Chauncey
The room’s still. Too still. My momma finally went home—Simmy walked her out. Bianca, Aisha, and Amirya dipped to check on Rhy about an hour ago…probably down in that little coffee shop, laughing like none of this shit ever happened.
And me?
I’m here.
Alive.
Hooked up to wires. Surrounded by silence. Losing my fucking mind, wondering why the only person I want to see…ain’t walked back through that door. True’s sprawled in the chair, shoes off, scrolling like we ain’t just cheated death.
Coop’s posted against the wall, arms folded. Simmy’s at the foot of my bed… watching me like he’s still guarding the gates of hell. They’re talking. Cracking jokes. Checking in.
I hear none of it.
All I hear is one thing: Where the fuck is Rhy? I came back from the edge for her, and she dipped like she couldn’t get far enough away. True, saying something about the streets. Simmy muttering about retaliation. I tune it all out.
That can wait. The city can wait. The nigga who pulled the trigger? He’s already dead to me. Right now…I just want her. Simmy must see it on my face, because he steps closer.
“She’s coming back, bruh.”
“She left,” I rasp.
“She stepped out,” he corrects. “Big difference.”
Coop exhales slowly. “Look… when she came back, she didn’t have to. Nobody called her. She showed up anyway. Sat here every day.”
I laugh, dry.
“She has also been saying slick shit.” My jaw tightens. “Y’all thought I was out cold, but I heard all of it.”
“The nurse.”
“Her mouth.”
“That other nigga.”
Simmy’s brows lift. “And?”
“And I ain’t stupid.”
Coop shrugs. “You almost died, Chauncey.”
“Almost, nigga.”
“A year’s a long time,” Coop says. “People get lonely.”
“That ain’t an excuse,” I snap.
Simmy steps in, voice calm. “It’s not an excuse. It’s a reason.”
A pause.
“Rhy was broken when she left here. You know it.”
My jaw locks.
“You want her back?” Simmy asks. “Then soften up nigga.”
“You can’t snarl her back into your bed.”
“She ain’t that woman no more.”
He leans in just a little. “You gon’ have to be the man she prayed you’d turn into.”
That shit lands, heavy.
It’s ugly, but it’s True, and I hate it. Because I don’t want to change. But I want her more than I want air. The room goes quiet.
Then True leans forward. “Aye… I’mma tell you what these niggas won’t.”
Simmy shoots him a look. True ignores it. “That nigga, Rhy fucking been in the city.”
Silence.
“Oh yeah?” I murmur.
I’m not a soft-ass nigga. I’ll turn deadly if a nigga thinks he can come to my city, fuck my wife, and live to talk about it.
“For a few days,” True adds.
I sit up, ignoring the pain in my ribs. “And y’all niggas just been watching my wife walk around this city glowing…”
“…while another nigga is warming her fucking bed?”
“Chauncey—” Simmy starts.
“Nah.”
My voice cuts sharp.
“I almost died out here.”
“And y’all let her get comfortable on another niggas chest?”
True doesn’t flinch. “You’ve been gone a year.”
“I don’t give a fuck…”
“She has been lonely just as long.”
“She’s my fucking wife.”
“Then treat her like it,” True fires back.
Silence.
Because he’s right. And that shit burns. Simmy steps in, grounding it. “You wanted the truth. There it is.”
“You can kill something over it…”
“Or fix it.”
I stare down at my hands. My jaw is tight as fuck, and my chest is heavy as stone.
“She’s out there smiling,” I mutter. “And I’m in here trying to remember how to breathe without her.”
No one speaks.
“I ain’t gon’ lie…”
My voice rough.
“This shit hurts.”
“I’ve been running the fucking streets like they’d love me back.”
“But she’s the only thing that ever did.”
A pause.
“And I treated her like an option.”
Simmy’s eyes flicker.
Just once.
“I know I fucked up,” I say. “I pushed her out.”
“And when she left…”
“I let her.”
My throat tightens. “I thought she’d always be there.”
Silence.
“You’re right,” I say finally.
“I can’t snarl her back.”
“Can’t scare her into loving me.” I shake my head. “That ain’t the woman; she is no more.”
“And that ain’t the nigga she needs.”
True leans back.
Satisfied.
“I don’t care who touched her,” I say quietly.
“I care who gets to keep her.”
That’s the truth. Raw. Ugly. Mine. And just like that—I decide. “I’m getting her back.”
Not loud. Not angry, but certain.
“Not with threats.”
“Not with games.”
“I’m getting her back as the man she prayed I’d be.” The room stays quiet.
Then Simmy nods.
Slow.
Solid.
“Then be him.” And right then—the door clicks. All of us look up.
And there she is.
Rhy.
Standing in the doorway…looking like peace I forgot how to hold.