CHAPTER 51

HENDRIX

S o you’re dating Maverick Bell?” Chapel asks, confusion and some displeasure in her tone. “I saw the pics of you and him all hugged up outside the courthouse. And now you tell me you’re no longer producing my show. This sucks, Hen.”

Who you telling?

I want to say it so badly, but show restraint and comport myself like the good professional I am.

“My first concern is as your manager,” I reply, tilting Daddy’s rickety chair back and trying to maintain my Zen. “And ensuring that the best opportunities are available to you so we can grow your brand. That’s my priority and my commitment.”

“You feeding me the company line, but you forget I know how bad you wanted to break into producing with this show. You sure Maverick is worth losing this shot?”

Two days ago, I would have answered with an unequivocal hell yeah . After discovering the owner of the Vipers is one of the assholes behind this lawsuit and that Maverick is in business with him…

Do you trust me?

Maverick’s question has been looping in my head ever since we spoke two days ago. We actually haven’t spoken since. I’m still grappling with that question for myself. I’m certainly not unpacking it for Chapel. Not yet.

“Zere and I discussed this,” I say, sitting forward and evading her question. “We’ve agreed it’s better for all concerned if I step away from this project.”

“Because she thinks you stole her man.”

I really wish Chapel was not so read between the lines literate.

“The situation between Zere and me—”

“And Maverick.”

“—has evolved and the smoothest road forward is with me operating in my capacity solely as your manager, and Zere taking the lead alone to helm the show.”

“And you’re sure you’re okay with this?” Chapel presses. “I don’t have to do it. You’re my manager, yes, but you’re also my girl and I—”

“Chap!” I close my eyes and take a beat to pull myself back from the edge. “Of course I’m disappointed that it’s not going as originally planned, but I want this show to have the best shot possible. That won’t happen if there’s tension between the two people trying to get it made.”

“If you don’t want me to do this, I won’t. We’ll do something else later.”

Look at her choosing me. The women in my life are constantly putting each other first. The men… jury’s still out.

“I want you to do the show, Chapel.” I kick off my shoes and wiggle my toes under the desk. “And I’m fine with this change since it’s what Zere needs to feel comfortable moving forward.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.” I sigh, ready to shift gears. “Now aren’t you going live with that beauty brand in like ten minutes?”

“S’posed to be.”

“Well, get on then.”

“Okay. I’ll get on then.” She laughs. “Love you, Hen.”

“Love you, too, Chap.”

I disconnect and flop back into Daddy’s chair.

“Tired?” Aunt Geneva asks from the office door.

I sigh and kick my feet up onto the desk with its chipped wood and wobbly leg that has somehow become beloved over the last few weeks.

“It’s been a long one.” I loosen the band securing my braids and let them fall down my back. “Feels like I’ve been on the phone with clients all day and I’ve had three interviews with news outlets about the lawsuit. I’m just… yeah. Tired.”

“Dinner’ll be ready in a bit. Just waiting for the fish to finish cooking.”

“Why are you making dinner? What about the church meal train?”

“Girl, I told them to stop bringing food. I can cook for us. I’ll be officially cleared soon to resume all normal activities, but I’m getting around so good now. Doctor says I have the body of a seventy-year-old,” she says, tongue in cheek. “Considering I’m seventy-seven, I’ll take it.”

I laugh and rise, crossing over to squeeze my aunt tight.

“We need to talk about next steps for Mama,” I whisper, squeezing harder when she stiffens. “Now don’t go all rigid on me.”

“We’re fine, Hen.” She pulls back to look at me. “I’ve got this.”

“You shouldn’t have to have all of it. Like you said, you’re seventy-seven years old. I know you’re in excellent shape and appreciate the sacrifices you’ve made, but it’s going to be too much. In some ways, I think it might already be.”

Her nod and the look on her face scream reluctant compliance.

“My name needs to be on everything, Aunt G, right along with yours. That’s medically, legally, custodially—whatever.”

“That makes sense.” She leans heavily into me, and I’m not sure if it’s how taxing the surgery has been on her body, or the emotional weight managing everything has become, maybe even if she didn’t recognize it. Aunt Geneva sniffs and grips me tighter. We stay that way for a few seconds while her tears soak my shirt.

“She’s my baby sister,” Aunt Geneva cries. “I’ve been so mad at God for letting this happen. You think I’m in my devotional every day praising Him, and yeah. There’s some of that, but we been in that room wrestling, me and God. I been asking Him hard questions and not always sure I can live with the answers.”

She pulls back and cups my face, now wet with tears to match hers. “But we have no choice, do we?”

“How do you do it day in and day out, Aunt G?” I ask. “I feel so unsure and inadequate most of the time.”

“He’s my very present help,” she says, and it sounds like a script she learned and continues to recite.

Faith has always seemed to come easily to Mama and Aunt Geneva, and to their mother before them. They passed it onto me like a wedding dress every woman in our family eventually wore. Once it got to me, though, it needed to be let out or taken in. Something about the way it lay against my beliefs and rationales never quite fit. I’ve often wondered how I can make this garment that has always brought them so much peace, mine. When I’m more helpless and confused than I’ve ever felt, could it ever suit me? Could it help me?

“Tell me the real answer,” I press. “How do you trust God when this kind of shit happens?”

Aunt Geneva doesn’t even blink at the imprecation in what has been, for all intents and purposes, a cuss-free zone my entire life.

“I love Him,” she says simply. “And I believe that He loves me and is working all things out for my good. That’s not always what’s easiest. Can you truly love someone you don’t trust? I don’t think so.”

Do I love Maverick? It’s the first time I’ve asked the question this directly of myself. Attraction. Companionship. Commitment, even. But love? That is a word reserved for people who prove they deserve it, and no man has proven it adequately to get that word from me.

But if anyone’s ever stood a chance, it’s Maverick Bell.

My phone vibrates on the desk with a text message, and I crane my neck to see it’s in my thread with Kashawn and Nelly. I kiss the top of Aunt Geneva’s head and release her.

“Let me see what these girls want, Aunt G.”

“I’mma go finish dinner,” she says.

I flop into the office chair and grab the phone.

Nelly: Looks like your boy showed us whose side he’s on.

Kashawn: It doesn’t make all our problems go away, but it’s nice to see he’s got your back, Hen.

Me: What are you talking about???

Nelly sends a link and I click it, eager, but also apprehensive to see.

Tech mogul withdraws offer for Vegas Vipers, citing owner Andrew Carverson’s involvement with Aspire Fund lawsuit.

The article also indicates that the “whistleblower” who exposed the businessmen funding CFE’s suit against us is actually Andrew Carverson’s daughter, who leaked private documents stored at his home. The piece goes on to detail Maverick’s announcement minutes ago that he would no longer be purchasing the Vipers, a team he has recently been vocal about buying.

“I know it sounds funny coming from someone who has a lot of money,” the article quotes Maverick. “But money isn’t everything. Not when corrupt individuals are out here trying to roll the years back to a time when people who looked like me had fewer opportunities. How could anyone I love trust me if I set that aside to do business with someone now using legislation designed to protect us to set us back? How could I trust myself?”

How could anyone I love trust me…

Love. Love. Love.

The word reverberates through the chambers of my heart, echoing and piercing the tender flesh of my emotions.

Maverick did it. He really did it.

He is making this sacrifice for our community, yes. For Aspire, yes. But for me . I know it on a cellular level where my skin vibrates, anticipating his touch again. I don’t have an outlet for this emotion running rampant through me right now. I have to tell someone the good news.

I know him. I trust him.

Shit, I love him.

And he chose me.

“Aunt G!” I shout, rushing out of the office and down the hall to the kitchen. “Guess what…”

I don’t finish the words because a gargantuan arrangement of champagne roses dominates the kitchen counter. There must be fifty of them in one vase. Not sure if that math can even be mathing right, but the smell of those roses, the beauty of them—the significance of them—takes my breath away.

“Oh, God!” I cover my mouth and turn wide eyes on my mother and aunt, who watch me with smiles on their faces. I pluck one of the roses from the vase and lift it to my nose. “He sent these?”

“No,” Mama says, nodding her head toward the living room. “Delivered them himself.”

“Delivered them…” My poor overworked, overstimulated brain can’t keep up. “You mean he… he’s…”

“Go get him.” Aunt G winks conspiratorially. “You made that man wait long enough.”

I turn on my heel and rush into the living room. Maverick faces the window, his back to me, long and powerful, the muscles flexing under his T-shirt. When he turns, I run across the room, holding nothing back. I barrel into him probably before he even has time to process that it’s me. The oomph of air that pushes out of him mists my cheek, and he tightens his arms around me.

“Hey, Gorgeous,” he whispers in my ear, running his hands down my back to rest at the curve of my hips.

“Hey?” I gape at him, incredulous on so many levels. “You do what you did and just come in here saying hey? Is that all you have to say?”

“I told you I was going to show you, right?” He cups my face in two large hands, his thumbs brushing tenderly over my lips. “So do you see now?”

“I see.” Tears streak my cheeks and I cover his hands at my face with my own. “You love me.”

“Damn right I love you.” He dips and captures my mouth in a kiss that searches my soul and squeezes my heart. Makes the blood sing in my veins like that wordless jazz tune we danced to on a yacht under a moonlit sky. I hear the words to the song now. They’re love and trust and right now and forever and always and enough .

“What about your dad?” I ask, when my lungs are so air-starved we have to break the kiss.

“He was the one who told me do it. Well, I’d already decided, but I knew buying this team was almost as important to him as it was to me.”

“I know this was hard.” I caress his nape and knit my brows in concern. “What’d he say?”

“He said there is nothing and no one I would have chosen over your mother. If you feel that way about Hendrix, I’ll kick your ass myself if you buy this team.” He gives me a wry grin. “He does have a few inches on me and he’s in great shape for an old man.”

“And you do feel that way about me?” I ask, breathless and undone by the force of such a man putting me first this way.

“I already told you I love you. Now you just fishing.” He chuckles. “But if there is any doubt, yes. I feel that way about you. Nothing is more important.”

“I love you too,” I say, pressing a kiss to his lips. “And maybe just as important, at least to me, I trust you.”

The laughter fades in his eyes, on his lips. “That means as much to me too. Thank you. And I’ll never take either for granted.”

“As much as I love that you chose me, it bothers me so badly that Carverson gets what he wants, gets to walk away unscathed.”

“Unscathed?” Maverick’s mouth hardens, firms into a line I would never want to cross.

“He won’t be. Not by the time I’m done with him.”

“You have a plan?” I ask, hoping that we win our case, but also hoping, as petty as it sounds, that the man who robbed Maverick of this dream suffers for it.

“Oh, I always have a plan.” He plucks the rose I didn’t even realize I was still holding from my fingers. “How do you think I got you?”