It’sbeyondirresponsible not to have a contingency plan, but this is Maverick we’re talking about here. Reckless is his middle name.
“Haven’t thought that far ahead.” He shrugs. “What about you?”
“I’ve submitted applications to all the top journalism universities.”
“Striving to become the next Barbara Walters?”
“Yep.” I grin.
“Have you always wanted to be a journalist?”
“Ever since I can remember. It’s my passion.” I smile fondly. “After the death of my father, writing helped me to cope.”
“How did he die? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Gunshot to the chest at point-blank range,” I answer soberly. “He was LAPD.”
“Sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.” Sadness envelops me. “I’d give anything just to have one more day with him.”
“Is the woman you posted a picture of on Instagram yesterday his mom?”
“You’re very nonchalant about your stalking,” I deadpan. “You do know that’s not normal behavior, right?”
“Yeah, doesn’t mean I’m going to stop.”
“Well, my profiles are private now, so no more stalking for you. To answer your question, yes. I visit family on my dad’s side every Thanksgiving.”
The waiter brings a huge bucket of steamed crabs and shrimp to the table. Maverick and I don our bibs, then dig in.
“Your mother,” I start hesitantly, unsure if my question will set him off. “How did she die?”
He draws in a deep breath. “Hanged herself.”
“How old were you?”
“Six.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “I found her body.”
“Oh my God, Maverick.” I reach across the table and grasp his hand.
Hewillingly accepts my offer of comfort, squeezing my hand in return.
“I’ll never forget the haunted look in herlifeless eyes.” He trembles slightly. “In death, she still wasn’t at peace.”
“Why did she kill herself?”
He shuts down. “That’s a discussion for later.”
“Okay,” I readily agree.
We’ve made a lot of progress, and it’s best not to rock the boat by being pushy. I switch to a lighter topic and we finish our meal, chatting amicably.
It was stupid coming after Cocoa. I knew my presence would be unwelcome, but I couldn’t fathom a week without her. Against the advice of Nix and Dee, I hit the road yesterday evening. The instant I saw her through the nail salon window, my heart—the fucking useless organ—hammered in my chest.
What the fuck has Cocoa done to me? How is she able to soothe me when no one else can? One thing for certain is my sanity rests in the palm of her hands.
I opened up to her about my mother, surprising myself. It’s rare for me to let people in. I come to a stop at a red light and glance over at her. She absentmindedly twirls her fingers around the tips of her silken strands.
