Page 117 of Riot

And here I was, showing up for him, hoping it was enough.

Sloane sat down beside me, crossing her legs with a grace that felt practiced. There was something comforting about her presence, steady, elegant, like she’d seen the worst life could throw and still chose softness.

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” she said gently. “He’s not the easiest man to comfort.”

“I’m not leaving,” I replied, firm. “He’s been there for me in ways no one else has.”

She studied me for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Good. He needs someone who sees him.”

I turned to her, surprised by the way her words wrapped around something so raw inside me. “You know Riot well?”

Sloane gave a half-smile. “Well enough. Riot and Creed are very much alike. Though Riot carries more on him than Creed.”

“Not sure if Riot told you that I’m a therapist,” she said. “Licensed in three states. I specialize in trauma.

Something hit me. I knew why she was telling me. If Riot talked about me then he told her how we met.

I blinked at her, unsure of how to respond. “You knew about me?”

“I did,” she said gently. “Creed told me the basics after Riot brought you home. I didn’t push for more. Your story is your story. If you ever want to talk about it I’m here.”

“I don’t really know what to say,” I murmured. “Half the time, I don’t even know how I’m functioning. It’s like… part of me is still there. In that house. I’ve come so far though.”

Sloane nodded with a softness that felt earned. “That’s because trauma doesn’t leave the body just because the body leaves the trauma. You survived. That’s step one. But now your nervous system is trying to figure out what safety even means.”

I looked at her again, taking in what she said. Like maybe she could see the parts of me I’d been hiding behind my hunger to move forward. My need to create. My obsession with distracting myself from what I hadn't healed yet.

She didn’t pity me. She didn’t talk to me like I was fragile.

“If you ever want to talk,” she continued, “my office is in Harlem. I also do sessions virtually, if that’s easier. There’s no pressure. But I want you to have a space where you’re not just surviving. I know Riot feels like your savior but if you want to feel safe no matter what I can help you. You can to learn how to exist fully. Safely. In your body again.”

My throat tightened.

I hadn’t even realized how much I’d been floating. Like I’d gotten used to living halfway out of myself just to stay sane. Evenwith Riot. Even with all the progress. There was still a piece of me I hadn’t reclaimed.

“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. “I’ve… never had a therapist. Never even talked to anyone about what happened. Not really.”

“You will,” Sloane said with certainty, not hope. “When you’re ready.”

We sat in silence for a few moments after that, two women bound by different pains, but connected all the same. I liked her. Not just because she was kind, but because she was the kind of woman who fought for softness in a world that tried to make us hard. And something told me that when the time came, I’d take her up on her offer.

Eventually Creed and Riot came back to sit with us.

The doctor reappeared a few minutes later. Tall. White coat. Eyes that hadn’t seen sleep in a while.

He cleared his throat and looked between us. “We’re going to admit Ms. King for observation while we wait on the full scan results.”

My spine straightened. “Observation?”

“Some of her vitals are concerning. Her oxygen saturation was low when she first came in. Bloodwork showed elevated tumor markers. CA 125, CEA, and LDH are all out of range. That’s not conclusive on its own, but… it paints a picture.”

Sloane stood next to me. “What kind of picture?”

The doctor shifted, like he was used to bad news and didn’t want to deliver it again. “We can’t confirm until the PET scan and MRI come back, but sir, you may be right. Based on her symptoms, labwork, and presentation, we’re looking at something systemic. Possibly advanced.”

Riot swallowed hard. “Lung?”

The doctor nodded slowly, his gaze settling on Riot. “That’s our leading suspicion. The coughing, shortness ofbreath, memory issues, even the paranoia… all consistent with advanced-stage lung cancer. But it may not be localized. Until imaging comes back, we won’t know if it’s spread.”

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