Page 122 of Hollywood

“Why would you risk everything for people you don’t even know?” she’d asked.

To be fair, I hadn’t expected to get caught. Still, I didn’t regret it. I regretted the outcome—especially for Carrie and Ruby—but I didn’t regret trying to help people.

Mom and I just weren’t wired the same, even if we both had a knack for business.

“So stay with Tex,” Mom said, voice threaded with tension. “But think about what you put Carrie through. Think about your daughter. They both deserve better, don’t you think? This could be—ah, shit. I have to run. Think about it, Hendrix. That’s all I ask.”

Click.

She’d disconnected. I slumped against the wall. Damn. Was Mom right? Did I owe Carrie and Ruby better than I could offer as a small-town barber? Maybe it was selfish of me to avoid the career I’d built before my imprisonment.

I hadn’t trusted myself to go back to that world. I’d been afraid of repeating my past mistakes. And the longer I was out of the corporate cesspool, the more I realized how toxic it had been.

Joyride’s shadow fell over me. I looked up.

He stood at the entrance to the hallway, blocking the light from the kitchen. “Are you okay?”

I pushed off the wall. “Yeah, sorry. Mymom called.”

Joyride watched me, eyes searching. “Not a good conversation?”

“Eh, not bad for her, honestly.” I chuckled at the absurdity of the statement, but it was true. Mom’s questions twisted inside me, poking and prodding at old bruises, but she’d had good intentions.

I pocketed my phone. “Let’s go watch the movie.”

“Okay,” Joyride said. “But if you need to talk about anything, you know I’m here for you.”

“I know. Thanks, Joey.”

“How about some popcorn with lots of butter?” he suggested. “That always makes me feel better.”

I considered it. “I’ll have to go for a long run tomorrow. That’s a lot of carbs and fat.”

“Dude, you’re ruining the magic. Don’t think about your health. That won’t heal emotional wounds. You know what will?”

“Butter?” I guessed.

He grinned. “Nailed it.”

I laughed. “Okay, buttery popcorn and a movie. I can handle that.”

We made the movie snacks, which also included cans of Coke and my renewed stash of peanut butter cups.

“Your snack game is on point,” Joyride said as we settled on the couch in front of the television.

He hadn’t queued up a movie.

“So, what do you want to watch?”

“I don’t know,” he mused. “I wasn’t really vibing with anything.” He shrugged. “We can just hang.”

“Okay.” I dug out a handful of popcorn and crammed it into my mouth. The slick butter mingled with the salt, pinging some sort of inner craving that had me instantly reaching for a second handful.

“Do you get along with your parents?” Joyride asked suddenly.

I stilled. “I told you the call was fine.”

“I know. I’m just thinking about how I keep fighting with my dad.” He shrugged. “It’s hard, you know? I want them to treat me like an adult, but they can’t seem to forget my mistakes, and why would they? I fucking destroyed someone’s life.”