Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
RHYAN
Teflon Hills loves it when Chauncey pops out. Ain’t nobody stepping like him, ain’t nobody putting on harder than him—and that’s the problem. This nigga ain’t even been out of the hospital for forty-eight hours, and he’s already the talk of the city.
I scroll through my social media pages, jaw tight, thumb moving faster than my thoughts, because this is all I see.
Nothing else.
Just him.
Reel after reel, clip after clip, angle after angle—Chauncey stepping out the front entrance of the hospital like he ain’t just almost died, flanked by Simmy, True, and Coop like security ain’t even needed.
Designer sweats. Chain catching sunlight. Fresh lineup sharp enough to lie for him. Like death ain’t even brushed his shoulder. Like pain ain’t touched him. The phones were out before the wheelchair even hit the curb—people yelling, recording, running up just to catch a glimpse of this nigga.
And of course he ate it up.
Of course, he did. Somebody captioned the footage: “The King is back. The Streets ain’t safe no more #BigBenyeirEnergy”
Aisha sends it first?—
Girl… he walking out that hospital like a whole meal.
Bianca right behind her?—
I told you that nigga would bounce back. Look at him, Rhy. Get your man.
I don’t reply.
Ijust stare at the image—Chauncey standing by the same Range Rover I drove off in. Same chain I wore while he was laid up in the hospital. Same smirk that used to make me weak as fuck… now he’s just twisting the knife.
I haven’t heard from Chauncey in days. Just a few nights ago, he was begging me not to leave, promising he would do better and swearing I was it for him. And yet… not one fucking call.
Not one text.
Nothing.
I scroll through the comments again, slower this time, eyes narrowing at every “fine ass” and “I’m shooting my shot.”
My stomach knots—that quiet ache only pride and love can cause. My phone rings. Bianca.
“You seen him yet?” she asks, voice already halfway laughing.
“Seen who?” I reply.
“Don’t play dumb—your husband.”
I suck my teeth. “Girl, fuck you. Everybody’s seen him, B.”
“Don’t sound so mad.”
“I’m not mad,” I lie. “I’m over it.”
“Right. That’s why you’re refreshing the feed every three minutes?”
“Bitch, please,” I snap. “That nigga was begging me a few nights ago to come see him.”
I let out a hard breath, tossing my phone on the counter.
“He told me he didn’t wanna lose me…”
Bianca sighs. “Maybe he’s just giving you space. You know, them niggas been moving different lately—Simmy barely home, which means business is being handled.”
“Or maybe he’s giving the city a show,” I reply, my voice flat. A beat passes. “Either way… I’m done fucking watching.”
But later that night, when the city quiets and the house starts to feel too big, I find myself opening that picture again, zooming in on his face, on the scar near his temple, on the way his eyes lock onto the camera as if he knew I’d see it. As if he knew I wouldn’t be able to look away.
My heart betrays my pride for a split second.
“You could’ve called, Chauncey…” I whisper into the dark, soft enough to sound like a secret, as if it’ll somehow reach him.
I toss my phone onto the couch as if it burned me because every scroll felt like a slap.
Chauncey this.
Chauncey that.
The whole damn city is singing praises for a nigga who broke my heart.
“Nah,” I mutter, grabbing my keys. “He ain’t gon’ have me sit here playing the fool.”
I had to catch a beat.
“I’m outside.”
The night is humid—the kind that clings to your skin and smells of gasoline and bad decisions. I drive with no real destination, letting the city shift around me until the lights thin and the noise fades, leaving everything a little too quiet.
By the time I park, I don’t hesitate. My hands already know what to do. Who to call. Kosh. It rings once. He picks up on the first ring. His voice is low and steady, as if he’s been waiting.
“You good?”
I lean back in the seat, staring out into nothingness. Fuck it. I step out of my car for a minute to breathe and take in the fresh spring air.
“I will be…” I pause. “…when I see you.”
“So… what’s the holdup?” Kosh’s voice hums through the phone, low and familiar. “When are you coming home to me? I thought you’d forgotten me.”
Silence.
Because that’s the real question, ain’t it? When am I going home? And what even feels like home anymore?
“Soon,” I finally say, the word settling heavier than I meant it to.
Before I can think too hard about it—before I can feel too much?—
A pair of strong arms wraps around my waist from behind. My whole body stiffens. A chain brushes against my shoulder.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
My heart stutters—then skips. I don’t even have to turn around. I already know.
Chauncey.
He reaches around me, snatching the phone right out of my hand. The call ends. Just like that. His grip tightens slightly at my waist—not hurting… but not letting go either.
“I told you,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice low, controlled, and way too close. “I was coming for you.”
My heart skips a beat—I wasn’t expecting this. Not like this. And to make it worse… why is he following me? He caught me completely off guard. I don’t even turn around right away.
I’m scared to. If I face him too soon, everything I’ve been holding together is gonna fall apart. My phone rings again.
Kosh.
Before I can react, Chauncey answers it.
“Yo…”
“Aye, let me holla at Rhy,” Kosh says on the other end.
Chauncey’s arm tightens around me just enough to remind me where I am.“I can’t,” he replies, calm. “She’s busy.”
Chauncey pauses for a beat.
“And she gon’ be busy for the rest of her fucking life.”
My breath catches.
“Aye, Rhy,” he adds, his voice dropping lower, more personal, “tell that nigga daddy is home.”
Click.
The call ends. Just like that. I finally turn around. And damn. It should be illegal to look like that.
Fine.
Fresh.
Focused.
Standing as if he had never almost died. As if he came back stronger.
For me.
“All eyes on you, Rhy,” he says, watching me as if I’m the only thing in the room that matters.
I folded my arms, trying to gather myself.
“Are you stalking me?”
He doesn’t even blink.
“I am.”
“Why?” I ask, folding my arms tighter, as if that might steady me.
“Because I want to,” he says without hesitation. “I wanna show you something different this time. I told you—I’m coming for you the worst way this time.”
His eyes don’t leave mine.
“I meant what I said. It’s all about action for me now.”
Chauncey paused for a beat.
“I need you to dead lil’ homie,” he adds, his voice dropping. “This world ain’t big enough for me and him to be in your space. Stop giving that nigga hope.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable.
“I wanna court you, Rhy,” he says, softer now—but still firm. “I wanna get this shit right with you. I wanted you beside me when I walked out of that hospital.”
Another pause.
“I still got business in the streets to handle… but I’m tryna fix us at the same time.”
My chest tightens.
“I’m scared,” I admit in a quiet voice.
He steps closer, just enough to close the gap again. “You should be.”
A beat passes.
He caught me off guard this time, and now my mind is spinning in a whole different direction. How the hell am I supposed to explain this to Kosh? The thought alone makes heat creep up my neck.
I’m embarrassed.
Chauncey closes the small gap between us like he ain’t giving me room to run from it. “I know you heard me talking to you.”
“I did,” I say, exhaling slowly. “But this is… a lot.”
My eyes lift to his.
“I feel like you’re only doing this because I have options… and you wanna control me.”
He leans in, close enough for me to catch the mint on his breath, the heat of him pressing into my space without touching me.
“I know you have options,” he says, steady. “We both do.”
A pause.
“I know my track record ain’t the best, Rhy.” His voice drops—real this time. “But a nigga chooses you every time.”
That lands. Harder than I want it to.
“I don’t wanna control you,” he continues. “I wanna love you.” Then his tone shifts—just slightly.
Possessive but honest.
“But I’mma be real with you… My wife ain’t finna cozy up to no nigga while I’m breathing.”
A beat.
“It’s like that.”
“I feel like we’ve been here before,” I murmur.
Chauncey towers over me, his presence heavy, his body close enough to touch—but not yet. His hand rises, fingers sliding under my chin, tilting my face toward his.
My breath catches.
His follows.
Slow but controlled. Almost hypnotizing.
“We haven’t,” he says. “Because I’ve never been shot ten times and had my life on the fucking line.”
Damn.
That lands hard.
Before I can even respond, he adds—“And I ain’t never seen my wife cozy up to no nigga while I’m still breathing.”
There it is.
Kosh.
He’s bothered, really bad.
“Don’t go there, Chauncey,” I warn, my voice low. “Because I can take it there.”
His arms tighten around my waist, drawing me just a little closer. Not enough to hurt—just enough to remind me. His cologne wraps around me, thick, familiar… dangerous.
His eyes lock on mine.
Unmoving.
“We will never be even,” he says.
A beat.
“I’m just saying.”
Silence hums between us, charged and unfinished.
“Can I court you, Rhy?” he asks finally.
I tilt my head slightly, studying him.
“Can you?”
“Yeah,” he answers, without hesitation this time. “I can.”
Another beat.
Then—“Slide in the car with me,” he says, nodding toward the street. “I wanna take you out.” His gaze softens by a fraction. “But don’t think I’m gonna let you run around this city without me.”
I don’t want to run around this city without Chauncey. And that scares me. This feels different. Not loud. Not chaotic.
Just… real.
A small part of me wonders if he’s scared too, scared of losing me for real this time. But I don’t let myself lean too far into that thought.
We’ll see.
And Kosh…I don’t want to hurt him either. He’s a good man. Steady. Safe. Everything Chauncey has never been.
But if Chauncey wants to court me… I’mma let him.
“I’ll follow you,” I say, keeping my voice steady.
He shakes his head immediately.