Recovering

Chris Brown's P.O.V

"Family of Kayla?"

The sound of the doctor's voice made all of us snap to attention. We immediately stood, eyes locked on the man who had been updating us for hours. The tension in the waiting room was thick, suffocating.

"Ms. Kayla has just woken up," he informed us. "Only two visitors at a time."

Relief flooded me, but it was quickly replaced by nerves. Ms. Greene, Kayla's mother, placed a gentle hand on my arm before speaking softly.

"Come on, Chris."

Without a word, I followed her. My heart pounded as we stepped into the elevator. The ride felt longer than it actually was, the small ding signaling our arrival making my stomach twist. Ms. Greene walked ahead, leading us toward Kayla's room, and I trailed behind, trying to prepare myself for whatever I was about to see.

When we reached her room, Ms. Greene entered first while I lingered at the door, taking a deep breath before stepping inside.

The second I saw Kayla, my chest tightened.

She looked so fragile.

Her left leg was wrapped in a thick cast, her arm bound in another. A bandage covered a portion of her forehead, and her face was marked with bruises. Seeing her like this—so unlike her usual vibrant self—sent a wave of guilt crashing over me.

"Aww, my poor baby," Ms. Greene murmured, rushing to her bedside.

"Hi, Momma," Kayla rasped, her voice weak.

"Look at you," her mother said, gently brushing her fingers over Kayla's cheek. "You're all broken up."

"I know."

I stayed quiet, letting them have their moment, but my mind wouldn't stop racing. A million thoughts ran through my head, each one more painful than the last.

Then, Kayla's voice cut through my thoughts.

"Ma, can you let me and Chris have a minute?"

Kayla Greene's P.O.V

I watched as my mom hesitated before nodding. She kissed my forehead, gave Chris a small pat on the shoulder, and then left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Silence filled the air.

I turned my head slightly, looking over at Chris. He sat stiffly in a chair near the foot of my bed, his posture tense, his face unreadable. But I could see it in his eyes—he was hurting.

"Why are you way over there?" I asked, my voice still raspy.

Chris looked up at me, his eyes rimmed red, and for the first time, I saw the pain in them.

"Babe, come here," I sighed.

He stood slowly, walking toward me like he was afraid I might break if he moved too fast. When he reached my side, he hesitated before carefully taking my hand in his. His touch was warm, but his grip was firm, like he needed to feel me to believe I was really here.

"I thought I lost you, Kay," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

A single tear slipped down his cheek, and without thinking, I reached up to wipe it away. Seeing him like this—so vulnerable, so raw—made my heart ache. Ignoring the soreness in my body, I lifted myself slightly and pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

"I wouldn't leave you without a fight, Chris," I whispered against his mouth.

"I love you, mamas," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

I searched his eyes, looking for any sign of doubt, but all I saw was sincerity. He meant it.

"I love you too, baby," I said back without hesitation.

Carefully, I scooted over slightly, making room for him. He hesitated for a second before carefully climbing onto the bed, making sure not to jostle me too much. His long arms wrapped around me, his warmth surrounding me like a protective shield.

"My body hurts so bad," I admitted, resting my head against his chest.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you, Kay," he whispered, holding me close but still gentle, mindful of my injuries.

"That shit was so scary... You don't even understand," I murmured, my mind replaying the moment over and over again.

"Shhh, baby," Chris soothed, stroking my hair. "You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready."

For a moment, we just laid there, the steady rhythm of his breathing calming me.

"You know the crew is in the waiting room, right?" he mumbled after a while. "Been here since your mom called me."

I blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "They wouldn't leave."

My throat tightened. I had distanced myself from them for the past month, thinking maybe they wouldn't care anymore. Yet, here they were.

"Well," I swallowed hard. "I guess you can call them up here."

"You sure?"

I nodded, and he pulled out his phone.

"Nee-Nee? Y'all can come up now... Floor 4, room 367. Aight."

As soon as he hung up, he turned to me with an unreadable expression.

"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"You know sometimes I do dumb shit, right? Without thinking things through?"

I furrowed my brows. "Yeah? Where is this coming from?"

"Just know—"

Before he could finish, the door burst open.

"KAYLA KAY!"

I barely had time to react before Nia practically lunged toward me, her arms wrapping around me as gently as she could.

"Kayyyyyy, I missed you, baby!" she cried, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

"I'm glad you're okay, sis," Destiny added, squeezing my hand.

"Baby Kay, you good, fam?" August asked, his expression serious but relieved.

I managed a weak chuckle. "Yeah, Aug, I'm good."

Ty grinned. "Ion know about y'all, but when Kay get better, we turning up!"

I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead. "Ty, please... I have a headache."

"My bad, ma," he laughed. "I'm just one loud-ass nigga."

"Ty, for real, chill," Chris grumbled, clearly irritated. "She ain't feelin' it."

"Aight, cuh," Ty muttered, holding his hands up. "Say no more."

Then, I took a deep breath. There was something I needed to say.

"But for real, guys..." I started, my voice quieter now. "I wanna apologize for being distant this past month. I know I've been pushing y'all away, and I thought maybe y'all wouldn't care anymore. But... you're here. And that means everything to me. So, thank you."

A brief silence filled the room before August finally spoke up.

"Ain't nothing to apologize for, Kay. We here, always."

One by one, everyone nodded in agreement.

I exhaled, a weight lifting off my chest.

No matter what, I had them. And that meant everything.