Page 119 of The Wright Man

Judge Judy Jr: I'm not telling her shit.

Judge Judy Jr: Your lil thirst traps are your own responsibility.

Me: You still getting those forms to me tonight?

Judge Judy Jr: Yup. You'll have everything before 9.

Judge Judy Jr: We're gonna bring him home.

I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and let it land. The weight of it. The promise. The possibility.

We were going to bring Kareem home.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, feeling the early evening air move through me like a blessing. The ache in my chest wasn't pain—it was release. It was the first real breath I'd taken since I was fifteen years old.

It felt like hope.

Like maybe we were finally about to win.

I was just finishing my message to him when I heard her laugh.

That laugh. That soft, sharp-edged melody — the kind that could cut right through you and still feel warm on the other side of it.

Angelica.

I turned automatically, like muscle memory. Like her voice had always been the homing beacon pulling me back to myself. She was coming down Cap's porch steps, Tupperware in one hand and her other arm wrapped around her dad's broad frame, mid-laugh at one of his "Cap-isms." I couldn't hear the words, but the way she threw her head back and slapped his shoulder like she was five again told me it was one of the good ones.

Cap saw me first. Of course he did.

"Ay, Devil Dog!" he hollered, squinting against the setting sun. "I know you ain't walking up to my house shirtless like you own it. The only half-naked Marine allowed across this threshold is me, son."

I smirked, chest still heaving from my run. Sweat clung to my back and made my compression pants feel like a second skin, but I stood a little taller anyway.

Then she turned.

The last breath I had in me evaporated like steam.

Her skin glowed in the gold hour light like it was made of honey and defiance. Her yellow tank top clung to her like it missed her every time she exhaled, and those white shorts—Goddamn—should've been illegal in at least thirteen states. Her legs looked endless, and the soft sway of her hips as she walked made my brain short-circuit. She had bangles up both arms, delicate gold chains resting on her collarbone, and her curls were pulled into a pineapple that gave her face nowhere to hide.

Not that she ever needed to. Not that I'd ever want her to.

But it was her eyes that did it. Lit up. Bright and mischievous. Not dulled by sadness or tension. Not dimmed by worry or that passive shadow I hated seeing on her face. This was the real her.

My Angel. The spark returned to her fire.

And fuck me if it didn't hit me in the chest harder than any punch I ever took in a fight.

"Leek?" she said when her eyes finally landed on me. Her voice cracked at the end, like her heart recognized mine before her head caught up.

"Hey, Angel." I swallowed. Twice. "Y'all got a minute?"

Cap clapped a hand on my back before I could even explain. "For you? Always."

Angelica's eyes scanned me from head to toe—her gaze lingering a second too long at my bare chest—and for a second I forgot what the hell I'd even come over to say.

Right. Kareem.

I blew out a breath. "It's about Reem. My lawyer called today. We found her."