Page 1 of Rebound

Chapter 1

Seth

“You need to get your shit together, kid. This is a family business. My grandson is set to inherit this team and I’m not going to be shamed by your shenanigans,” Wayne Valen, the owner of the Mischiefs, says to me.

It’s not every day you get a call from the owner of the team demanding a meeting with you at his home. That’s what I woke up to this morning, and it was only slightly better than the drama I woke up to yesterday. Or the day before when my father called about his most recent session with his shrink. Not to mention, the day before that, my daughter had a diaper explosion in her crib sometime in the early morning. The shit continues to rain down on me, both literally and figuratively.

There’s no point in telling Wayne that what happened this time wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t, but given my reputation, he probably won’t believe me. Hell, I don’t believe it myself, but it’s the truth.

My one-year-old daughter Jasmine bounces in my arms and reaches for Mr. Valen’s long, beak-like nose. He lets her pull on it until she’s had enough and drops her hand. I run my hand through her dark curls and she calms down.

“Explain yourself, Son,” Wayne demands. He crosses his bony arms and leans against his big mahogany desk. His homeoffice is a mess of old newspapers and pictures of our basketball team on the cover of a magazine from last year when we won the finals.

“Mr. Valen, this time it really wasn’t me,” I begin. “What happened was—"

“Oh, poppycock,” he says. “I don’t want excuses, and don’t for a second think you can spin some grand story. Don’t even think you can lie to me. I’ve raised seven daughters and have sixteen grandchildren. I know when someone is lying.” I want to interrupt and tell him that he doesn’t know as much as he thinks he knows because I’m telling the truth. “Every goddamn day you’re involved in some kind of scandal, and they all involve women. In my day, a man knew how to carry himself and not bring shame wherever he went. Do I need to wire your zipper shut?”

If I was a smartass, I’d ask him what century he thought we were in. Or I’d remind him that his generation thrived on sexually harassing their secretaries and having secret families on the other side of town. That men like him from his generation thrived on keeping others who weren’t from his social circle out.

“Sir,” I say, preparing my defense, after taking a calming breath, “the nanny got in my bed while I was sleeping and took that picture. I fired her and threatened to sue the agency.” I do everything in my power to keep calm, but one thing I’m not used to is being reprimanded by someone old enough to be my great-grandfather. I grew up with my father and he didn’t give a damn what I did.

“You want me to believe a young woman did this?” I nod. Of course, a man from his generation wouldn’t believe women are capable of doing diabolical things. “For God’s sake, your hand was on her breast,” he whispers, clearly outraged by thethought. The man’s been married for a thousand years. I’m sure he’s touched at least one pair of breasts in that time.

“She put it there,” I say louder than I should. I’ve already been through this with the agency. I’ve explained on social media. The agency has fired the nanny and issued a formal public apology. Maybe when Mr. Valen was doing his research on all the wrong I’ve done, he should have dug deep enough to find out I’m the victim here.

Mr. Valen steps closer and looks up at me. He stares into my eyes as if he’s trying to look into my soul. I look away. I’m not used to someone his age asserting any paternal authority over me.

“Well, what the hell kind of nanny did you hire? What did you base your choice on?” I sigh. I won’t tell him that the nanny was six feet tall with bright blue hair. Her cleavage didn’t hurt either, and even though I knew I would never touch someone I employ, I figured there would be no harm in looking once in a while. She also had a nice smile with her dimple piercings. Not to mention a fat booty that fit snugly into the little shorts she wore, which I found myself admiring every day. I keep all of those little details to myself.

“I went by the agency’s recommendation.” Which is one hundred percent true.

“Don’t play with me. I’ve done way more than you can ever imagine which includes this brand.” He inches closer and points to my face, but Jasmine grabs his finger and tries to put it in her mouth. His scowl disappears and he laughs as if it’s the funniest thing.

He pulls his hand from her but gestures to me to let him take her. I pull her out of the baby carrier, hand her over, and wait for her to wail and reach back for me, only she doesn’t. He bounces her and she grabs his nose and pulls. He cackles as ifit’s the best thing on earth. He walks around with her and talks in a high-pitched voice while he tickles her belly. I grin at that and wish my daughter could have a normal grandfather like Mr. Valen, but she doesn’t. She has my dad, and I’ve never had a conversation with her maternal grandfather. I’ve only spoken with her witch of a grandmother.

Jasmine’s mother, Charlotte, was a one-night stand that I barely remembered. One of many fangirls I’ve slept with since college. It only multiplied when I got drafted into the NBA. I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t remember her or that night, but the paternity test came back that I’m the father.

We were doing our best at co-parenting. We had an arrangement worked out with the court, and I was paying regular child support. Then she died, and I became a single father.

Mr. Valen’s office door opens, and Mrs. Valen walks in. She looks like a stereotypical nineteen-fifties housewife. She even has an apron around her waist. Her silver hair is perfectly coiffed, and she has a string of pearls around her neck. She looks like one of the moms in one of those old black-and-white sitcoms I sometimes watch.

“How about some cookies for this little sweetheart?” she says as she slowly approaches her husband and Jasmine. Jasmine practically jumps into her arms when she reaches for her.

“Save some cookies for me, Ginny,” Mr. Valen says.

“You don’t need cookies,” she chastises but winks at him. “And don’t be too hard on him.” She stands in front of me. “He’s a good boy. I can tell. All he needs is a good talking to and a good woman to help him raise this little girl.” She pats my cheek and leaves the office with my daughter in her arms. A good woman? What the hell is that, and can this faceless, nameless person help me? I admit that it would be nice.

Wayne walks across his vast office and goes behind his desk. He pulls out a bottle of dark liquor and two shot glasses, but I shake my head no at him. I’m not a big drinker, and I hate the hard stuff. He bends underneath his desk and plops down a water bottle before gesturing for me to take it. I do. For someone so rich, you’d think he would have high-end bottled water, but it’s the generic brand that you can get at one of those big-box stores.

“Sit,” he says as if I’m one of his children. I sit and uncap the water, ready to receive this lecture so I can get it over with. I have somewhere to be, and at least that promises to be more fun than this. “You seem to be lost, Son, and since I’ve never met your parents, I’m going to act as your father right now.” I remain quiet, eager to hear what he’s going to say next. Whatever it is, I welcome it. Lord knows there’s no advice my father can give me that I would take. Whatever Peter Wakowski says, I’m more likely to do the opposite because what the fuck does he know about shit? “I never said a word about all the social media talk about you and the women, and believe me, I know about all of them.”

I doubt it. There are so many that I’m sure I’ve forgotten about several. Besides, Wayne is not tech-savvy. I’ve heard him ask my teammates several times the most basic questions regarding his phone. “I figured you’re young, you’re rich, and you were getting it out of your system, but you have a child now. You can’t be screwing your nanny and lord knows who else. And enough with that ridiculous dance you have those women doing.” He lifts both hands in the air and shakes his body. I don’t know what the hell he thinks he’s doing, but that’s not the dance. He looks like he’s having a seizure. “You have them acting like a bunch of addicts. You need to grow up and put your dick away, Seth.”

I grind my teeth, but instead of responding, I decide to take a drink. This is the same sort of bullshit my father’s been spewing only I never take anything he says to heart. My father is a joke, but Wayne Valen is different. He’s built this team. He’s respected by many, including me. He’s a family man. Unlike my dad, he raised his kids. He’s an active grandfather. In fact, this is the type of family I always wanted to belong to, and it has nothing to do with their wealth.

“Speak,” he commands. “Don’t just sit there like a ninny, boy. You think I have time to waste? I could be spending time with my wife right now, but I’m here lollygagging with you over this malarkey.”

“I did nothing with the nanny,” I say evenly when all I want to do is give him the same type of attitude I would give my father. “I treated her with respect.” Other than looking more than I should have, but he doesn’t need to know that. “As for the other things, I haven’t done anything since Jasmine came to live with me full-time. I didn’t create that dance, and I was only with women who wanted to be with me. I didn’t force anyone or lead any of them on. I never lied to a woman. They knew exactly what I was willing to give, which was only the physical. I’m trying, Mr. Valen,” I utter and wonder why I’m always cast in the role of caregiver.

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