Page 200 of The Wright Man

I was just finishing my food when he came back from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel like someone's husband. My leggings were wrinkled, I was pretty sure I still looked hungover, and my hair was slightly crooked from the way I'd slept—but I felt calm. Settled. Like maybe this is what the beginning of peace could feel like.

Maleek tossed the towel over the counter, walked over, and stood in front of me with that slow, unreadable look he always wore when he was taking his time deciding how to say something.

"I'm heading out," he said, voice low and warm. "Got two meetings at GhostFit. Youth program stuff. Riq's gonna run point on one of them, but I need to be there for the pitch."

I smiled up at him, arms tucked inside the sleeves of his hoodie. "Look at you. Grown and employed."

He smirked. "You say that like it's not bare minimum."

"It is bare minimum," I said, stretching. "But it's sexy bare minimum."

That made him laugh.

"What about you?" he asked. "What's your game plan?"

I stood, brushing imaginary lint off my leggings and trying not to look like I'd just spent the night trying to break celibacy vows I hadn't technically made. "Uber to the house, pack some things—essentials for now. Then straight to the courthouse. I want that paperwork filed today."

He nodded. "You want me to drive you?"

I shook my head. "Nah, I don't wanna hold you up. I take forever to pack. It's a process."

"Oh, I know," he said, squinting at me like he was about to start some shit. "You pack like you're fleeing the country for an overnight trip. Like TSA gon' be waiting at your ex's house."

I flipped him off with both hands. "Bite me, Wright."

He leaned in, kissed my mouth without warning—just a soft, easy press that made my stomach flutter—and pulled back with that damn smirk. "You tried. Last night. Twice."

I rolled my eyes and shoved his chest. "Go to work, delinquent."

He grabbed my hand before I could walk off, brought it to his mouth, and kissed it. Not teasing this time. Just… soft.

"I'll text you," he said.

"I'll text back," I promised.

Then he was gone.

I stood in the doorway for a few seconds after the door closed, staring out like something important might be waiting on the other side. There wasn't. Just sunlight, a quiet street, and the slow buzz of possibility.

Once his truck pulled off, I pulled out my phone and ordered the Uber. Five minutes away.

While I waited, I sat on the front steps and let my thoughts stretch out until the Uber pulled up to the curb, soft jazz humming low through the speakers, the AC barely cutting through the late spring heat. I sank into the backseat like it was a refuge, clutching my phone and mentally scrolling through my to-do list.

Okay. Step one: get in, pack a weekend bag. Nothing too heavy—just enough for a few days. Underwear, hair stuff, charger, laptop, vitamins. My journal.

I'd need to check in with Alicia at the salon too — make sure the week's appointments were covered. I'd drop everything off at Maleek's place, swing by the courthouse, start the process to file the damn papers, and grab a smoothie on the way out like I was clocking out of a job I hated.

I'd figure out the rest later. For now: underwear, my red maxi dress that makes my ass look expensive, and definitely not forgetting edge control this time.

Easy.

As we pulled off, I felt… light. Like I'd finally dropped a hundred pounds of dead weight from my chest. There was still shit to do, still a messy chapter to close—but I wasn't scared anymore. Not even angry. Just… ready.

I'd been dragging this dead weight for too long. Picking up the emotional crumbs Gavin tossed my way and trying to bake a future with them. I was done. No more waiting for the "right time." No more soft landings. He didn't deserve grace. But I'd give it anyway, because I wanted to be free—not just legally, but spiritually.

I even practiced the conversation in my head, calm and dignified: "I'm filing for divorce today. I'm not here to fight. You'll be served soon. Don't contact me unless it's through my attorney."

I didn't expect Gavin to be civil, but I expected him to be predictable. We'd go over the basics, keep it short. I'd grab what I needed and dip. We didn't have to fight. We didn't have to talk. I wasn't giving him that power anymore.