Chapter 3 #3
The thought of that mysterious woman wouldn’t leave his mind. She was still there, lingering in the back of his mind, like a song he hadn’t even realized was stuck on repeat.
???
Hassan sat in his office, eyes locked on the paperwork spread out in front of him, his mind buried in numbers, calculations, and business.
This was routine. The only thing that kept the chaos in his head manageable. His phone buzzed against the desk, snapping him out of his focus. He glanced at the screen.
Harper.
He exhaled, leaning back in his chair. He still felt some type of way about last night—about her telling him he needed help—but he could never stay mad at her for long.
He swiped to answer, bringing the phone to his ear.
"Yeah?" His voice was low, his attention still partially on the books in front of him.
"You still mad at me?"
Her soft voice carried a slight pout, and Hassan smirked to himself.
She hated when he was upset with her.
"Nah," he muttered. "What you want though, Harp? I'm working." "Madea wants us to come over for dinner tonight. And she said bring Roman’s ass too."
Hassan nodded out of habit, even though she couldn’t see him. "Aight," he agreed, already preparing to get off the phone. "Let me get back to this—"
"About last night—" Harper cut in, her voice dipping softer, more cautious.
Hassan immediately shut it down. "It’s all good, Harper."
He didn’t do emotions. Didn’t dwell on shit. He had already let it go.
Silence lingered on the line for a moment.
Then—
"I love you, cousin."
Hassan sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face. Harper was the only person in his life who required him to be just a little soft. She was sensitive, and if he didn’t say it back, she’d have an attitude all day. "I love you too." His voice was gruff, reluctant, but genuine. "Now bye."
He hung up before she could get any mushier. Because that soft shit? Yeah, he didn’t like that.
Hassan stayed at the casino until it was time for dinner at Helen’s house. Business always came first, but this—family, home-cooked meals, the only real softness he allowed in his life—was just as important.
As he pulled up, he spotted Harper’s and Roman’s cars already parked outside. He killed the engine, stepping out into the cool evening air.
Walking up the porch steps, he unlocked the front door with his key, letting himself in. The smell hit him first.
Soul food. Smoked ribs, baked mac and cheese, collard greens, and hot water cornbread.
His stomach growled instantly. He followed the sound of voices, stepping into the dining room where his family was already gathered. Helen’s sharp gaze met his the second he walked in.
"You late."
Hassan sighed. He already knew she was about to get on his ass. "My bad, Madea. Work got busy." He apologized quickly, getting ahead of the cussing out that was definitely coming. She narrowed her eyes, but didn’t press it further.
Hassan wasted no time making his plate, loading it with ribs, mac and cheese, greens, and cornbread. Just as he was about to dig in, Helen’s voice stopped him.
"Say grace, Hassan."
Her tone left no room for argument. He sighed, closing his eyes, muttering a quick prayer before finally digging in. Helen turned her attention to Harper, the warmth returning to her face.
"How’s the gym going, Hazel?"
Harper looked up from her plate with a smile.
It didn’t matter how old she got—Helen rarely called her by her real name. Hazel had stuck since childhood, a name she got because of her rare hazel eyes. She was the only one in the family with them. The rest either had blue like Hassan or dark brown.
"It’s going great, Madea. I might have to start thinking about expanding soon—my clientele is picking up."
Helen’s face lit up with pride.
"I’m so happy for you, baby girl. Keep going, even when I’m gone." She reached across the table, gently taking Harper’s hand.
Harper’s smile faltered, but she didn’t let it drop completely.
She hated talking about Helen’s death. No one did.
Helen was the only parent she had ever truly known.
She never met her mother—since she died in a drug overdose a little after she were born.
Never had a memory of her face. Her father?
In and out of her life, never there long enough for it to matter.
Harper resented them both. Helen was her family. And when she is gone…
Harper didn’t know what she would have left.
Helen turned her attention to Roman next as Hassan continued eating, only half-listening.
"I heard you opened your dealership! That’s big." Roman’s lips curled into a proud smile. "Thanks, Madea."
He had always wanted to make Helen proud, knowing she had looked out for him even though he wasn’t blood.
"How’s baby Rylan doing?" she asked next, her voice warm.
Roman’s smile softened as he thought about his two-year-old daughter. "Still running things."
Helen chuckled, shaking her head before a deep cough erupted from her chest.
Harper, sitting closest to her, immediately reached out, patting her back gently until it subsided.
"You need to bring her by soon," Helen said once she caught her breath, her voice a little weaker now.
Roman nodded. "Yeah, of course."
The conversation shifted, and Helen turned her attention toward Hassan.
"Hassan—"
But before she could finish, he cut her off. "I’m good, Madea."
Harper smacked her lips, shooting her cousin a sharp glare.
"Nigga, don’t cut me off like that."
Helen’s voice hardened, her usual fire not dimmed one bit. "I might be dying, but I will still whoop your ass like you stole something."
Hassan exhaled deeply, leaning back in his chair. "My bad." The apology was there, but his tone held zero sympathy.
Helen didn’t dwell on it. Instead, she shifted in her seat, straightening her posture slightly, as if preparing to say something heavy.
"Well," she started, her voice carrying weight. "I’ll get into why I called this dinner."
Roman and Harper immediately snapped their attention to her, curiosity filling their eyes.
But Hassan?
He didn’t move a muscle. He already knew this wasn’t just about spending time together. Helen had cooked too big of a meal for this to be casual. There was more to this .
Something bigger.
And whatever it was, Hassan already knew— He wasn’t gonna like it.
"You guys know I don’t have much time left," Helen started, her voice steady, but carrying a weight none of them were ready to bear. "And now that I’m going into my last procedure, I’ll be hooked to wires and tubes until God calls me home."
The table fell silent. The words settled—heavy, suffocating, impossible to ignore.
Hassan gripped his fork tighter, his jaw clenching, but he didn’t say anything. Neither did Roman or Harper.
Helen exhaled, her sharp eyes moving to Harper first. She reached for her hand, squeezing it gently, her touch filled with the warmth Harper had known her whole life.
"Hazel," she said, her gaze locking onto hers. "I need you to stay on the right path. Keep doing what you love. Don’t let life’s distractions throw you off."
Harper nodded, her throat tight. She already knew this, but hearing Helen say it—knowing she wouldn’t be here much longer—made it cut deeper.
But then, Helen’s voice softened even more.
"Baby, I know you’re still hurting when it comes to your parents."
Harper stiffened. Her entire demeanor shifted instantly. The warmth in her eyes turned cold.
Distant.
"I know your mother died before you go to know her," Helen admitted, sadness flickering across her face. "But I want you to at least try to have a sit-down conversation with your father."
Harper’s jaw locked as a sharp breath pushed through her nose.
"I don’t want anything to do with him, Madea," she said, her voice hard, edged with a bitterness she had carried for years.
Hassan watched from across the table, already knowing where this was about to go.
He and Harper never talked about their parents. Not really. Because they both carried that same resentment in different ways.
"Can you at least try… for me?" Helen pleaded, her voice raw, filled with something Harper couldn’t ignore.
And just like that—
The anger in Harper’s eyes softened. Because there was nothing she wouldn’t do for Helen. Even this. Even if it hurt.
"Okay, Madea," she whispered, lowering her head, her tone barely above a breath.
Helen smiled, squeezing her hand again. "Trust me, Haz… it will heal you. "
Harper didn’t respond. Didn’t argue. Didn’t even lift her head. Because deep down, she knew Helen believed that. But Harper? She wasn’t sure she believed in healing at all, when it came to her parents.
Helen let the silence linger for a moment before turning to Roman. "And you," she said, giving him a pointed look. "You need to find one woman and settle down."
Roman smirked slightly, already knowing where this was going. Helen gave him a look. "I know about your two-wife dream, baby, but that ain’t how life works. You need to let one strong woman love you."
Roman chuckled lowly, shaking his head.
But Hassan? He didn’t laugh. Because he knew Helen wasn’t just talking. She was preparing.
And whether they were ready for it or not— This was goodbye.
Then, the conversation shifted to him. Hassan wanted to cut her off before she started. Get up. Leave. But he knew Helen too well. She’d get in his ass, and out of all the people in this world, she was the one person he wouldn’t disrespect.
So he stayed. Barely.
"Hassan…" Helen started, her voice softer now, careful. "I know you’re strong. Really, the strongest person I know. Losing everyone close to you and still making a good life for yourself—that takes strength. And I don’t ever want you to think I see you as weak."
Hassan’s cold eyes lifted to hers, unreadable. "But you do think I’m broken."
His voice was calm. Cold. Distant.
Helen hesitated. That hesitation was all the answer he needed. He scoffed under his breath, looking away.
"I… think you’ve been through too much," she admitted carefully. "So much that it’s caused you to walk around with demons that weren’t yours to carry."
Hassan stayed quiet, but his jaw ticked—a small but sharp sign of his anger.
"I just think therapy would help you cope with those demons, Hassan."
She said it softly, but that didn’t make it easier to hear.
Hassan put his fork down. Then his napkin. He was done with this conversation. Nothing—not a damn thing—could help him with the weight he carried, and the sooner they accepted that, the better.
Harper spoke up next. "San… just listen."
His cold stare flicked to her, cutting through her like ice.
"Y’all expect me to sit here while y’all tell me how fucked up I am? I ain't about to listen to this shit." His voice was calm, but the edge in it was undeniable.
"Hassan Zaire Gaines—sit your ass down and listen to what I have to say."
Helen’s sharp tone cut through the air like a whip.
He stayed standing for a moment, his body rigid, challenging her. Then, after a beat, he lowered himself back into his seat. He might sit here, but that didn’t mean he was listening.
"Harper told me about her friend—a cognitive behavioral therapist. She has a 99% success rate and could really help you, Hassan," Helen continued, her voice laced with something raw. "I know you’re not a talking-ass nigga, and I know you don’t believe in therapy, but just… think about it."
Her voice cracked. And that?
That was the only thing that got to him. He didn’t blink at blood.
Didn’t flinch at death. Didn’t break under pressure.
But Helen’s tears?
They made his heart clench. Made something inside him shift. He hated it. He hated feeling anything at all.
"I can't watch you dying inside while I’m dying physically too."
The tears streamed down her face now, and Hassan clenched his fists under the table.
"Just think about it. Please."
Silence suffocated the room. Hassan cursed himself for the way his chest tightened. For the way that one word—"please"—made him feel weak. His response was low, forced, nearly a whisper.
"I’ll think about it."
Then he stood, grabbing his keys. Before he walked out, his eyes flickered to Harper, seeing the guilt painted across her face. She had gone behind his back. Talked about him—his demons—to their grandmother.
And that? That shit cut deeper than he wanted to admit.
His body tensed, but instead of saying something he’d regret, he turned away, gathering his plate and taking it to the sink. When he returned, he paused beside Helen, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead.
Then, a nod to Roman.
Finally, his gaze landed back on Harper. She didn’t move as he stepped closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead too. Even with the tension thick between them, he still loved her.
But love didn’t erase betrayal. He didn’t say another word.
Didn’t look back. Didn’t let them see the way his hands shook slightly as he got into his car. And as he gripped the wheel, exhaling a long, unsteady breath, one truth settled in his chest like a dagger.
No matter what he did—
No matter how much money he made, no matter how much power he held—
His people still looked at him like he was broken.
And as he drove through the dark streets of Memphis, he hated that for the first time in his life—
He was starting to believe them.