Page 22 of The Wright Man

"Wanna hear a scary story?"

"No," I said.

"You're no fun."

She turned the flashlight off, dropped it on the floor, and leaned back next to me, arms brushing mine.

After a second, she turned and looked at me.

"You scared of thunder?"

I shook my head, even though my stomach was tight and my jaw hurt from holding it shut.

Angelica looked at me for a long time, then picked up her teddy bear and handed it over.

"He's scared too," she said. "But he's brave about it. You can borrow him if you want."

I didn't answer. Just held the bear and stared at the flickering candle in the jelly jar on the floor.

We sat like that for a while. Quiet. Just the candlelight and the sound of rain on the windows. Every time thunder hit, my fingers gripped the bear tighter—but Angelica didn't say anything. She didn't tease me. Didn't make a joke.

She just stayed close.

The storm was loud, but her silence told me everything—she wasn't going anywhere. That was the safest I'd ever felt.

And I knew I'd spend the rest of my life trying to keep her safe too.

* * *

Maleek

Now

I came back through the front door slow, like the house might startle if I moved too fast. Set my keys on the side table. Stood in the entryway for a moment, just letting my eyes adjust.

The living room was exactly how I'd left it. Empty. Still.

I walked in.

And just like that, I saw it—Camp Jelly Bean.

Right in the middle of the floor, like it never left.

No blankets, no pillows, no bossy little girl calling the shots—but I could see it. That weird-ass lopsided fort. The glow of candles in old jelly jars. The dent in the cushion where Kareem jumped over the couch and landed wrong. Tina's cackling laugh. The outline of that bear Angelica used to let me hold when thunder shook my bones.

I hadn't thought about that night in years.

And now it was everywhere.

I walked to the middle of the room and stopped right where the "cozy core" used to be. Right where she sat next to me, shoulder to shoulder, like her being close could keep the world quiet.

And for a long time, it did.

We used to move like a matched set. Me and her. A two-pack.

She knew when I was hurting before I did. Knew how to pull me back down when my mind tried to float too far off. Knew how to fill the silence without breaking it. Hell, she honored it. Most people couldn't do that. Most people tried to fix you with noise.

But not her.