Page 25 of The Wright Man

He softened just a little. "You seen her yet?"

My jaw tightened. "Nah."

"Ah."

I didn't have to ask who he meant. They'd never met her. But they knew. Everybody in the platoon knew. The girl from home. The one I wrote to like a lifeline for the first four years. The one whose photo I kept folded in my bible, wrapped in a plastic bag so the sweat wouldn't smudge the ink.

They saw the picture—me and her, twelve years old, sitting on the porch shoulder to shoulder, staring at each other like we didn't know the world was watching. I didn't let anyone else see that side of me, not even my family. But them? They knew.

"You gonna see her?" Riq asked.

I shrugged. "Doubt it."

Sticks finally spoke. "You lying."

I smirked despite myself. "Still ain't miss a beat, huh?"

"Not when it comes to your moody ass."

Riq clapped once, loud and dramatic. "Okay! Enough feelings. Let's talk logistics. I got the last round of invoices processed, and the merch designs is almost locked in. We're also down to three taglines. One of them's trash. The other two are slightly less trash."

I shook my head and leaned back on the desk again, watching my brothers fall into step—Riq pulling up renders on his iPad like he was pitching to Nike, Sticks already scribbling numbers and measurements in a tiny black notebook he carried everywhere like a damn diary.

And just like that, the heaviness in my chest started to ease.

This was the work. The mission. The new ground.

But even in the middle of it, as I laughed at Riq's dumbass tagline ideas and argued with Sticks about square footage like he didn't already know the dimensions by heart... That photo still lived in my back pocket.

Folded. Worn. Eternal.

* * *

Maleek

When They Were 12…

It started like most of our Saturdays did—Kareem and I racing across the street, feet pounding pavement, our laughter echoing through the neighborhood like we owned it. He was faster than me, but I had better endurance. That was always our excuse when he beat me to the Reed house by a few steps.

"Slow down, and don't be running in my house, boys!" Cap hollered through the open door just as we barreled into the living room.

"Yes sir!" we both shouted back in unison, breathless and grinning. He always said it like he didn't mean it—his voice was loud, but his eyes were smiling. Man was more dad to us than our own ever tried to be.

The living room smelled like fresh laundry and cocoa butter, soft and familiar. Tina was sitting cross-legged on the floor, game controller in hand, eyes locked on the TV screen as she obliterated some poor CPU fighter. I didn't see Angelica anywhere.

"Where's Angel?" I asked, glancing around.

Tina didn't look up, just handed Kareem his controller as he sat next to her. "I think she went to that raggedy playground y'all used to love so much."

My stomach dropped a little. Jefferson Park? Neither of us went up there unless they were sad or needed to cry in peace. It was our spot back when we were little, but we were too old for it now—at least that's what we said. Still, we always knew where to find each other when it mattered.

"She okay?" I asked.

Tina shrugged. "She ain't say nothin'. Just dipped after breakfast."

I was already backing toward the door, grabbing my hoodie off the armrest.

"Tell Cap I'll be back."