Page 125 of Chosen By a Baller 3: Playin’ For Keeps

“Questioned the timing how?” I asked, even though I had a pretty good idea what the fuck she meant.

“Well…” She shifted slightly in her chair. “There have been comments questioning whether⁠—”

“Whether that's my baby?”

The room went quiet.

“Kyrie,” Sianni said softly.

I looked over at her.

Her hand settled against my thigh, and the look she gave me said everything her mouth didn't.

Don't.

I dragged my tongue across my teeth and looked away for a second.

People could talk about me all fucking day.

Say I couldn't play anymore. Say my marriage was fake. Call me whatever the fuck they wanted.

But questioning my child?

Yeah, that shit hit different.

I looked back at the interviewer.

“That’s my baby.”

My voice came out calmer than I felt.

“There ain't no question about that. I know it. My wife knows it. That's all the fuck that matters.”

The interviewer nodded. “I appreciate you addressing it.”

“I ain't addressing that shit again either.”

Sianni squeezed my thigh.

I looked at her.

“What?”

Her lips twitched. I knew that look too. Behave. I leaned back in my chair. I was behaving, at least by my standards. The interviewer glanced at her cards one last time before setting them aside.

“I think we've talked enough about what everybody else thinks. So, I want to end this with something that's just about the two of you.”

“Thank God,” Sianni muttered.

I laughed.

The interviewer smiled. “After everything you've been through, what do you want people to understand about Kyrie and Sianni?”

Sianni looked at me, and I looked at her.

For a second, I thought about giving some polished-ass answer that my agent would probably love.

But that wasn't me.