Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(37)

“And you made a ton of money off gambling?”

“You judging?”

“No, admiring. I’ve never been into chance, in real life or virtually. I’m more of a calculated risk kind of girl.”

“I calculate to a certain point. If my gut points me in a different direction than my calculations, I’ll usually choose my gut.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought that about you.”

“I’ve never been afraid to risk or lose it all. I can always rebuild. I’ve had to sometimes. Not bankrupt, but damn close. So close I thought I’d lose everything.”

“What saved you?”

“Some investments no one thought I should make.” I laugh at the surprise on her face. “No, really. Literally everyone on my team at the time advised me not to invest in this.”

“What was it?”

“Weed.” I say it with a straight face, but can’t hold my laugh back when her mouth drops open. “Your expression right now.”

I reach one finger under her chin to gently push her jaw closed. There’s a sizzle where our skin meets, and it burns through the thin skin of my fingertip. She slowly tilts her head until my touch falls away. The amusement drains from her striking features at the same time the smile fades from mine.

“Ahem.” She licks her lips, glances down at her shoes, and resumes the conversation, her voice a shade huskier. “Weed, huh?”

“Medical marijuana, yeah. Though now with so many states legalizing it, I’ve invested in quite a few farms focused on recreational production.”

“And that saved you?”

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna be living on the streets, but it kept me very wealthy, and made me more so.”

“Now you’ve sold the app and made billionaire status.”

“To misquote, reports of my wealth have been greatly exaggerated.”

“Oh, so you’re not the next Black billionaire?”

“Maybe next, but not quite yet. I should be soon. It’s been a goal of mine for a really long time.”

“Since when?”

I screw up my mouth and narrow one eye. “Maybe twelve years old?”

“Twelve?” Her laugh is incredulous. “Are you shitting me?”

“Nope. I was the kid with the lemonade stand and the lawn-mowing business and a constant hustle. I even shined shoes for guys on my dad’s team. They didn’t actually need it. They just indulged me, but I didn’t care. Money was money.”

“I guess I thought you being the kid of a professional basketball player, you’d have been kind of spoiled.”

I take a sip of my drink and lean against the balcony rail.

“My mom wasn’t having that. I got an allowance, had chores. She kept life as normal as possible for me, even though I saw my dad on television more than at home for years.”

She pinches her brows together and reaches to cover my hand.

“I can’t imagine how hard it was losing your mom soon after your grandfather. I’m sorry.”

“It could have been a decade and I wouldn’t have been ready. My father never could have been. They had one of those great loves.”

She lifts her hand, and I miss the contact right away. Have to stop myself from grabbing it back.

“My parents had that, too,” she says.

“For real? How’d they get together?”

“In the eighth grade,” she says with a grin. “If you can believe it. Well, at least that was when they first met. My father used to say he knew right away Mama was supposed to be his wife.”

“She was feeling him, too?”

“Nope. She made him work for it.” Amusement lights her dark eyes and her smile is so pretty I almost forget what the hell I asked. “They didn’t start dating until the tenth grade, but that was it. They went off to college together. Got married as soon as they graduated. No looking back.”

“Based on what you’ve said, with your aunt taking care of your mom… is your father not—”

“He died six years ago.” She draws a breath in sharply through her nose. “Drunk driver.”

“Fuck.” This time I reach for her hand on the railing. She doesn’t pull away, but returns the squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Hendrix.”

“It was the most painful day of my life.” She shoots me a wry look. “Only the day my mom was diagnosed came close. It’s like you said. The difference between someone being snatched away unexpectedly and someone falling away a little every day like sand.”

“Both ways suck. It feels like my father will grieve forever.”

“Same. My mother… she’ll get this look in her eyes. She gets kind of stuck in earlier seasons of life, and it’s nostalgic, but this is different. This is a longing. She does have hallucinations occasionally, and I wonder if she’s seeing my dad because she looks so happy. I hate that she’s happiest when she’s hallucinating and that real life feels bleak and disorienting to her sometimes. It’s so hard to see her this way and to know it’s only going to…”

A lone tear streaks down her cheek.

“Shit.” Hendrix swipes under her eyes with the hand I’m not holding and leaks a watery laugh. “This is a morbid-ass conversation, Mav.”