Page 165 of The Wright Man

His voice was like a blanket being thrown over a fire.

Safe. Steady. Him.

And I clung to it. The only thing I could cling to. My hands shaking. My soul shattered.

"Maleek..." I said again, and it came out in pieces, between sobs and gasps.

"I need you."

The truth I hadn't been able to say for years. The truth I'd been burying in the ashes of the life I built with someone else.

I needed him.

And I knew—without a doubt—he was already on his way.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Maleek

"Just stay on the phone, okay? Don't hang up. I'm coming."

I was already halfway out the door before the sentence finished leaving my mouth, phone clutched between my ear and shoulder, hands moving on autopilot—shoving on sneakers, grabbing my wallet and keys off the entryway table. I didn't even bother turning off the lights or locking the door.

All I could hear was her.

Angelica. Crying.

No — breaking.

These weren't the quiet tears I'd heard before. These were ragged, guttural sobs, the kind that didn't come from the throat but from somewhere under it. A place deeper than language. And they were pouring through the speaker like a flood.

I'd never heard her cry like this.

Not when Mama died. Not when I said goodbye at the airport. Not when she told me about the worst day of her life a few hours ago.

This was new. And it scared the hell out of me.

"I'm getting in the car right now, Angel," I said as I slid into the driver's seat of my truck, shoved the key in the ignition, and started it with a roar. "I'm putting you on Bluetooth, okay? I'm with you the whole way."

The moment the connection clicked over, her sobs filled the cabin—louder, echoing through the speakers like a ghost I couldn't get my arms around. I gripped the wheel tighter and peeled out of the driveway, tires screeching against the pavement, adrenaline already slamming through my veins.

"Angel," I said, forcing calm into my voice, forcing it to be the anchor I knew she needed. "Baby, I need you to breathe. Just breathe with me, alright? In through your nose, out through your mouth. You can do that for me, yeah?"

I didn't know where the hell I was going, and I didn't care. I'd drive across the country if I had to. But I needed her to help me get to her.

"Angel, I need you to tell me where you are. I need something—anything. A road, a sign, a gas station. Talk to me."

There was a long, hiccupping gasp. Then another. I listened as she forced air into her lungs like it was the hardest thing in the world. Like just existing in her body was a battle she was losing.

"I—I pulled over," she finally choked out, her voice thin and shattered. "I was driving and—I couldn't drive straight—I didn't wanna crash."

Jesus Christ. I clenched my jaw so tight I thought I heard a molar crack.

"Okay," I said, softer now. "Okay, you did the right thing. You pulled over. That's good, baby. That's really good. Look around. Can you see a sign? A mile marker?"

There was a pause, the sound of fabric rustling, the slight echo of wind across her speaker as she opened the door and stepped out.

"I'm—I'm off Route 50," she said. "Eastbound. Marker… mile marker 35. I think."