Page 278 of The Wright Man

I stopped walking. "You what?"

He glanced at me, lips twitching. "Me, Riq, and Sticks. We bought the lot. Closed on it last week."

I stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Y'all bought the playground?"

He nodded once. Simple. Solid. Certain.

"It was cheap. Nobody else was doing anything with it. But I've been thinking... about legacy. About home. I wanted to turn it into something real. Something safe. A space where little Maleeks and Angelicas can run around, scrape their knees, get their feelings hurt and learn how to get back up again. A place that holds kids like us."

My heart cracked wide open.

I looked around again—this time seeing it with different eyes. The broken benches, the creaky swing set, the basketball court where Maleek first learned to move in silence and strike hard. The dusty grass where I once played double dutch and got my edges snatched by the wind.

This place wasn't just a playground.

It was our roots.

"And I want you to rebuild it with me," he said, voice low and sure. "Design it. Dream it. Turn it into something new."

I looked at him, heart in my throat.

He wasn't just bringing me here for nostalgia. He was inviting me into something bigger. Something lasting. Not just because I was his woman—but because he saw me. My heart. My vision. My purpose.

I stared at him, misty-eyed and undone. "You really want me to help?"

He didn't hesitate. "Nah. I want you to own this with me."

I didn't mean to tear up. But of course, I did. Because of course he would do this. Of course he'd find a way to turn our childhood scars into something beautiful. Of course he'd say own it instead of help me.

Because that's who he was. Who we were.

Because this wasn't just a surprise, it was a declaration.

This was about healing. About building something for the future us. Something sturdy. Something sacred. Something that said—we made it.

I threw my arms around him, and he wrapped me up tight. We just stood there, right between the busted swing set and the cracked pavement, holding each other like we could rewrite time.

When I finally pulled back, still sniffling, he kissed my forehead.

"And there's one more thing I want to show you," he said, tugging gently on my hand.

I wiped my eyes, heart still pounding. "More?"

He smiled, that slow, dangerous smile that meant trouble—or love. Usually both.

"Just trust me."

I let him lead me. We wandered down a newly cleared path, where string lights twinkled like low-hanging stars and mason jars flickered with tiny tea lights, swinging gently from tree branches like they were humming secrets into the night. The warm, golden glow made everything feel dreamlike, suspended in some pocket of time where only we existed.

I glanced at him as we walked, my heart picking up speed. He was quiet now—too quiet. The kind of quiet that buzzed just beneath the skin. His grip on my hand was firm but trembling, like he was trying to hold on to more than just me.

"Maleek," I said, eyes narrowing a little. "What is this?"

He didn't answer. Just gave me that look. The one that always unraveled me. The one that said, Trust me.

And I did. With everything.

When we stepped into the clearing, the air left my lungs like I'd been punched in the chest.