Chapter 7 Maverick
CHAPTER 7
MAVERICK
A re you sure you’re okay?”
My father’s call makes him the tenth person—today—who has asked me that. Ever since the announcement, well-meaning friends and acquaintances have been “just checking on me,” concerned that I’m devastated by the breakup.
And I am in a way. I’m sorry it ended like this, but I’m also ready to move on and forward.
“Pop, I’m good.” I lean on my bedroom’s balcony railing and consider the tumultuous ocean that is my backyard here in Malibu. “I’ll always care about Zee, but you know we wanted different things.”
“Not like I wouldn’t want more grandkids,” he grouses from the other end of the line.
“You and Mom shouldn’t have put all your bets on me.” I chuckle and draw in a lungful of ocean air. “I do have like twelve cousins. They got kids and half of ’em consider you a second grandfather.”
“I know. I don’t really care about that. I just want you happy, Mav. I thought Zere might be the one who could get you to settle down.”
“I did settle down for three whole years. We shared our lives. We were together and now we’re not. Not everybody gets a soulmate for life like you and Mom.”
“So you don’t want to get married? Don’t want any more kids?”
“I was a father by the time I was twenty-two, and Tamia just graduated from high school. Why would I want to start all over for another eighteen years now?”
“And marriage?”
“I loved Zere, but it wasn’t like that with us. If I’d had with her what you had with Mom, this would be a very different conversation.”
“I know that,” he says, his tone subdued, bordering on despairing. “I’m still living that hell, and it’s been three years since I lost your mother. Not sure it will ever hurt less.”
I often wonder if I hadn’t met Zere so soon after my mother died, would we have lasted as long as we did? I was vulnerable and needed a distraction. Needed companionship. A friend. Zere was all that, and I’ll always appreciate it. My father and I were both so steeped in sorrow. I found something… someone to shift my focus to. Pop didn’t have that. I didn’t mean to remind him of that time. Though, who am I kidding? If a man’s heart is carved out of his chest, do you have to remind him he’s missing a vital organ?
“You still seeing the grief counselor?” I venture, kicking myself for steering the conversation in this direction. It’s not that we never talk about my mom dying, but grief is a wave, washing in and washing out. Sometimes calm, and others a riptide. I’ve seen it take my dad under before.
“Occasionally.” He grunts. “What they gon’ do for me? Can’t bring Priscilla back. I do appreciate a place to talk, perspective, all that. It’s not useless. It just doesn’t change the fact that the person I loved more than anything is gone.”
My family has grieved a lot over the last few years. It was slow with my grandfather, losing bits of him along the way until one day he was gone completely. There was admittedly some relief with his passing. Relief for my grandfather, who would never have chosen the existence Alzheimer’s left him with, and for my mother, who absorbed the brunt of his care. Losing my mother was different. Like a thread ripped from a quilt that instantly unravels. She held our family together, and for a while my father and I both floundered. My therapist suggested I find something to focus on; a goal. You ain’t gotta tell me twice. If there’s one thing I love, it’s something to accomplish.
“Did I tell you how close we are to sealing the deal with the Vipers?” I ask him, deliberately pivoting from the conversation’s sad direction.
“You lying.” Pop’s voice immediately brightens, and even though I can’t see him, in my mind’s eye, he leans forward with a familiar eagerness only basketball elicits.
“Yeah. If all goes well, I’ll have a controlling interest, but AJ will maintain a minority ownership and his seat on the board of directors. He wouldn’t budge on those conditions.”
“Too bad you still have to work with him,” Dad grumbles. “He’s an asshole. His daddy was an asshole.”
“I wish Andrew Senior were still around to see them lose this team,” I say, flecks of bitterness in the words.
“Andy Senior wasn’t my favorite person, but it was Jerry Keys who blackballed me.” The annoyance in Pop’s voice reaches through the phone. “That motherfucker blocked me at every turn.”
“Had they hired you as the Vipers’ head coach, they’d have at least one championship. Everybody knows that and no one ever did anything about it.”
“Just my luck my archrival became one of the most powerful men in the league.” I can almost hear my father’s shrug of resignation. “Jerry was one of the commissioner’s closest advisers, and he always made it clear that anyone who helped me would be on his shit list.”
My teeth clench at the memory of Pop being passed over time and again, job after job that he was qualified for, but never hired. Stuck as an assistant, but never given the chance to lead a team. I can’t get those years back, can’t make it right, but I can make him feel better. Not just about the blocked ambitions in his coaching career, but maybe ease some of the loss and grief he hasn’t been able to release. I hope having this deal to focus on and then the endeavor of helping to shape the team will help.
“If I could get rid of AJ altogether, believe me I would,” I tell Pop. “But this has been his family’s team for so long. He’s for damn sure not letting it go.”
“Andy Senior would roll over in his grave,” my father chuckles. “A Black man owning his family’s team? Unbelievable.”
“I still can’t quite believe it myself, that I can actually pull this off.”
“Why you surprised? All you’ve accomplished, the money you got when you sold True Playahs, and you didn’t think you could buy the Vipers?”
“This shit is not just money. Some things you can’t even buy your way into. You and I know owning a professional team is often one of them.”
“When you have the capital and they don’t, things change. They need the investment.”
“They also need the leadership,” I say. “I hope you’ll help us with that.”
My father releases a sigh. “I’m an old man. What do I know anymore?”
“Pop, you’re sixty years old. Younger than half the men running things and owning teams in this league. And all my life I’ve heard you complaining the Vipers’ front office couldn’t lead a fly to a pile of shit.”
His laughter booms over the phone, drawing a smile from me in reply. “Ain’t that the truth, though? Okay. You buy your team, and we’ll see.”
“I’m working on it.”
A noise at the door distracts me. I turn to grin at my assistant standing there with his iPad, obviously ready to work.
“Pop, I gotta go,” I tell him, closing the door to the balcony and walking past Bolt out into the hall. He follows, our quiet footfalls the only sound in the house. “Bolt’s here to make me do some work.”
“Tell that assistant of yours to take it easy on you,” Pop laughs.
I glance over my shoulder, and Bolt is hot on my heels, a stern look on his face like we’re about to get down to some real business.
“Not a chance,” I say. “He’s ready to get started. You know how he is.”
“Well, I’ll let you go…” Pop pauses. “You sure you’re—”
“I’m okay.” It’s a struggle to keep the irritation out of my voice. I know he’s concerned, but he really doesn’t need to be. I’ve had weeks to get used to the breakup with Zere. The rest of the world is still catching up. “Gotta go. Love you.”
“Love you, too, and… well, I guess you can keep me in the loop on the Vipers thing.”
A triumphant grin takes over my face. “I’ll do that. Bye, Pop.”
I’ve arrived in the kitchen by the time we disconnect. Laurenz, my chef, has left my morning smoothie on the pristine expanse of marble countertop.
“Need this,” I groan, grabbing the frosted glass and sitting on a stool at the counter.
“Gulp,” Bolt orders, frowning. “You have a Zoom in thirty minutes and still need to shower and change, I presume.”
“What’s wrong with what I got on?” I ask, gesturing to the wetsuit peeled down around my waist to reveal my arms and torso still slightly damp from the ocean.
“I think the board will expect less…” He runs assessing eyes up and down my frame. “Less chest and more clothes.”
“They want my money, not the other way around,” I say, unable to suppress my cynicism. “I’m sure they’d make allowances.”
“You’re probably right.”
His lips twitch, reminding me that I hired him not only for his brilliant mind, but for the fact that he, despite first impressions, knows how to laugh. He knows when to work and when to ease up and make sure I blow off steam. He’s my assistant, but he’s probably the most essential person on my team. I stole him from a company I was considering buying. I didn’t buy the company, but I did hire Roy Sires. Bolt to his friends, so named because he’s such a fast runner. That speed earned him a track scholarship to Harvard and could’ve taken him to the Olympics had it not been for a torn ACL.
I gulp the smoothie obediently, rinse the glass, and place it in the dishwasher. My housekeeper doesn’t expect me to clean up after myself, but my mama did, and it’s a hard habit to break.
“Lemme make myself respectable,” I say, exiting the kitchen. “I’ll meet you in the office in fifteen minutes.”
“The Realtor called,” Bolt says, standing in the living room, eyes glued to his iPad. “We already have a bite on the Miami property.”
That stops me at the foot of the stairs. Selling the house Zere loved so much, even more than today’s announcement, feels like the final call on our relationship.
“Did you hear me?” Bolt glances up. He’s not a tall man, standing at around five foot seven, but he is powerfully built, and his body always gives him away. Jaw clenched when he’s annoyed. Shoulders tensing when he’s angry. Brows knitted when he’s concerned, as they are now. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“About selling the house?” I ask, one foot poised on the bottom step.
“I guess about…” He gestures vaguely with the iPad. “About everything. About the breakup?”
“No,” I answer without hesitation. “Zee and I don’t belong together. I’m wondering if I should offer her the house instead of selling it.”
“Sir, that’s millions of dollars. Maybe a bracelet or a bag or… something that isn’t eight figures would be a better parting gift.”
I laugh outright at his incredulous expression. “Cheaper for sure. Just hold off till I have the chance to discuss it with Zere.”
His lips purse in exasperation, but he lets it go. “Will do. And Ralph called this morning. Said you told him to reach out after the party.”
I start up the stairs and roll my eyes. “He was all up in my grill Saturday night. No rush to get back to him. Always somebody trying to get in my pockets.”
He was the exact opposite of Hendrix, who seemed almost reluctant to pursue the idea of me investing in her venture capital fund. A smile quirks my lips at the memory of her leading the electric slide, head thrown back, laughter floating over the crowd. A stark contrast to how upset she was not even an hour later after the call with her mother.
This isn’t the first time I’ve thought of her since the party. She’s vibrant and smart and bold and… soft. There’s a softness to her that’s easy to overlook because of all that strength. I can’t get that bright smile and smooth brown skin out of my mind. Keep hearing her voice singing that hymn as she tried to soothe her mom.
It’s much too soon to consider asking her out. That’s ridiculous. I’m just ending a long-term relationship. And she’s Zere’s production partner. I’m not ready for another relationship right now, much less one that would be that complicated and wrong on so many levels.
Still I don’t stop myself from uttering the next words as I climb the stairs toward my bedroom.
“Hey, Bolt, find out all you can about the Aspire Fund out of Atlanta.”