CHAPTER 53

MAVERICK

T here she is,” I whisper into Hendrix’s neck, my hands seeking her curves beneath the sheets. There’s something extravagant about the fullness of her body, soft and unbound and warm in the sheer morning light.

“It’s too early,” she grumbles, rolling away from my touch to bury her face deeper into the pillow. “Keep them hands to yourself. I was up at the crack of dawn taking She-she out.”

Over the last few months, Sheila E quickly evolved to She-she. That little dog has so much energy, Hendrix can barely keep up, but on some of the hard days when things with Hendrix’s mom are tough or the case is frustrating, one bounding leap from She-she can chase the tension from my girl’s face. Hendrix may complain about early-morning walks, but there is no doubt in my mind She-she is her favorite gift I’ve given her.

“Keep my hands to myself?” I laugh and pull her back flush to my chest. “Ain’t no way. You should’ve thought of that before you told me you loved me. No take-backs.”

“Can we at least wait until after eight in the morning before your hands start wandering?” she complains, but humor has entered her sleep-rasped voice and she sounds more alert.

“Eight?” I scoff. “It’s like ten o’clock, Gorgeous.”

“Shit.” She sits up straight and slaps a hand over her forehead, dislodging the silk scarf covering her braids. “Why’d you let me sleep so late?”

“Because Skipper told me you didn’t have appointments this morning, and you didn’t come to bed till after one.”

“Isn’t your body supposed to be on West Coast time?” She swings her legs over the side of the bed and considers me over one bare shoulder. The flimsy strap of her pajama top keeps drooping down and it makes me want to rip the whole thing off.

“I travel so much, my body is on whatever time zone I’m in,” I tell her, sliding across the bed to kiss the curve of her neck. “Besides, I’ve been here in Atlanta for two days. Doesn’t take long to adjust.”

“Thank you for coming.” She leans back and cups my neck, resting her head against mine. “I’m glad you’re here while I sort through all this stuff. I never thought we’d actually be selling Mama’s house, but here we are.”

“She doing okay?” I take advantage of her position and drag her back into bed.

“Mav,” she laughingly protests, but shuffles to sit beside me until both of our backs are pressed into the headboard. “She’s getting there. Having Aunt Geneva’s support helped. I mean, telling her it was time to leave that house was one of the toughest things I’ve ever had to do.”

Her expression sobers and she takes my hand, resting our linked fingers in her lap. “But it has to happen. Being there while Aunt Geneva recovered just showed me that the situation was no longer sustainable.”

“But now she’s selling the house. Moving, both her and Aunt G. I’m proud of you, baby. This is hard shit. I watched my mom negotiate it. You’re a good daughter.”

“God, I’m trying.” She whooshes out a long sigh. “I’m consulting with her doctor and getting advice from people in my support group who have relocated their loved ones. Some of them declined badly, and some of them did okay. It’s a risk, but I’m going to do everything I can to make this transition good for her. Or as good as it can be.”

“You know there are no guarantees, though, right?” I ask, gently caressing her thumb. “Moving is a huge disruption.”

“You think it’s the wrong thing to do?” she asks, anxious eyes finding mine.

“No, it’s not that. I just want you to be prepared for how hard it could be—the effect it could have. There is no easy solution in this.”

“We’re bringing all her stuff and I’m taking pictures of everything so we can replicate her setup as much as possible. Make it familiar.” She shrugs, worry tugging her brows together. “I know she didn’t want to leave her home, but I’m hoping she’ll love the new house I have here for us all.”

“You got this, and anything you need, you know I’m here.”

“You’ve done a lot,” she says, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “Thanks for helping me find our new place. It’s fantastic.”

“I got the best Realtor money can buy, and I’m glad he could help.” I shrug. “Not that he had to look too far. The house was right here in Skyland.”

She beams and tightens her hand around mine. “Just a few blocks from Yasmen and Soledad. It’s perfect for Mama and me and Aunt G.”

“It’s all coming together.” I kiss the top of her head and pull her closer.

She looks up at me, her lips tipping to one side in a wry half grin. “Now if we could just get this shit with CFE settled. I swear they’re dragging this out as long as possible. We’ve still got months before our case is even heard, and in the meantime we can’t award any grants.”

“I know, but we’ll keep at it. And at least you’re still working with your founders, helping Black women get their businesses off the ground in the venture space. We’ll get the grants back online soon enough.”

“What about you?” She pulls away far enough to study my face. “Any updates on Carverson?”

“We’re chipping away at him.” I suppress fresh anger at the thought of pulverizing Andrew. “A single employee coming forward to expose his misogynistic treatment of women is one thing, but several coming forward? And enough marginalized employees to establish a pattern of racist behavior, coupled with him trying to tear down an organization serving Black women? That shit don’t look good.”

“Public opinion has definitely started turning against him,” Hendrix says. “So what’s the next move?”

My phone flashes on the bedside table. I peer over to check the name displayed on the screen.

“Here’s my next move now.” I steal one last kiss before answering the phone. “Kenan, whassup?”

“Good news,” Kenan Ross replies from the other end. “I met with several owners today about the Carverson situation.”

“And?” I ask, tensed waiting for his response.

“They’re ready to file a formal complaint and pressure him to sell the team.”

“Yes.” I pump my fist and grit out a hard smile. “Think it’ll work?”

“The owners, coupled with several prominent players like August West speaking out against him, yeah. A league of overwhelmingly Black players aren’t standing for this bullshit vendetta Carverson’s helping finance against a venture capital fund run by Black women for Black women.”

“Good. We’ve been working the sponsor angle. I’ve got at least three of the Vipers’ largest sponsors prepared to speak out this week and threaten to withdraw financial support if leadership doesn’t demand Andrew step down and sells his shares.”

“Think all this will be enough?” Kenan asks.

“Oh, hell yeah. By the end of the week, Andrew will be talking with his lawyers about putting the team up for sale. We’ve backed his ass into a corner like the rat he is.”

“And when the team goes back on the market?” Kenan’s grin comes across even through the phone. “Is your shit tight? You’ll be ready to move back into position?”

My gaze tracks Hendrix moving around the bedroom opening the shades, braids spilling over her shoulders and down her back. Her deep chestnut skin glows as brightly as the sun streaming through the windows. Her smile flashes wide and white as She-she dances around her feet, begging for attention. I’ve never liked Andrew Jr., but he fucked up when messed with my girl. He has to pay for that.

“Back into position?” I shake my head, relishing how far that man will fall by the time I’m done with him. “I never moved.”

Kenan chuckles, the anticipation evident in his voice. “This is gonna work. All the pieces are falling into place.”

“Yup. Now we watch him fall.”

When we disconnect, I leave the bedroom to seek out Hendrix. She’s in the kitchen, whisking eggs and wearing a brightly colored silk robe pulled over her short pajamas.

“Everything good?” she asks, glancing up from the bowl to search my face.

I walk up behind her and wrap my arms around her waist.

“I have you, don’t I?” I whisper in her ear. “How could everything not be good?”

It’s only as the words leave my mouth that I realize how true they are. All my life I’ve been the guy who needed things lined up, tight, set in motion just so. I had goals and very little swayed or distracted me from them. I’m a chaser; always have been looking for the next goal, the next achievement, the next risk and high. I got it all, and somehow it still was never enough. Loving her, being with her—the only thing I can’t get enough of is this. Is us.

“Hey.” I put my hands over hers to still the whisking. “Look at me for a sec.”

She turns, leaning against the counter and linking her arms over my shoulders and around my neck.

“I’ll never finish breakfast if you start feeling me up and slapping my ass.”

I laugh, gripping her hips and giving her a little shake. “I promise to let you get back to my breakfast.”

“Don’t get used to it.” She rolls her eyes. “I’m not spoiling you.”

“That’s where we differ because I’m gonna spoil your ass rotten.”

The laughter fades in her expression. “You know I joke a lot about gifts and stuff, but I don’t need any of that. I just want you.”

“I know.” I run the back of my hand over the high curve of her cheekbone. “But I want to give you everything, Hen. You work hard. Let me make things soft for you.”

“Maybe a little then,” she says, smirking.

“It’s bad business to let the person on the other side of the negotiating table know they can have anything they want.” I gently cup her face and hold her eyes so she can read the absolute truth of what I’m saying. “But that’s what I want you to know. And I don’t just mean jewelry or gifts. I’m giving you my whole heart, Hendrix.”

Any lingering traces of humor disappear from her face and she links our hands, pressing them to her heart. Telling her this is one of the most vulnerable moments of my life. Loving someone this way feels like giving them a blank check and telling them they can fill it up with zeros. That there is no limit, but that’s how I feel when I’m with Hendrix.

“Mav, I…” She blinks at tears and swallows hard. “I’ve seen this before with other people. My parents and my friends, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever find someone who accepted me just as I am and loved me no matter what. I’m not easy.”

I lift her chin and meet her eyes.

“Falling in love with you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” I tell her. “It happened before I even realized it. I just knew you were the most fascinating woman I’d ever met and I wanted to know you. I wanted us to be friends, and then I wanted us to be everything.”

She presses our foreheads together and nods, a few tears slipping past her closed eyelids. I brush away her tears with my thumbs. We have hard days ahead. The shit with the Vipers. Aspire’s legal issues. The long inevitability of her mother’s journey with Alzheimer’s. Not to mention a bicoastal relationship. If we thought us getting together was complicated, we ain’t seen nothing yet. Staying together will hold new challenges, but that unassailable joy I saw in Hendrix out on that dance floor the night we met tells me there is no one I’d rather face hard times with. The world can take its best shots. My girl’s a fighter, and when she’s knocked down she gets back up. I want to stand with her in her convictions. I want to hold her when grief or sorrow knocks at her door. I want to dance with her when life serves up celebrations.

I wasn’t looking for this—what we have, what we’re building—because I didn’t know it was possible. Not for me, but this woman had me looking, had me searching, had me chasing.

I caught her.

She caught me.

And now, thank God, there’s no letting go.