Page 153 of The Wright Man

And I fucking hated myself for it.

I scrolled through our texts again, even though I knew nothing new was there.

Me: Ang, pick up.

Me: Angel, please pick up the phone.

Me: I just need to know you're okay.

Me: Please.

Me: Just call me. Please.

Unread.

No delivered receipts. No typing bubbles. Nothing.

Just silence.

I stared at the last message like it might sprout wings and fly to her if I just willed it hard enough. Then the screen went black, like even the phone had given up on me.

I dropped it on the coffee table and sank back into the couch, but my body wouldn't stop buzzing. My skin itched. My chest ached. I was sweating, cold, and hot all at once. Like my nervous system couldn't decide if it wanted to fight, flee, or collapse.

I'd spent my entire life learning restraint. Learning how to hold the line. To stay in control. It was the only thing that kept me from turning out like my father.

But that line had snapped today.

What restraint? the voice in my head sneered. It sounded like Cap. Like judgment wrapped in disappointment. If you had some restraint, you wouldn't be here.

And he was right.

What the hell was I thinking?

She had just cracked herself wide open. Shown me the deepest, darkest scar on her soul. Her voice was still breaking when she said her daughter's name. Her fists were still trembling. Her knees barely held her up.

And what did I do?

I kissed her.

No. Not kissed her—devoured her.

Tongue down her throat. Hands everywhere. Carrying her like she was mine to lift, mine to hold, mine to—

Goddamn it, Maleek.

I cursed and shoved up from the couch, dragging both hands through my hair. My body wanted to crawl out of itself. My muscles twitched like they wanted to run, punch something, lift weights until I blacked out—anything but sit in this shame and confusion.

And the worst part?

It felt good.

It felt right.

It felt like she belonged there—in my arms, in my mouth, in that moment—like the years apart never happened. Like her kiss was what I'd been waiting on my whole fucking life.

But it was wrong.

Timing was wrong. Situation was wrong. She was still married. She was still mourning. She was still—