Page 168 of The Wright Man

So I gave her a piece of me in return.

"I ever tell you why I love those damn lemon squares so much?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

She sniffled, her voice small and wet. "No…"

I could picture her perfectly—eyes swollen, bottom lip trembling, holding onto my voice like a lifeline. She didn't know it yet, but I'd always been holding onto her the same way.

"It's not just 'cause they're good," I said, my voice soft and steady, like I was talking to that little girl on the porch across from mine again. "Don't get me wrong—they're fire. But that's not what makes 'em special."

I took the exit and glanced down at the GPS. Almost there. Another five minutes, if that.

"They taste like the day we met," I said. "That first day. My whole world had just been turned upside down. I didn't understand half of what was happening—I just knew my mom was sad, my father was gone, Kareem was pissed, and Andre wasn't with us. I felt like I'd been ripped in half."

I paused, eyes scanning the side of the road as I merged into the right lane. Hazard lights flickered in the distance like a heartbeat.

"And then there you were," I continued, my chest aching from the memory, "in that bright-ass yellow dress, smiling and wild-haired, staring at me like I wasn't some sad little kid on a porch with a chip on his shoulder. You smiled at me like I already belonged to you."

The words felt truer now than they ever had. Like they'd always been waiting to be said, tucked behind my ribs.

"You looked like a lemon drop or a sunbeam or somethin'. Loud and warm and sweet. You changed my whole day in one second. My whole life, really."

Her breath hitched. She was listening.

"Your lemon squares taste like that," I told her, my voice catching at the edges. "Like home. Like light and love with lemons. I've been chasin' that taste ever since."

And then I saw her.

Her little silver car was pulled over on the shoulder, hazard lights blinking softly against the dark like a lighthouse in a storm. I slowed down and parked right behind her, my heart kicking against my ribs.

"I see you, Ang," I murmured, as if she could feel my eyes on her. "I'm pulling up right behind you. Unlock the door for me, baby."

I left the phone on the passenger seat and stepped out into the cool night. Air sharp against my face, headlights of passing cars streaking by in blurs of color and sound. I was already moving toward her.

The second I opened her driver-side door, I saw her.

She was curled up in the seat, legs pulled tight to her chest like she was trying to fold herself into nothing. Her face was red and raw, hair wild, eyes vacant and wide. She looked up at me like she wasn't sure if I was real or just something her mind conjured up from all the memories she couldn't hold alone anymore.

The dome light flickered on. She winced at the brightness and turned her face, ashamed to be seen like this.

"Maleek…" she whispered, and the sound was so full of relief and heartbreak that I thought I might fall to my knees right there.

I didn't say anything. Didn't need to.

I just reached in and gently helped her out of the car, her body light and heavy all at once in my arms. Her knees buckled as soon as her feet hit the ground, so I held her tighter. Steadier. Forehead to forehead, breath to breath. My hands on her back. Her fingers twisted into my hoodie. The sound of passing traffic disappeared. The cold wind stopped existing. There was only us.

"I've got you now," I murmured, my voice low and certain, more vow than comfort. "You're safe."

She let out a breath, just one, but it sounded like it came from the deepest part of her.

I didn't tell her I loved her. Not because I didn't feel it—but because she wasn't ready. She was bleeding from a wound I couldn't see but could feel in my bones, and I wasn't going to add the weight of my heart to hers. Not yet.

But I held her like I had since I was five. Like she was mine.

And I'd keep holding her for as long as it took.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Angelica