Page 100 of Rebound

Chapter 63

Seth

“Has your life ever been so great that you’re just sitting around waiting for the other shoe to drop?” I ask Chastain on the second day of our five-day away games. It’s true. I have a wife and we’re in love. She’s adopting our daughter, and I’m waiting for a court date to make it legal. My father is finally acting like a normal human being. My career is great. Nothing has ever worked this well for me in my life, and I’m scared of what’s on the other side.

“Been there,” Chastain says while he laces up his sneakers.

“And?” I ask. I stand over him as we wait to be called out on the court. The best thing about tonight is that I know Layla will be watching.

“And I mucked it up.”

“Not exactly reassuring,” I mutter.

He stands and taps me on the shoulder. “Then don’t muck it up. Even if you do, you can fix it. I did.” And that’s all he says. His life seems to be great, so I’ll take him at his word.

I’m not going to fuck things up with my wife. There are no other women, and my plan to treat her like Coach and Chastain treat their wives worked perfectly. All I have to do is maintain that, and that’s easy.

We’re in Philly tonight, so we get called out first. As expected, the reception is lukewarm, but we manage a twelve-point lead by halftime. After a pep talk, I decide to shower before calling Layla.

“Wakowski!” I hear Chastain yell a few minutes later. I have my face underneath the shower head. “Call Layla. She’s been trying to reach you.” And my heart drops. She knows the routine. I shower at halftime and then I call. She gives me a pep talk and I return to the court.

I run out of the shower without rinsing off the soap.

“Jesus, Wakowski, use a towel. No one wants to see your junk!” someone yells.

I don’t bother responding as I reach for my phone.

There are about a dozen missed calls and texts. I don’t read the texts, I just call Layla. She answers right away.

“Seth,” she practically wails.

“What is it? Is it Barbara? Jasmine?” Then I get a horrible thought. “My dad?”

“It’s,” she begins, but she starts crying, “Gaga,” she manages to say after several wails.

“What? Did she fall again?” She fell a few days ago, but she was fine. She was a little sore and bruised, but nothing was broken.

“She’s dead,” Layla says, and the phone slips out of my hand and lands on my big toe. Like in a trance, I bend down and pick it up. When I press it to my ear, I’m met with the sounds of my wife’s uncontrollable wails. I stand there, frozen and unable to utter a single word. “She died in her sleep,” is all she says.

“Layla,” is all I can think to say.

“I was supposed to go see her today but didn’t go because Jasmine wasn’t feeling well. I thought I hadtime—”

Someone bumps into me, then a towel is thrown at me. I quickly wrap it around my waist. Whatever Layla was going to say gets caught off while she weeps. She tries to talk, but she’s crying uncontrollably and can’t get any words out. It’s so bad that I worry she will have a panic attack like my dad used to have whenever he had one of his crying fits.

“I’ll be right there,” I say, knowing she needs me. I know she has her mother and other family members, but they will be dealing with their own grief. Layla needs her husband. If this were Jeannie or Vickie, I know Chastain and Coach would be with them.

“You can’t. You’re part of a team,” she manages to say.

“We’re a fucking team,” I say back. “You and me. We take care of each other.” I’ve never had anyone take care of me before, and I’m not going to drop the ball when she needs me now. She starts weeping again, and I imagine her in the apartment by herself without anyone to lean on.

While she cries, I tell my coach what happened, and that I have to go. He nods and tells me to go be with my wife. I keep Layla on the phone with me the entire time. I get a text from Coach telling me he’s sending the Walsh private jet and for me to get to the airport. While I’m on the phone with Layla, her mother arrives at our place, but I don’t let her off the phone until the pilot tells me we’re about to take off.

It takes less than one hour to land in Teterboro, and there’s a car waiting for me courtesy of Coach. I’m home forty minutes after that. Her entire family is there when I arrive. She’s in June Bug’s arms when I open the door, but as soon as she sees me, she leaves him and practically flies into mine. She breaks down as soon as our bodies touch.

I knew things were too good to be true. Layla’s been a mess for the past two days. Not only that, but her mother and cousin are too, which leaves planning most of the funeral to me and Donna. Even Leon pitches in and isn’t met with the usual insults. The only good thing is that Gaga, whose real name is Ruth Brunton, left instructions on what to do. She even had a life insurance policy that covered everything.

Even now, three days after her death, Layla is crying loudly on my shoulder while the minister does the funeral mass. Stella manages to get herself together long enough to do the eulogy. To my left is my dad who is holding onto my hand so tight he might cut off my circulation. He insisted on coming for Layla, and when I tried to talk him out of attending the actual funeral, he said he was certain he was ready. I don’t know how ready he is because he’s been stuck to me like glue since we stepped out of my apartment. Between him and Layla needing all my attention, I’m happy we left Jasmine with the nanny.

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