Page 191 of The Wright Man

Another pause. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head.

"I don't have doubts about you, Maleek," he said finally. "I never have. You love that girl with your whole damn chest. I see it. Hell, I saw it when y'all were fifteen. But I'mma say this anyway."

I stood still on the sidewalk, listening.

"She's strong, yeah. But she's grieving, too. The marriage, the betrayal, the version of herself she thought she had to be for that man. Don't rush her, even if she tries to rush herself. Be the soft place, not another reason she gotta build armor."

I felt those words settle deep in my chest, serious and solid.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. 'Cause if you hurt her—"

"I won't," I cut in, firm.

He let the interruption slide. "Didn't think you would. Just had to say it out loud. She chose right. Took her long enough, but she chose right."

A rare kind of warmth lit up in my chest. I couldn't remember the last time a man I respected looked me in the eye—even if it was just over the phone—and told me I was worthy of his daughter. That I was right for her.

Cap wasn't just giving me his blessing. He was trusting me with his legacy.

"I got her," I said. "You don't gotta worry."

"I don't," he replied. "But I do gotta say one more thing."

"Shoot."

"If that boy—Gavin—ever pulls some shit again, says some wild shit, shows up acting crazy? You let her handle it her way. Unless she gives the nod. Then?"

"Then it's open season," I said, grinning.

"Damn right. We take the gloves off. Make him wish he never met her."

We both laughed, but it was only half a joke.

Cap wrapped it up with a few more words about checking in later this week, and told me to tell Angie he loved her. I promised I would, and we hung up with a quiet understanding between us: he trusted me. He had her back. And so did I.

I slid my phone back in my pocket and climbed into my truck, still grinning.

I pulled out of the lot and headed toward the Thai spot Angie mentioned a few weeks ago, figuring I'd grab enough to feed her and the whole damn Reed sisterhood, then I was going home.

And somehow, even with the drama and the broken marriage behind us… it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

Damn near perfect.

I opened the door to the house and immediately knew I had stepped into some kind of post-divorce fever dream.

There was glitter on the goddamn floor. Everywhere. Like somebody had murdered a disco ball and dumped the remains across the living room carpet. I blinked, tracking sparkles of penis-shaped confetti glinting in the entryway light, and then glanced up at a crooked banner stretched above the couch that read:

"End of an Error" in bold, sparkly letters.

I grinned.

Walking in with a bag of Thai takeout in one hand, I was feeling lighter than I had in months. Cap's call had settled something in me. Like I had full clearance to be happy, to be hers. And coming home to this? It somehow made that happiness real.

"Thank God you're home," Bella deadpanned from the couch, curled up with a laptop and a tall glass of iced tea, not a drop of liquor in sight. "She's on her fifth solo of the night. Please fix your girlfriend."

That's when I heard it. Angelica's voice—full throttle, half-slurred, and way too committed to the high notes—coming from the hallway like the walls themselves had been possessed by Jhene Aiko.