Page 45 of The Wright Man

But now, there was something else.

Her dark brown eyes were still sharp. Still warm. But they held a new kind of weight. Like she'd been carrying something heavy for too long. Like maybe no one had noticed.

I wanted to ask what happened. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to hurt the person who broke her... even if it was me.

And then she whispered it.

"Maleek..."

Soft. Breathless. Huskier than I remembered.

That voice—her voice—was the one thing I hadn't prepared for. I'd braced for silence. For shade. Hell, even for a slap if it came to that.

But not that. Not her whispering my name like her soul remembered mine... Like we hadn't skipped a beat.

But I couldn't speak. I didn't know if I should step forward or back. If I was even allowed in the threshold of her life anymore.

So I just stood there, heart pounding like I was sixteen again, waiting for her to say something else. Anything else.

I'd been to war. Had guns pointed in my face. Watched brothers bleed out next to me.

But nothing—nothing—had ever scared me like standing in front of her now.

I opened my mouth, just about to say something—maybe "you look good," maybe "I missed you," maybe "for the love of God, please forgive me"—

When I heard the front door burst open behind her.

For half a second, I watched the something shift in Angelica's eyes. The start of a sentence. The edge of something she'd been holding for four years.

And then it was gone.

Before I could fully recover from the way Angelica had just crashed my whole operating system with that dress and that voice, I heard fast footsteps and my name—nickname—getting tackled out of someone's lungs.

"BIG HEAD!"

I had exactly 0.3 seconds to brace before a small body collided with my chest, arms locking around my neck like she was trying to drag me to the ground. I caught her easily—reflexes still sharp—and laughed as I wrapped my arms tight around her.

Bella.

The knot in my chest loosened as I hugged the little sister I never knew I wanted.

* * *

Maleek

When They Were 15…

It was just after sunset when Kareem and I walked up the block, gym bags slung over our shoulders and plastic grocery bags rustling with every step. The street still held the heat from the day, baking up from the pavement in slow, lazy waves. We were fresh off a pickup game at the rec, sweat still drying on our skin, and we were loud as hell. Talkin' shit, roasting each other like always.

We were halfway up the block when Kareem chucked an empty Gatorade bottle at my head.

"Bet you won't admit I smoked your ass in that last game."

I ducked it easy, flicking my bag of Hot Cheetos at him in return. "Bet you won't stop lying on this holy Sunday."

It hit me then, mid-laugh—how grateful I was that he was still here. Grown now, eighteen and graduated, but still making time for pickup games and movie nights. Still showing up for me. A lot of brothers would've bounced. But not Kareem.

I admired that about him.