Chapter 27 #3
“I didn’t know how this was gon’ go when you pulled up tonight,” I continue. “But I do know one thing—I don’t wanna know what it feels like to lose you. I wanna be with you… And I wanna get this shit right.”
My eyes stay on hers.
“I ain’t giving up on us, Rhy. Not like that.”
A beat passes before I keep going.
“The day them niggas tried to take me out… You were on my mind before it even happened,” I say, quieter now. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And when shit got real? When everything started fading… the only thing I was thinking about was getting back to you.”
I shake my head slightly.
“So, nah… I’m not just gon’ let you walk away without fighting for you,” I finish, the words landing hard between us.
Rhy looks everywhere but at me. I step in, wrap my arms around her waist, and pull her close until she finally meets my eyes.
“I hate it took you almost losing your life for us to get here,” she says, voice low but steady.
“We gotta do something different, Chauncey. I don’t wanna be here one day and hate you the next. The shit we used to do? It’s not working. And the last thing I’m about to do is give you my heart again without real change or commitment. I’m not doing that.”
She exhales, hands rising to my chest—not pushing me away, not pulling me closer. Just holding that space between us.
I nod, holding her a little tighter anyway. “I want to earn it, Rhy,” I say. “I’m not asking you to just give me your heart—I wanna take it the right way. I’m ready to put in the work.”
Her fingers curl into my shirt for a split second, then she catches herself and lets go. The moment slips before it can settle.
She takes a small step back.
Not far.
Just enough.
“You don’t get to hold me like everything’s okay,” she says quietly, meeting my eyes again. “Not yet.”
I don’t reach for her.
I let her have that space.
Even though it’s killing me.
“Then tell me what to do,” I say, voice low. “Tell me how to get it right.”
She studies me for a second, deciding if I’m worth the fucking instructions.
“Be consistent,” she says.
Simple.
Deadly.
“Not for a night. Not because I’m here. Not because you scared.”
A beat.
“For real.”
I nod once.
“I can do that.”
“We’ll see,” she replies.
Somehow, that hits harder than anything she said tonight, and it leaves me staring at her for a second too long.
“Meet me halfway, Rhy…” I say.
“I’m open to it,” she replies.
“I ain’t gon’ hold you up. I know you’re trying to slide.”
“Yep.”
“I don’t really want you leaving… It’s too late.”
“Chauncey, I’m good.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I press, softer now. “I’ll have security follow you to your mom’s house… just to make sure you’re straight. But I want you to come back home.”
She shakes her head slightly. “We ain’t ready for that.”
“We are,” I say, stubborn as ever. “You’re just holding back.”
A beat.
“Once I finish here, I’m coming to your mom’s house,” I add. “I’mma come get you and take you home… where you belong. I’m sorry about this… all of it.”
Before she can respond, four sharp knocks hit the door—the code.
I glance through the peephole. Cleanup crew.
Rhy looks at me and shakes her head, like she already knows I’m doing too much. Her expression says she’s torn between leaving and staying for one more second.
I pull her into a hug anyway. I need it more than she does. She doesn’t melt into me, but she doesn’t pull away either.
I press a kiss to her forehead.
“Come on,” I murmur. “I’mma walk you out.”
The clean-up crew floods the suite, moving with quiet efficiency. Security and I walk Rhy out. Outside, the hallway feels too bright, too normal after everything that just went down. I open the Bentley door for her, but I don’t close it right away. I can’t.
“Chauncey, I’m finna go.”
“I know,” I say, standing there anyway. “Go home, Rhy… to your house. Please.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Think hard,” I add. “Call me when you make it.”
“I will.”
I lean into the doorway, close enough to feel her breath, and lift my hand—almost cupping her face?—
“Don’t,” she says, a small laugh slipping out.
“I ain’t did shit yet.”
“You were about to.”
She smiles just enough to hurt, then looks past me, ready.
I step back. Finally, I close the door—soft this time—and the engine hums to life.
The Bentley pulls off, taillights bleeding into the night, and I’m left standing there, watching until there’s nothing left to see. The moment gives way to silence.
When I head back into the suite, the air already feels different.
Cooler. Quieter. The kind of quiet that lets you hear your own thoughts a little too clearly.
The crew’s moving with purpose—bagging what needs bagging, straightening what needs straightening—trying to make this place look like nothing ever happened.
I don’t say much. Just watch.
Because this ain’t something you just wipe clean.
My phone buzzes. IT.
“Aye,” I answer.
“We did a quick sweep,” the voice says, clipped and professional. “Whitley’s been fucking talking. Not publicly, but she’s shared with a few people—two colleagues and her parents. Messages, call logs. It’s out there, just not everywhere. If it keeps spreading, it gets harder to contain.”
My jaw tightens.
“Anything posted?”
“Nothing we can see. No social yet. But if this spreads, it won’t stay contained. It’ll move fast.”
I rub a hand over my face and pace once.
“Don’t touch nothing that ain’t ours,” I say. “No deleting, no ‘fixing’ other people’s phones. We’re not adding new problems tonight. I want a timeline—who she told, when, what exactly was said—so we know what we’re dealing with. Keep it clean.”
“Copy that.”
I hang up and look around the room again.
Same furniture. Same walls. Whole different weight, because now it ain’t just a mess—it’s a story.
One that can move without me, and that hits harder than the silence before it.
I step to the window, staring out at the city like it might give me an answer.
Rhy’s already on the road. Whitley is still a problem.
And whatever comes next? I don’t get to control it the way I used to, which means I’m already behind.