Page 84

Crown Gravehart

Two Months Later...

N aomi sat across from me, one leg crossed over the other, with her pen and notepad resting lightly on her knee.

"We've touched on pieces of it," she stated gently.

I tensed.

"But I want to ask you directly. For the past month, we've been working to understand why you love so immensely... and why, when someone close to you disappoints you, your reactions spiral into extremes."

She paused, flipped through her notes, then looked back at me.

"Fighting your brother while he was recovering from multiple gunshot wounds, pointing a weapon at your girlfriend, choking her, digging up the body of her ex-boyfriend, and bringing his remains to dinner because you believe she still loves him.

Maybe even more than she loves you, despite him being deceased. "

Hearing her say it all out loud, one thing after another, made me feel like I needed a straitjacket.

"I know that shit sounds crazy," I muttered.

"I don't think you do, Cortez," she said, her voice firmer now. "I think you feel the guilt, maybe even the shame, but I'm not sure you understand why those choices felt acceptable in those moments."

She paused, and I could feel the shift.

"I brought this up because I want to talk about the day your mother died."

Talking to Naomi had been easy since day one.

She was an older black woman who had been through hell but didn't wear it like a wound.

She wore it like a badge. Telling her about the things I'd done didn't feel like a confession.

She didn't judge. She just jotted stuff down and kept her truths blunt.

"If you're not comfortable—" she started.

"I didn't know we were leaving," I explained, voice rough like gravel. "It was still dark. I was knocked out when she came into my room and told me we had to go. I was confused, but she was... determined."

I rubbed my hands together, trying to burn the memory out of my skin. I could still feel the fabric of my younger self rushing to get dressed.

"We made it outside, and I felt her grip on my hand loosen. I thought maybe she had calmed down. I know now it was because she saw my father sitting in the car."

I felt the memory wrap around my chest and squeeze like a fist.

"He told her to get in. She said no, said she didn't want to go anywhere with him."

I paused, and my jaw tightened

"Then he rolled the window down... and pointed a gun at me."

Naomi stayed silent for a moment, then asked, "How did that make you feel? I know you were young, but in past sessions, you said your father was your hero. That you wanted to be just like him."

"My mom used to tell me to be careful with what I said because words have power," I muttered. "Wanting to be like that man is probably the reason I'm here now."

I shook my head. I'd spent my whole life trying not to become that nigga, and somehow, I still ended up a version of him. Not the version who'd kill the woman he loves, but the version who didn't care about making her suffer.

"Words do have power," Naomi gently voiced. "But you were a child who looked up to his father. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Maybe." I shrugged. "In that moment, though, I don't think I felt anything. Yeah, I was scared, but fear was natural. Beyond that? I was numb."

Naomi jotted something down. "What happened next?"

"My mom didn't beg or cry. She just whispered for me to go back inside and call the police, so that's what I did. By the time the cops got there, they were both dead. Carbon monoxide poisoning."

I couldn't keep still. My knee bounced, and my hands curled into fists as my chest burned.

"They said the exhaust system looked tampered with. He planned it. The man I wanted to be like used me to get her into the car just so he could kill them both."

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling.

"That's probably when I stopped trusting the world," I confessed. "If the two people who brought me into it could end like that... what the fuck did that mean for me?"

Naomi set her notepad down and met my eyes not with judgment, but with the kind of focus that made it clear she wasn't gonna make excuses for me.

"Cortez," she voiced gently, "I want you to really sit with something."

I nodded.

"You were a child when your parents died.

A child who trusted his father and admired him.

And in one moment, that trust was shattered.

.. violently. You were used as bait in a murder-suicide.

That wasn't just a loss. It was betrayal at the deepest level.

That kind of pain rewires how you view the world and how you define safety. And especially how you define love."

She paused, letting her words sink in.

"When someone you love teaches you that love can kill, your brain doesn't forget that.

It learns to protect itself. So now, love doesn't feel safe unless you're in control.

And when you feel that control slipping, even just a little, you panic.

You don't look like someone panicking, but emotionally?

You're back on that sidewalk, watching everything fall apart. "

I shifted in my seat. This shit was starting to get uncomfortable.

"That's why your reactions spiral," she continued.

"You believe that if you lose someone, it means you failed to keep them, and failure feels like death.

So instead of sitting in that fear, you take control.

You test their love, and you push until they break, because if they stay after all that, then maybe it means they won't leave. "

Her voice softened.

"But Cortez... that's not love. That's trauma talking. That's a scared little boy trying to control the chaos, so it doesn't destroy him again."

My thoughts were spiraling deeper into my sessions when my phone rang through the car's Bluetooth, snapping me back to the present. I reached toward the dash and pressed the green button to answer the call.

"Everything's in motion for this evening," Killian relayed before I got a word in.

"Wassup to you too, nigga." I laughed, shaking my head. I pulled my whip close to the curb and pushed the gear to park.

"We have no time for pleasantries."

"Yeah, ight, just make sure you got everything situated on your end."

"I said it's already in motion. Either you didn't hear me, or your time away dulled more than your edge. Let me know if we need to start calling you Simple. Simple and Four does have a unique ring to it."

My jaw ticked as I stared out the windshield.

"Talk nice to the muthafucka who did what no one else was willing to do for you," I shot back.

"Technically, Ghost found her," he said. "But yes, thank you for your... contribution."

I let out a low laugh, shaking my head. Killian was a peculiar nigga, but he never pretended to be anything else. This world was full of fake loyalty and half-truths. Killian being himself, no matter who he was around, mattered more than the bullshit he often said.

"Syn will be meeting you at the restaurant," Killian said.

"Aight, cool, but are you sure that's where Four's gonna be?"

"Yes. I've been monitoring Kysre, and with you gone, I took it upon myself to make sure River was being looked after."

"Looked after how?" I frowned.

"I observed and intervened when necessary. That's what looking after someone entails, in case you forgot."

"Ight. I'll see you when we meet up," I stated, ending the call.

I hopped out of my car and walked across the street to stand in front of Gravehart Homes.

The outside of the building still looked the same, but that was where the familiarity ended.

Once Navy took over, she did everything in her power to make sure the inside of this place didn't remind Honor, Wolfe, and me of the shit we dealt with and the hell we raised.

Wolfe might've gone inside once or twice after Navy took over.

Honor only came when Navy forced him, and I came only when needed.

I used to hate this place, but those two months away forced me to realize certain things about my past. I didn't hate this place because of what I dealt with.

I hated this muthafucka because it raised the pieces of me that my parents left behind.

It was loud here, with kids yelling and fights in the hallway.

I started popping pills here. Wolfe broke bones, and Honor got his ego bruised in this building.

Too much shit happened here, and it shaped all three of us.

It defined how we saw the world and put meanings to the words that we lived by.

Through all of that, though, this was where I found family.

A fucked-up family, but family, nonetheless.

Catching a black car in my peripheral view, I turned my head. A Bentley Bentayga Azure pulled up slowly. I leaned against the fence, waiting on these niggas to get out. Wolfe climbed out first and walked over.

"My nigga!" He smirked, dapping me up and pulling me into a hug. "I missed you, kid."

"I was gone for two months. That's nothing." I chuckled, happy to see my baby brother.

"Tell that shit to Chosyn. I had to hear her curse you out for two months. The only time she shut up was when I put my dick to her lips."

"I'ma tell her you said that shit." I laughed.

"Tell her. She's gon' agree anyway." He grinned and then got serious as he looked me over. "Time away did you good. You look more relaxed."

"Somethin' like that, but I still got a ways to go." I shrugged. "Why is your brother actin' like a heartbroken teenager?"

"You left without sayin' shit. I knew you were thinkin' about leaving, but Honor didn't know anything. Then y'all got into it and y'all's shit never got resolved."

"Tell him to get out of the car so I can make this quick."

Wolfe walked back over to the truck and knocked on the window. Honor's bitch ass rolled it down, and the two exchanged a few words before Honor stepped out.

"Wassup." He nodded coldly.

"Look, we don't gotta peace shit up, but I'm not about to keep how I'm feeling bottled up either.

This right here," I nodded toward the building, "this is our roots.

We became family here, and nothing is bigger than family.

I apologize for how I handled things. I reacted without expressing my disappointment.

That's on me, but how I feel still stands.

Wolfe might be cool with you lying and keepin' shit to yourself, but I'm not.

Secrets have already tried to tear this family apart twice.

Eventually, that try is gon' turn into success.

I don't wanna be around when that happens. I love y'all too much for that."

"Fuck does that mean? You're a fuckin' Gravehart! There's no getting away from that," Honor snapped.

"Nigga, you think I don't know that?" I stepped toward him, my voice rising.

"Nobody knows that better than I do. Wolfe and I have always done what you asked and been by your side through all your bullshit.

The same way my heart pumps blood for y'all, I'd drain my veins dry behind the two of you, but what are you willing to do for us? "

"Wolfe, get this nigga outta my face askin' stupid shit," Honor sneered.

"Y'all gotta chill with this bullshit. We're family," Wolfe cut in, trying to hold back the tension.

"Tell the nigga tryin' to break up the band that shit." Honor laughed dryly. "Talkin' 'bout 'what am I willing to do for y'all?' I've done it all. I carry the weight of this family on my muthafuckin' shoulders. Neither of y'all ask if I'm straight, but you're mad 'cause I keep shit to myself?"

"I'm mad because you don't trust us enough to talk, nigga! Navy ain't the only one who should know shit about you. Real shit? Wolfe and I don't even know you. We know what you show us."

"You sound like a bitch wantin' to know my every thought."

I scratched along my jaw and stepped back.

"I'll be that, but this family shit between us? It's a wrap. I can't fuck with a nigga I can't trust to tell the truth."

Without waiting for a response, I started walking away.

"Nigga, fuck you!" Honor's voice cracked, full of hurt.

"How you not gon' fuck with me when I made you nigga!

Without me, yo' ass would still be popping pills and crying behind the bitch that snaked your dumbass.

I made you my nigga. You're a fucking millionaire because of me.

Shit, you're alive because of me. I handled that Rakim shit.

.. me not fucking you. Fuck you think is gon' happen now that you're not fuckin' with me?

Huh, Crown? Fuck you think gon' happen?"

Wolfe's voice came quick. "Aye, chill!"

But it didn't matter. The damage was already done, and it cut too deep to ignore.

"Nah fuck that shit and fuck you, Crown. You a bitch-ass nigga forreal!"

I stopped and turned back toward them.

"You didn't make me, Honor." I grimaced. "You helped a lost little nigga find his footing in a cold-ass world. And for that? You get a pass for the bullshit you just said, but say some wild shit like that again, and I'ma use what you taught me to put you down."

"Put me down then, nigga! I'm right here!" Honor shouted, slamming his palms into his chest. "I'm right fucking here, Cortez! Put what I taught you to good use!"

"Wolfe. Get him outta here," I warned.

"Nah, nigga!" Honor barked. "Come put me down!"

I stared at him for a second, chest heaving, pride bleeding from every word, and shook my head. I walked away, not saying shit while this nigga kept shouting. I got in my truck and pulled off.

"Fuck that nigga," I muttered under my breath.

As kids, blood didn't guarantee us love in life. Honor, Wolfe, and I created our family, thinking we built bonds rooted in love and loyalty, but it was feeling more like shared pain we never healed from.

Trauma wrapped in brotherhood.

Survival dressed up as love.

Wreckage disguised as roots.

And instead of seeing it for what it really was, we let the things we lost blind us, just to be left standing in the ashes, wondering why it all went up in flames.