Page 60 of The Wright Man

"Love you too!" they sang.

* * *

I shook my head now, their laughter still ringing in my ears. They were clowns. But... not totally wrong.

Especially not after the way Maleek walked me to my car—quiet, steady, present. We swapped numbers, made sure the digits were right, and then just... stood there. Neither of us ready to break the moment. His eyes swept the street, then lingered on me like he was making sure nothing touched me—not even the wind.

That voice, all low and velvet: "Text me when you get in. You know I don't play about you."

My thighs pressed together on instinct. I made a strangled little noise that only the Lord heard.

Don't go there, girl.

And when I finally drove off, I caught a glimpse of him in the mirror.

Still watching me.

Still protecting me.

I giggled as I stepped out the car and closed the door behind me. Couldn't even help it. It just bubbled up from somewhere soft and girlish and stupidly hopeful.

I was smiling again.

And Maleek Wright was absolutely to blame.

I walked into the house still riding the wave of that high—my whole body light, lips twitching with leftover laughter, the scent of chocolate frosting and grill smoke clinging to my clothes. My heels clicked against the hardwood as I stepped inside, and for once, it didn't feel like I was coming home to a cold front. The air didn't feel stiff. Heavy. Hostile.

I almost didn't recognize it.

The living room was dim but not dark—just the soft, amber glow from a floor lamp in the corner. And there, of all places, sat Gavin. On the couch. Not in his man cave. Not holed up in the guest room with the door cracked like he couldn't stand the sight of me. No, he was right there, stretched out with a glass in hand and an oddly relaxed expression on his face.

My steps faltered.

"...Gavin?"

He turned his head, smile small but present. "Hey, babe."

Babe?

I blinked. The word sounded strange coming out of his mouth—like a song he used to love but forgot the lyrics to. I couldn't remember the last time he called me anything that didn't feel like a dig or a chore.

"Um. Hey," I said, setting my purse down on the dining table. Something tentative stirred in my chest. The lamp was on. He'd waited up. He was looking at me like I was a person again.

Maybe tonight was different.

Maybe we could find our way back to something.

I cleared my throat, trying to keep the hope off my face before I jinxed it. "How was your boys' night?"

"It was aight. Theo and Boyd send their love."

Ew. They could keep it.

I waited for the usual eye roll, the way he normally cut the conversation short to get back to whatever game or podcast or other bullshit he'd been entertaining. But tonight, Gavin muted the TV and... faced me. All the way. Elbows on knees, attention fixed. It threw me off so bad I almost dropped the to-go plates I brought home.

"How was the party?" he asked.

I blinked again. "It was great, actually. Everything went smooth. Daddy had a good time, the food was amazing, and everybody—" I smiled to myself, still caught in the afterglow. "Everybody was in good spirits."