Page 98 of The Wright Man

So yeah. I needed this night like oxygen.

I needed my girls, my wine, my skincare. I needed to laugh until my stomach hurt and fall asleep halfway through a movie none of us were watching.

I'd been counting down the hours all damn day. My day at the salon had dragged on with the kind of slow cruelty that felt personal. Clients who were late and indecisive. A broken shampoo chair. Alicia playing Summer Walker on a loop like she was trying to spiritually drown me.

Even my usual mid-shift snack run had gone sideways—somebody stole the last pack of Hot Cheetos right out of my DoorDash bag.

But Maleek had been texting me. Like he always did.

Silly stuff mostly—gym memes, a blurry photo of Riq passed out on a yoga mat at GhostFit, a video of them tricking Sticks into eating raw ginger. Little things that didn't seem like much until you realized how consistent they were. How comforting. It was starting to feel like it used to, when he was still my person. When things were... simpler. Safer.

Some of our conversations had been deeper lately too. Memories. Long pauses that didn't feel awkward. Not that we'd talked about everything yet, but the way we were moving? It felt like maybe we were finally getting there.

But tonight wasn't about that.

Tonight was for alcohol, exfoliation, and sisterly shenanigans.

I practically floated from the car to the front door, already tasting the garlic naan and whatever overpriced wine Tina had found at a Black-owned boutique liquor store. I was ready to shower, throw on my fluffiest pajamas, and vibe with my sisters until we passed out in a pile of throw blankets and empty takeout containers.

I opened the front door.

And immediately regretted every choice that led me to this moment.

"Yo! That nigga got knocked the fuck out!"

Theo's voice boomed through my living room like he paid bills here.

I froze.

There they were. Gavin, Boyd, and Theo. All splayed out on my couch like it was their Airbnb. Beers in hand. Shoes on the rug. A pay-per-view boxing match blasting from the TV like we were at Buffalo Wild Wings.

I blinked. Once. Twice.

This had to be a joke.

"Gavin..." I said slowly, like maybe if I spoke gently enough, the universe would un-glitch itself.

He looked up and smiled that old, cocky smile that used to make my toes curl.

Now it made my stomach clench.

"Hey baby."

Theo turned around too, already loud.

"Angie Ang! Wassup, queen!"

Boyd grinned and raised his beer like a toast. "Mrs. Riddle in the building!"

I didn't even flinch.

"It's Reed," I said, voice flat, eyes locked on Gavin.

I never took his last name. A million reasons why—too busy, too many forms to update, wanted to keep my business brand consistent—but truth be told? I just couldn't do it. I couldn't stomach the idea of permanently attaching myself to a man I'd started questioning before the ink dried.

Maybe it was Maleek calling him The Riddler all those years. Maybe it was my gut. Who knows.

Boyd snorted. "Damn, that's right. Your girl never took your name, Gav. Not a good look, bruh."