Page 189 of The Wright Man

But if I was being real? I'd only been halfway in the game.

Because all day, my phone had been buzzing with chaos. Sweet, ridiculous, beautiful chaos—courtesy of Angelica and her divorce party prep with her sisters.

Tina apparently ordered penis confetti in three colors. Bella had been playing "Not Gon' Cry" on loop long enough to summon Mary J. herself from the ether. I got a blurry photo of Angelica in a wine-colored satin robe, tiara tilted on her head, eyes glassy with laughter. Then a video of Bella doing a dramatic toast with a penis straw while Tina hyped her up on FaceTime like they were at the BET Awards.

And then the last one. Just a simple text.

Angel: I miss you. Is that dumb? I just saw you like 8 hours ago

I swear I almost dropped a dumbbell on my foot smiling at that.

Because I missed her too. It didn't make sense, not logically. But nothing about love had ever followed logic for me—not with her. I tapped out a quick reply and dropped my phone face down beside the water bottle, dragging my forearm across my forehead before throwing another combo at the bag.

It hit me all over again, standing there in my own gym, the air tinged with sweat and lemon disinfectant—that 24 hours ago, I'd damn near lost her.

Now? She was mine.

Not fully. Not legally. Not until those papers were filed and she said it with her whole chest. But I wasn't waiting to love her right. I'd spent too long watching from the sidelines. That part of my life was over.

I rolled my shoulders and threw one last solid right hook before stepping back, chest heaving. The satisfying sting of impact buzzed up my arm as I shook it out.

That's when the front door opened, the gym bell giving a half-hearted jingle.

"Is it safe for me to be over here, or am I still at risk of catching a left hook to the jaw?" Riq's voice echoed off the concrete, all grin and mischief.

I smirked, grabbing my towel from the bench. "You're safe. For now."

"Good to know," he said, heading toward the boxing area with a duffel slung over one shoulder. "Didn't wanna interrupt any more… intimate moments."

I gave him a dry look and tossed the towel over my neck. "Ain't nobody interrupting nothin'. You just got shit timing."

Behind him, Sticks walked in, a protein shake already in hand. He looked like he'd just come from a meeting—fresh polo, clipboard in his other hand. He clocked me immediately.

"Damn, you cheesin' again," he said. "Must be real good news if you out here looking like somebody just handed you season tickets and a stress-free Black family reunion."

I didn't even try to hide the smile tugging at my lips. "It's good," I said, letting the understatement hang.

Riq cocked his head. "So… y'all cool now? After you went full SEAL Team Six yesterday to track her down?"

"I didn't track her down," I said, grabbing my water. "I found her. We talked. We good."

Sticks raised an eyebrow. "Good like 'I forgive you' good or good like 'I’m leaving my husband for you' good?"

I looked between them, then let the truth fall from my chest.

"We're together. For real this time."

That shut them up.

For a beat.

Then—

"About. Fucking. Time," Riq said, throwing his duffel down and pointing at me like I was the last puzzle piece in a therapy session.

"Y'all been moving like two satellites orbiting the same ass planet but refusing to dock."

Sticks just grinned and shook his head. "I mean, I had my money on her kicking Ole boy to the curb eventually. But I figured you'd still be pacing the perimeter like a guard dog for at least another year."