Chapter 27 #2
“You’ll never practice medicine again.”
Silence stretches.
“All for a nigga…” she finishes, voice low. “…that was never yours.”
For a second… Whitley just stands there.
Frozen.
The color drains from her face, her mouth parting like she wants words—but none come.
This is not how this shit was supposed to go. Man, this shit is crazy. Whitley thought she was supposed to have the upper hand. Not… this.
Her eyes flick between me and Rhy, chest rising a little faster now, that confidence she walked in with slipping through her fingers. Good because I’m not with the games and shit.
But then—Something shifts—subtle, but clear. Her shoulders straighten. Her jaw sets. And when she speaks again, her voice doesn’t shake.
It hardens into something dangerous.
“You really think you got it all figured out, huh?”
Rhy doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move; she doesn’t need to. This is my bullshit, not hers.
That silence? It pisses Whitley off more than anything.
“You think you can just spin a story and ruin me?” she continues, a sharp laugh breaking through. “Like you ain’t standing here benefiting from the same man you claiming I raped?”
She steps forward now—slow, deliberate.
Eyes locked on Rhy.
“You wanna call the police? Call ‘em,” she says. “You wanna call the news? Do it.”
I don’t give a fuck how many beats Whitley catches; she doesn’t want the smoke coming behind these accusations. Rape and she’s black will ruin her.
“But make sure you tell them everything.”
That lands differently. Whitley tilts her head slightly, studying Rhy instead of reacting to her.
“Make sure you tell them how long you’ve been tolerating him stepping out,” she adds.
Her eyes flick toward me for half a second—just enough. Then back to Rhy. “How many times have you fought over him?”
Another step closer.
“How many times did you stay… knowing exactly what he was doing?”
Silence. Heavy. Calculated.
“And when they start asking questions?” Whitley continues, voice quieter now—but sharper. “They gon’ look at you too.”
A pause.
Then she places her hand on her stomach. Protective. Possessive.
“And at the end of all that?” she finishes, eyes not leaving Rhy’s, “I’m still gonna be pregnant… by your husband.”
No smirk. No laugh. But that’s far from the truth; she ain’t leaving this room carrying a baby of mine.
“Girl, I don’t give a fuck how you spin this shit,” Rhy says, voice flat and final.
“Facts are fucking facts. I’m married to Chauncey; he asked me to marry him.
It’s one thing he will never ask y’all hoes.
Let’s be clear: you’re a nurse at Teflon Hills Memorial Hospital, and you crossed a fucking line with a patient who couldn’t protect himself.
You raped a patient in a fucking coma. I told you not to be in that room—it’s documented.
So yeah… I’m finna make some calls starting with my attorney and the police. I’m finna get paid.”
Rhy lifts her phone, already turning like she’s done with it.
“Let’s be clear… I don’t give a fuck about you being pregnant by my husband,” she adds over her shoulder. “I ain’t never had to rape a nigga to trap him. I want you to keep the baby; it helps my case. I’m not about to keep entertaining this bullshit, bitch, you are beneath me…”
Rhy takes two steps—and Whitley snaps. Something ugly flashes across her face as she tags and starts, grabbing at Rhy from behind.
“Don’t walk away from me!”
“Bitch, who the fuck are you… Oh, you must want yo ass whooped.” Rhy starts flexing her muscles. I try to approach her, but she gives me a look that tells me to stand the fuck down, so I do.
The room explodes into motion.
Rhy twists instantly, reacting off instinct; she starts smashing and tagging Whitley off the fucking muscle, and the two of them start getting busy—arms swinging, bodies crashing into the edge of the couch. A lamp rattles; something hits the floor.
“Get off me!” Whitley fires back, trying to get her balance, still swinging off pure emotion. Rhy continues to give Whit the fucking business, her best fucking work. I ain’t seen Rhy get busy with a bitch in a minute. I hate it’s under these circumstances, but I’m not finna break this shit up.
It’s messy.
Fast.
Not clean at all.
But Whitley had this shit coming. And it’s about to get worse—until I step in.
“Aye—ENOUGH!”
I grab Whitley first, yanking her back before she can go at Rhy again, shoving distance between them.
“Have you lost your fucking mind, hoe?”
Rhy straightens up, breathing a little heavier now, eyes locked in—still calm, but sharper.
Whitley struggles for a second, then stalls, chest rising and falling, all that anger sitting right under the surface. Rhy slides my Glock from my waistline; quickly, she cocks it back. I already know what time it is
Whitey looks back and forth between us. Rhy releases the safety and empties the clip. One clean shot and bullet to Whitley’s skull; her body crashes on the floor; she stares at both of us.
“Bitch, you are pregnant, by who?” Rhy catches a beat, a little tired from her workout. “Yeah, I thought so.”
Silence.
“I’m so sick of y’all hoes.
Silence crashes down again.
Different now.
Because the line just got crossed… again. Rhy slides the gun back in my hand and tries to leave. I grab Rhy’s hand before she can take another step. She spins back, eyes flashing, and shoves me off her as I burned her.
“Where the fuck are you going?” I ask.
“I’m going home.”
“We ain’t done here.”
“We are.”
I shake my head, stepping closer. “Nah… you just made a whole fucking mess that we gotta clean up.”
“I ain’t cleaning up shit,” she snaps. “The fuck do I look like? Call your clean-up crew and handle your business. You should be thanking me for taking that raggedy bitch off your fucking hands.”
“Thank you,” I say quickly, my voice breaking through. “Just… don’t leave. Rhy, please don’t leave.”
She pauses, and for a second, I think I got her. But then she shakes her head.
“I can’t stay here, Chauncey,” she says, quieter now. “This is too much for me. All of it. I shouldn’t have come.”
We both catch a beat.
“Maybe we’re not meant to be together.”
That lands heavy.
“I know I left you,” she continues, eyes locking on mine, “but you’ve been real fucking reckless while I’ve been gone.”
“Stop saying that,” I cut in, frustration creeping in. “You know we meant to be together. Yeah, Whit and I had dealings… but I ain’t know she did that shit while I was in a coma. Why you ain’t tell me?”
Her jaw tightens.“Because I didn’t want to relive that shit,” she says. “I didn’t wanna say it out loud. I didn’t wanna feel it again.”
Silence stretches between us.
“You gotta get your shit together,” she adds, softer now… but it hit harder than anything she said tonight.
I step closer, shaking my head, frustration and desperation mixing together.
“I’m trying, Rhy. I swear to God I am.”
Her eyes search mine—like she’s looking for something real, something she can hold onto. But whatever she’s looking for… I ain’t giving it to her.
Not yet.
“Try harder,” she says.
She said it simply, but it felt cold and final. Then she pulls her hand away from me completely—like she’s done letting me hold on.
And this time?
I don’t reach for her again. I know she wants me to walk away. But I’m not built like that.
“Rhy… wait.”
She doesn’t stop right away, but she doesn’t move fast either. Like she’s fighting herself as much as me.
“I’m not trying to trap you,” I say, stepping in front of her—but giving her space. “If you wanna go… go. I’m not stopping you.”
That gets her attention.
She looks at me—really looks this time.
Tired—of fighting me.
Hurt—by me.
Still mine… for now.
“Just… give me a minute,” I add, quieter now. “One minute. That’s it.”
I pause for a beat, scared I might say the wrong thing.
She exhales, arms folding across her chest as she leans back against the edge of the bed—still not agreeing.
Not agreeing.
But she doesn’t leave.
I step closer—slow, careful—like I know one wrong move, and she’s gone for real. I lift my hand, hesitating for half a second before I gently cup her chin, tilting her face up to mine.
“I’m sorry, Rhy,” I say, voice low. “You might not believe me… but I am. I ain’t meant for this shit to happen. I came here tonight to clean up my mess—not drag you into it.”
Her eyes don’t leave mine.
“I wanna get my shit together,” I continue. “For you… for us. I ain’t never really seen how my fuck-ups hit you until now.”
Shit, even I need to breathe after this one.
“I’m done fucking up. That’s a promise I’m willing to keep.”
“We’ll see,” she says.
It ain’t warm…
But it ain’t closed either.
“I love you, Rhy.”
Her jaw tightens slightly.
“It’s time for you to prove it.”
“I’m trying… You won’t let me,” I admit. “You keep running.”
“Because I don’t want you to hurt me,” she says, voice cracking just enough to be real. “It’s easier to run than stay.”
She looks away, but I catch it?—
The tears are slipping down her cheeks.
That breaks something in me.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, thumb brushing lightly under her eye. “I don’t wanna hurt you anymore. I swear I don’t. I mean it this time.”
I close the small gap between us, stopping just close enough to feel her breath.
“I don’t wanna hurt you anymore, Rhy,” I say, voice low. “I just wanna love you. I appreciate you… You might not believe it, but I do. I swear you’re it for me. I don’t take your love for granted.”
I rest my forehead against hers, holding there—no rush, no pressure—just letting the moment sit.
Her eyes stay on mine, but something shifts.
Searching for something more.
Still guarded.
I don’t move closer.
I wait for her to decide.
“Say what’s on your mind,” I murmur.
Rhy closes the space between us, tilting her head back so her eyes meet mine.
“I feel like you’re only doing this because you’re scared to lose me,” she says.
“I am,” I admit, no fucking hesitation this time. “I’m not even finna lie to you. I’m scared as hell to lose you.”
A heavy breath leaves me, and I keep going.