’d made the right decision. Something in the back of her mind told her that she would regret her choice.

The first meeting between father and son lasted two hours. A master manipulator, Brian had little Jordan in the palm of his hand. When it was time to leave, Brian gave Jordan a one-hundred-dollar bill, then attempted to give Kennedy a wad of hundreds. Kennedy handed it right back and said, “We straight, my man, we don’t need no handouts.”