Page 221 of The Wright Man

Even now, when I had nothing to offer but a few bruised boxes and a bleeding heart.

Once the last item was loaded into the house, I stood and crossed the yard to where Daddy, Riq, and Sticks were laughing about some Marine story that involved a goat and a bar fight. I didn't ask questions.

"Thank you," I said, meaning it with my whole chest. "Seriously. I... I don't even have the words."

Riq waved me off. "You don't need 'em. Maleek is family, which means you are too."

"Facts," Sticks added, clapping my shoulder like we'd been cool for years. "You ever need anything, call us. Day or night."

Daddy nodded, his smile easy. "Same goes for y'all. Y'all are welcome over for a drink anytime. Long as you don't come empty handed."

"You like vodka, OG?" Riq asked.

"Hell no, I drink good liquor," Daddy shot back.

They all laughed, and I felt my heart expand in my chest—so big it almost hurt. Gavin had tried so hard to isolate me. To convince me that no one else would love me through the chaos. And here was Maleek, adding to my circle like it was second nature. Like it wasn't even a question.

We talked logistics for a few more minutes, then I handed over my keys and hugged them both, and Riq, the bold bastard, held on extra long.

"I'm just bonding with my new sister," he grinned over my shoulder.

"My foot gon' bond with your ass if you don't let go," Maleek said dryly from behind me.

Riq released me with a cackle, clapped Maleek on the back, and the two of them shared a dap so complicated it made my head spin. Then daddy pulled me into a hug of his own, whispered "You're good now," and headed home, promising to check in later.

Which left me with Maleek.

He turned to me, eyes soft now, but still burning. "You ready?"

I looked at him—this man who had always been mine, even when I didn't know how to receive it—and nodded.

He held out his hand.

I took it.

And together, we walked toward the front door… Our front door now.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Angelica

The second the door clicked shut behind us, I froze.

The house looked like a shipping depot. My things were everywhere—my green trunk by the garage door, my mirror leaning against the hallway wall, the velvet armchair awkwardly shoved between an end table and the shoe rack. My mixer and books were stacked neatly on the kitchen counter like they belonged there, but I knew better.

I didn't have the right to take over his space.

I swallowed down the guilt that crawled up my throat like acid. "Where's your furniture?" I asked, eyes scanning the room like something might shift into place and make me feel less like an intruder.

Maleek shrugged, calm as ever. "I put it in Mama's room. Just until we figure out how we want to set things up."

His tone was so casual, like it was nothing. Like I hadn't just dropped a whole life's worth of baggage, emotional and literal, into his lap without warning.

I blinked. "Maleek…"

He looked at me. Patient. Unbothered. The man had just unloaded half a townhouse into his place and was standing there like it was Sunday morning and he had nowhere better to be.

"You didn't have to put stuff in there," I said quickly, the words tumbling out now. "That's your mom's room. You haven't even moved in there yet, I know that. You still keep the door shut like she's coming back, and I— I just—fuck, I didn't mean to take over everything. I'm already invading your space, and now I've dumped all my shit here like some squatter with nice throw pillows—"