Page 149 of The Wright Man

More than I wanted to pretend I didn't. That kiss proved it. And it was weak.

For the better man? Yes.

For the one I always loved? Yes.

For the man I never should've left? Yes.

But still weak.

Because we made our choices. And for four years, we stood on them.

On the regret. On the pride. On the heartbreak.

And now we were standing in the ashes.

We both chose wrong.

But only one of us—him. Always him—was finally ready to stop pretending it was right.

* * *

Angelica

Four Years Ago

I was alone in the bridal suite, struggling to reach my zipper without smearing my lipstick or crying off my lashes, when I heard his voice behind me.

"Angel..."

He said it like the air had been knocked from his lungs. Like he'd walked through a war to get here and couldn't believe he'd made it. Like seeing me in this dress wasn't just a moment—it was a memory. A goodbye.

I turned, the relief in my chest spilling over before I could even think. "Oh my God, Maleek..."

And I flew into him. Unzipped dress and all. His arms caught me like instinct. Like coming home.

No one knew if he was going to make it. He'd missed his first flight, got stuck in some backwoods airport with no signal and no clue. My phone had been silent. His, unreachable. I'd been on edge the entire day—even as Daddy hugged me, even as Tina and Bella cried over how I looked. Even during the damn prayer circle.

But now he was here. And I was in his arms.

"I didn't think you were gonna make it," I whispered into his neck. His scent—clean and warm and familiar—wrapped around me like it always did. Safe. Steady. Him.

"I always come through for my girl," he murmured. But the words didn't land the way they used to. No teasing grin. No quiet confidence. Just exhaustion. And something heavier. Something that made my stomach twist.

When I pulled back, his hands were still on my bare back, and they felt too good. Too steady. Too right.

I turned away before I could sink into them again. "Zip me up?" I asked, lifting my curls from my shoulders, exposing the spine he used to trace with his eyes back when we were nothing but best friends who told ourselves that was enough.

He stepped close.

The zipper moved slowly, reverently. Each tooth clicking into place felt like a countdown I didn't want to hear.

"You look..." His voice faltered.

"You look beautiful, Ang."

It hit harder than any other compliment I'd gotten all day. Harder than Daddy's choked-up "You look just like your mama." Harder than Tina's dramatic, tear-streaked "Bitch, you ate."

"Thank you," I said softly, stepping forward and out of reach before I drowned in his voice.