Page 89 of The Wright Man

"I love you, Gump," I said, voice a little rough.

He smiled that same crooked grin. "Love you too, Shrimp."

A second later, the guard came. Kareem stood, tucking the receiver under his arm like he didn't want to let go just yet. He gave me one last look—a look that carried years, pain, loyalty, and everything we never said out loud—and then turned to go.

I watched him walk away, straight-backed and calm. Like I didn't feel seventeen all over again, watching somebody I love disappear behind a door I couldn't open.

Tears prickled at the edges of my eyes, but I held them back.

I couldn't cry here. Not yet.

But I held onto one truth, one anchor: Next time, he'll be walking out free.

Chapter Fifteen

Maleek

I didn't go straight to the gym after visiting Kareem like I usually did. Couldn't. I was too... full. Not just with emotion, but with that heavy, quiet weight that sits in your chest and makes everything feel slow. Thick. The kind of weight that doesn't come off no matter how hard you sweat.

So I came home.

I walked straight past the kitchen, straight past the living room, and straight into my old bedroom without taking my boots off.

I didn't have it in me to sit. If I sat, I'd think too hard. And if I thought too hard, I'd spiral. I knew myself well enough to know the shape of that trap.

So I did what I always do when I can't breathe.

I cleaned.

I told myself it was about the dust, the clutter, the old drawers full of shit I hadn't touched in a decade—but that was a lie. It was about control. Grabbing hold of something I could fix.

Because everything about today reminded me that I couldn't fix him.

Kareem was still smiling. Still cracking jokes like he ran the yard. Still him. But behind his eyes... there was something. A shadow. That tired, worn-down kind of sadness that creeps in when you've been holding your own body up too long.

He didn't say it out loud. He didn't have to. I saw it. I felt it.

And when they took him away again—when I watched him walk through those doors with his hands cuffed and his head still high—I felt my stomach turn over like it was happening for the first time. Like I was standing outside that courtroom, screaming his name while deputies yanked me back.

I swallowed the memory and picked up an old hoodie off the floor. Tried to fold it. Couldn't. My hands were shaking.

I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on my knees, and stared at the wall.

A few seconds passed.

Then I pulled out my phone.

Angel.

She picked up on the second ring. Her face filled the screen, all glowing brown skin and wild curls and no makeup. She looked soft and fresh and still so damn fine, like she hadn't aged a day since high school. Even with the sounds of dryers and laughter and old school R&B playing in the background, she was the clearest thing in the frame.

"Hey," she said, her voice brightening at the sight of me.

That alone made my chest loosen a little.

"Hey," I said, quieter than I meant to.

"Gimme one sec," she said quickly, glancing offscreen. "I'm at the shop. Let me run to my office."