Page 277 of The Wright Man

Then he turned to me, voice quiet. "This place meant something to us. There's no reason it can't mean something again."

I turned to him, confused. "Babe, it's literally falling apart. I'm pretty sure we're going to need tetanus shots when we leave."

He chuckled, hopped out, and came around to open my door like the gentleman he always pretended not to be. I slid out, and the humid air hit me like a memory... It smelled like warm dirt, cut grass, and time.

"Come on. Walk with me," he said, holding out his hand.

I hesitated, but the moment his hand slid into mine, I melted. I always did. That hand had pulled me through too many dark nights to ignore now.

The air was thick with summer—warm and sticky, with that faint scent of honeysuckle and pavement that always hit right before dusk. As we stepped through the bent gate, my chest tightened. Memories were everywhere. Like ghosts hiding in plain sight.

"That's the hydrant I busted my lip on," I said, pointing to the dented red monster near the corner. "Tried to do a cartwheel off the curb and landed mouth first."

"You cried for like, six hours."

"I was seven!"

"You were dramatic."

I grinned. "Still am."

We passed the old water fountain—half rusted, half moss—and both recoiled instinctively.

Maleek laughed. "Remember when we used to call that thing the STD spout?"

"Because it had that green crust around the nozzle."

"You dared me to drink from it once."

"And you did! You didn't even flinch."

He shrugged. "I've always been willing to suffer for you."

I rolled my eyes, cheeks warm. We kept walking.

When we got to the basketball court, he stopped, squinting toward the faded paint lines and leaning hoop.

He smiled, wide and boyish, as he glanced at me. "Ain't this where you first saw me shirtless and cracked your retainer?"

I groaned, throwing my head back. "God, I regret telling you that. And no... It was at school."

"My baby was so thirsty," he said, teasing lilt in his voice. "Like a little fangirl with braces."

"I will literally fight you right here on this gravel."

He laughed harder, tugging me into his side.

We walked in silence for a few more paces. The gravel crunched under our shoes. The chain on the swing set clinked gently in the breeze, like it was whispering memories back to life. This place was old, rundown, forgotten by most—but somehow, standing here with him, it felt sacred.

Ours.

I smiled but couldn't stop the question from bubbling up. "Okay, but seriously. What are we doing here? If this is one of those poetic 'look how far we've come' metaphors, I'm gonna need it to come with hand sanitizer."

Maleek stopped walking.

He reached down and took my hand. His palm was warm and a little rough, like always. His thumb brushed along my knuckles in a slow, grounding stroke.

"I own it," he said.