Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
RHYAN
I’ve been waiting for this therapy session for the past forty-eight hours. There’s so much on my chest, and Miss Denise is the only person who can help me sort it out.
We were supposed to meet yesterday, but she postponed it. I didn’t mind. I missed our session last week anyway. I’m grateful we’re finally doing this.
This is our first virtual session. The Wi-Fi at my momma’s house kept disconnecting before I could even log in.
Finally, the screen flickers, and Miss Denise appears.
“Miss Denise, can you hear me?”
“I can hear you just fine, Rhyan,” she says gently. “How are you today?”
“I’m okay… could be better, but I’m making it.”
“What’s been going on lately?”
“A lot.”
She nods.
“Talk to me. Sometimes the weight of the world can change our demeanor. Sharing lightens the load.”
So I do.
I tell her everything.
Every messy detail from the past week.
When I finish getting that shit off my chest, she lets out a slow breath.
“Wow, Rhyan, that’s a lot to carry.”
“It is.”
She studies my face through the screen.
“Despite everything… how are you really doing?”
“I’m not okay.”
“Why not?”
I hesitate.
“Because I still love him.”
The words taste bitter.
“After everything Chauncey and I have been through… I still love him. And I feel stupid for it.”
“You won’t stop loving him overnight,” she says, calm.
“I know.”
“So, what’s the problem?”
“My heart still beats for this nigga.”
“That’s normal.”
“It’s not,” I argue quietly. “Not after everything.”
“Rhyan, emotions are complicated,” she explains. “You can’t erase them at will.”
She leans a little closer to the camera.
“But you can give yourself grace as you work through them. That’s not weakness… It’s strength.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe her.
“Coming home reminded me why I left,” I admit. “Chauncey hasn’t changed at all.”
I swallow.
“But I have.”
“And being back here… It’s bringing out the worst in me.”
My voice drops.
“I feel like I’m losing myself.”
“Maybe leaving again is how you protect your peace.”
“Running is easier than coping.”
“That’s progress,” she says softly. “You’re naming it.”
She pauses.
“So, what are you really dealing with right now?”
I sigh.
“We’ve been apart for a little over a year.”
My chest tightens.
“And I don’t even know whether Chauncey wants this marriage anymore.”
“And you,” her voice is steady. “What do you want?”
I stare at the floor.
“Part of me still wants it.” I shrug weakly. “The other part of me says… fuck it.”
Her eyebrow lifts slightly.
“Divorce him and move on.”
“Then tell me why the first part of you still wants to be married.”
She tilts her head.
“I can see you love Chauncey, but is his love still enough?”
“It’s complicated.”
“We’ve got time,” she says, patient.
I swallow.
“Can I turn off my camera?”
“Of course.”
I reach up and turn it off. I can’t say this while she’s looking me directly in the eye.
“I knew what kind of nigga Chauncey was before we ever got together,” I whisper.
“That’s very interesting,” she says. “Tell me more.”
“He stole my heart like a thief in the night… and never returned it.” My voice cracks slightly. “I never even asked for it.”
I pause.
“All I wanted was honesty, loyalty, and respect.”
“And he never gave you those?”
“Bits and pieces.”
I sigh.
“I never tried to change Chauncey.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.”
I stare at the wall.
“But now… I wish I had demanded more when he asked me to marry him.”
“You should have.”
“I thought he’d change on his own.” My voice softens. “I thought loving him would make him want to do so.”
“And it didn’t.”
“No.”
I shake my head.
“Because I kept accepting things I shouldn’t have… Chauncey kept playing with my emotions.”
I close my eyes.
“And I let him.”
Miss Denise speaks quietly.
“Exactly.”
“What I accepted left me feeling weak.”
“It didn’t make you weak,” she says. “It made you human.”
“I wasn’t raised to be that girl.”
“But for Chauncey… did you become her?”
“Yes.”
My chest tightens.
“I loved him that much.”
I inhale slowly.
“And one day… I just broke.”
I wipe away a tear from my cheek.
“So, I left.”
“To save yourself,” Miss Denise says.
“Yes.”
She pauses before asking the question that’s been hanging between us throughout this session.
“Then tell me something, Rhyan.”
“Why stay?”
I stare at the dark screen where my camera used to be.
“Because I don’t want to feel like I gave up without trying.”
“And what does trying look like?” Miss Denise asks.
“Him meeting me halfway, for once.”
“Do you think he’s capable of that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You said you knew what kind of man he was when you chose him.”
“I did,” I admit. “But I thought I was different, and maybe Chauncey would change for me.”
“What made you believe you were different?”
“Because I’m nothing like the rest.”
She nods thoughtfully.
“I’m not excusing his behavior,” she says gently. “But you haven’t really required much of him.”
Her voice sharpens slightly.
“I want you to begin evaluating your worth in this situation.”
“Okay.”
“Be clear about what you want in every situation.”
“I will.”
“And if you want change,” she continues, “stop calling him the nigga you met in the street.”
She pauses.
“Start referring to him as your husband and help him live up to that title.”
“I will.”
The session ends shortly thereafter.
I’m not going to lie—Miss Denise was harsh.
But necessary.
I definitely learned a few things.
Some of it hurt.
Hell… this session might’ve done more harm than good, but maybe that’s what growth feels like. My phone buzzes while I’m writing down notes from therapy.
Bianca.
“What up, doe?”
“What up, doe? You good?”
“Just wrapped up therapy,” I say. “I’m about to eat, then check on Chauncey later.”
“Therapy?”
“Yep.”
She hums.
“Rhy… a lot’s changed in a year.”
“It has.”
“So, tell me something,” she says. “What can an old white lady tell you that Auntie Tracy and Grandma can’t?”
I laugh.
“For the record, my therapist is not white.”
“Good.”
“She’s Black and bougie, B. Honestly… it feels good talking to somebody who doesn’t know me.”
I shrug.
“Someone who ain’t judging me.”
“I needed that.”
“Okay, deep girl,” Bianca says. “So, what are you doing later?”
“Lying around my momma’s house.”
“Let’s step out.”
“I ain’t got shit to wear.”
“Then take your ass home and find something.”
I sigh.
“B… It’s hard to go back to that house.”
“I know,” she says. “But it’s not as if Chauncey was beating your ass.”
She chuckles.
“That man was just dropping pipe and buying you the world.”
“True.”
I pause.
“But it’s the memories.”
My voice drops.
“I can’t handle all those emotions right now.”
“At some point you’ll have to.”
“I know.”
I shake my head.
“Just… not today.”
“Rhy,” she says carefully, “when Chauncey wakes up, do you really think he’s going to let you slide back to Dallas?”
“B, it’s not about what he wants.”
“We’ll see.”
She exhales.
“So, what’s the plan? Mall, or do you want me to bring something for you to wear?”
“Bring me something.”
I laugh.
“I ain’t got the patience to get busy with no bitches today.”
“Say less,” she says. “I’ll call Simmy and check on Chauncey, too.”
“Thank you.”
We hang up. And immediately my phone buzzes again.
A new message.
Potential.
I’m in your city, Rhy. Pull up now.
My heart drops.
Kosh.
I knew he’d come. I just didn’t think he actually would.
Me:
I’m glad you made it safely. Where are you?
Potential:
Sharing my location. You got about an hour.
Me:
Okay.
I call Bianca back. She answers on the first ring.
“Damn,” she says. “We just got off the phone. I ain’t even found you something to wear yet.”
“That’s not why I’m calling.”
“Then why?”
“Kosh just hit me.”
Silence.
Then—
“Who the hell is Kosh, and why should I care?”
“My fine shit from Texas,” I say. “He’s here and wants to see me.”
“…Say what now?”
“You heard me. I didn’t stutter.”
“Why is he here? Rhy… you need to send him back. On God, today’s the day Chauncey wakes up and kills both of y’all.”
“It’s time for Chauncey to wake up anyway, so I can get back to my life. Kosh came because he said I’m worth the risk.”
“Girl,” Bianca sighs, “you know all eyes are on you right now.”
“I know,” I say flatly. “I don’t give a fuck.”
“Then please don’t step out with this nigga. I wish you hadn’t told me at all.”
“B, I’m not making any promises. Chauncey and I aren’t together. The streets talk anyway—let ’em. I’m not hiding Kosh to spare anyone’s feelings.”
I pause.
“Last I checked, Chauncey hasn’t spared me in years.”
“So today,” I say quietly, “I’m upping the score.”
Bianca groans.
“He’s still your husband.”
“And he’s still a cheating-ass nigga.”
“Damn,” she mutters. “I can’t stand you. Even Kosh’s name proves that nigga is fine.”
She sighs again.
“Just be careful, Rhy. And hurry up and send that nigga back to Texas before my husband and the crew find out.”
“I ain’t rushing shit with this nigga,” I say. “I’m about to sit on dick every chance I get.”
“Rhy?”
“You heard me.”
We hang up.
The closer I get to Kosh’s location, the faster my heart drums. Kosh never blends in. That nigga always stands out. Even parked outside the Black Square, he stands out like a stop sign in a blackout. I pull into the lot and spot him instantly.
Leaning against a black Maybach with Texas license plates.
Fresh fade catching the streetlights.
Wrists heavy.
Smile, lazy and lethal.
He’s dressed like soft sin—cream Amiri sweats, a white T-shirt hugging his chest, and a gold chain flashing with every shift of his shoulders. He doesn’t just look good. This nigga looks like home. The kind of home I left behind to survive all this chaos.
And the kind that might undo me if I stay too long. Kosh clocks me the second I step out. Just like that, the whole block starts watching me. Phones come up. Windows roll down.
Teflon Hills gossip travels faster than gunshots. Kosh pushes off the Maybach, that slow grin spreading across his face.
“Rhy.”
His voice is low. Warm. Familiar. It slides through me as if it never left.
“Kosh.”
I try not to smile.
I fail instantly.
“Aye,” he says, eyes bright. “You showed up.”
“You said I had an hour.”
“I meant thirty minutes.”