Chapter 4 Maverick
CHAPTER 4
MAVERICK
M aybe I shouldn’t have mentioned my grandfather.
It obviously upset Hendrix when I admitted that he’s gone now. The years from the time he was diagnosed until his body finally surrendered to the ravaging of his mind were some of the hardest my family experienced. My mother became his primary caregiver, and the burden was beyond what anyone should have to endure.
“I hate that for Hen,” Chapel says, resting her back and elbows on the bar and looking out over the crowd. “I hoped she’d get through the whole party without that happening.”
“Does her mom have a nurse or something?” Zere asks.
“Someone comes in to help when needed,” Chapel says. “But her aunt Geneva moved in a few months ago from Virginia. Hendrix goes home all the time. Her mom doesn’t want to go to a facility until it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Makes sense,” I say, nodding. “My grandfather stayed home until we had no other choice.”
“Hendrix would love for her mom to move to Atlanta.” Chapel sips her drink and her sympathetic gaze follows her friend down to the pier, “but she doesn’t want to leave the house that’s been her home for decades.”
“Well, being in familiar surroundings is good for them,” I agree. “Less disorienting than moving somewhere new.”
“You know a lot about this.” Zere frowns at me. “I don’t remember you talking about your grandfather having Alzheimer’s.”
I shrug. “I think I mentioned it once or twice, but he passed away before we met. I guess it just never came up much.”
“Hmmm.” Zere eyes me curiously like she’s wondering what other secrets I’ve kept hidden. It seems these days like she’s always trying to decode me; figure out what went wrong between us and where and how she missed it.
“Oh, my gosh,” Chapel squeaks, covering her mouth with one hand. “Is that Grip James over there?”
Zere nods, a grin denting her cheeks. “Yes. Did I forget to tell you he’s performing right before the fireworks?”
“Fireworks?” Chapel’s brows lift. “Y’all doing it big.”
“You want to meet him?” Zere tilts her head over to where Grip James, a popular rapper, and his wife, Bristol, stand by the pool.
“Uh, yeah. Duh.” Chapel stands up straight and runs a hand needlessly over her neat hair. “Yes, please.”
“He’s cool and so down-to-earth,” Zere says. “They both are.”
“He should be down-to-earth,” I half grumble. “Much as I’m paying his ass to perform two songs.”
Zere gives me a wry glance. “I think you can afford it, babe.”
That’s the thing about getting money. Somebody is always counting your cash for you, telling you what you can afford. I’m not a stingy dude, but my mom was the best haggler I ever met. I’ll never shake the art of getting the most out of a dollar.
“You coming?” Zere asks me. Her elbow is looped through Chapel’s and they’re both practically buzzing with anticipation.
“Nah.” I shake my head. “Think I’ll camp out here for a bit.”
“Not a Grip fan?” Chapel asks, her eagerness unmoved by my indifference.
“He aight.” I laugh at Zere’s horrified expression. “I mean, he ain’t Nas or Talib or Rakim or—”
“Oh, you got them old-ass ears.” Chapel chuckles, her voice lilting with humor.
“If I’m old so is Grip. He’s my age.” I twist my lips up and scoff. “He a good forty.”
“I don’t care how old he is,” Zere interjects. “It’s our party. We deserve a little meet and greet. Come on, Chapel.”
They walk off in the direction of the small group of people clustered around Grip and his wife, and my gaze drifts back to the pier. I’ve been forcing myself to not look down there where Hendrix stands alone, but now I can’t stop myself. Not because she’s beautiful. She definitely is, but that’s not why I sat down beside her at the bar. After watching her enthrall a group of people into dancing to her tune, I was drawn to the woman who so effortlessly compelled half the people at my party to eat from the palm of her hand. For the last twenty years identifying the exceptional and capitalizing on it has been my job. It’s an impossible habit to break, and Hendrix was much too exceptional to ignore.
I wasn’t flirting with her. I don’t think I crossed any lines. I would never disrespect Zere that way publicly. Even though we both know our relationship is done, no one else here does. Something about Hendrix drew me, though, beyond the obvious physical appeal. There’s a boldness to her that tricks you, as strength often does, into believing there’s no soft spots.
No sooner had I adjusted to the bravado of her, I got to see the vulnerability. I can still hear the haunting tones of that hymn she sang to calm her mother. My mom found little rituals like that to ease my grandfather’s way until at the end, he was so lost that none of those things mattered. That’s what waits at the end of this road, and my heart contracts for Hendrix and her mother.
“Hey, Brad,” I call to the bartender. He glances up from the drink he’s pouring.
“Yeah, boss?” He slides the drink down the bar with a smile to the guy waiting before turning back to me. “What’s up?”
“The woman who was here earlier.” I gesture to the seat Hendrix had occupied before Chapel and Zere approached. “What was she drinking?”
“Golden Cadillac.” He clears the empty glass Hendrix left on the bar. “She need another?”
“Yeah.” I glance down to the pier where she still stands alone. “I think she might.”