Page 135 of The Wright Man

Chapter Twenty-Two

Maleek

I was on edge.

And not just the usual pre-event jitters or the kind of nerves you get before a big milestone. Nah. This was something deeper. Sharper. It was crawling just under my skin, itching in the corners of my chest and making it hard to sit still. I'd been deployed to combat zones, been jumped by three grown-ass men behind the 7-Eleven at fourteen, and walked through more grief than I'd wish on anybody. But this? This right here?

This might've been the most nervous I'd ever been in my life.

It was open house day at GhostFit.

The culmination of everything I'd worked for since the day I walked through the gates at that airport and left her standing there—small and fierce and trying not to cry. Since the day I promised myself I'd become a man I could be proud of. That she could be proud of. That my mama would smile down on. That Kareem could lean on when he got free.

And I did it. We did it.

The gym looked alive. Breathing. What used to be an echoey, dust-covered warehouse now pulsed with bass-heavy music, laughter, the steady thrum of conversation, and the occasional shout of encouragement from one of our demo stations. Our logo was everywhere—on shirts, water bottles, wristbands, and the backdrops of photo booths where folks were taking selfies with little whiteboards that said shit like "Future Beast Mode" or "Day One Starts NOW."

It should've been the proudest day of my life.

And it was.

But mostly?

I was watching that damn front door.

Every time it opened, my heart jumped like a rookie about to get smoked by their drill sergeant. I was shaking hands, nodding through small talk, smiling for pictures—but a part of me was tuned to a frequency nobody else could hear. One that said Angel's coming. She's gonna see this. She's gonna see you.

And I needed that. Needed her to see that I wasn't all promise and no follow-through. That I'd taken everything we talked about on her daddy's porch, everything we dreamed about as kids, and turned it into something real. Something solid.

Cap had already called. He was sun-drunk and grinning on a boat in Florida, talking about how proud he was before launching into a story about catching a fish "so big the rod bent like a sinner in church." Bella FaceTimed from her dorm room, flipping the camera around so I could see her new vision board—dead center was a picture of GhostFit's logo, and a sticky note that read "Where it all began." Tina had sent a voice memo from Tulum, full of loud ocean waves, background music, and her yelling, "Y'all better know I'm proud of you bitches!" over the sound of some dude named Javier trying to get her a coconut.

Even Nichelle, our newest trainer, was killing it. She had a crowd around her during her boxing and conditioning demo, barking commands with the perfect balance of grit and charm. A few folks had already asked when she'd be teaching regular classes. That was a good sign.

Riq was on ten, talking people into full memberships with enough extras to make a commission rep cry from joy. He had charm for days and a knack for reading people—knew when to push, when to shut up, when to slap a duffel bag full of GhostFit merch into someone's hands like it was the golden ticket. Sticks was nearby, barefoot and hulking, doing a gravity-defying display of calisthenics that had a whole group of soccer moms blushing and filming him on their phones. Watching a man that size move like silk across the mat never got old.

Everything was clicking.

And I should've been soaking it all in.

But I wasn't.

I was too busy trying not to come unglued every time someone who vaguely resembled Angelica walked through the door.

I hadn't seen her in person since Cap's driveway. Since that almost-kiss that wasn't a kiss. Since I let her feel exactly what she did to me and made zero apologies for it. And we hadn't talked about it. Not directly. But I felt the shift.

She'd pulled back, just a little. Enough for me to notice. Enough for it to sit like weight on my chest ever since.

That's why I damn near held my breath when I texted her yesterday to make sure she was still coming. And why I finally exhaled—really exhaled—when she replied "Counting down the seconds."

She was gonna see what I built. The gym. The people. The impact. The legacy.

I wasn't looking to impress her.

I just needed her to see me.

Really see me.

And maybe—just maybe—remember what we were supposed to be. Before time and choices and bullshit got in the way.