Page 3 of Rebound

“Well, uncomplicate it then,” Mr. Valen says. “Without my Ginny, who knows what would have become of me.”

I look at Mrs. Valen, who is now looking adoringly at her husband. Just where the hell does he think I’m going to find awoman who will tolerate me, much less look at me like she looks at him?

“He was quite the skirt chaser in his day,” Mrs. Valen says. “I put an end to that.” She walks to me and takes my hands in hers. They’re soft and warm. They are what I imagine a grandmother’s touch is supposed to feel like. “I can tell you’re a good boy just like my Ryder,” she says. “That little girl deserves a family, and you’re the only one who can give it to her.”

Jesus, these people. It’s not like I can order a wife from Amazon or get one at Wives R Us. I can’t bring just any woman into my daughter’s life. I work a job where I’m gone half the year. Not to mention that I come complete with a basket case of a father. Where am I going to find someone who accepts all that?

Chapter 2

Seth

A car whizzes by much too close to us. I’d cuss if not for two reasons. One, I have my daughter with me and she loves to try to repeat whatever I say. The other reason is that I don’t need any more negative press.

Not that any of it is my fault. It comes with the territory when you’re a professional basketball player for one of the most popular teams in the country. We swept the finals last year and made it to the first-round playoffs this year but got eliminated. With two of our best players injured and a new coach, we just couldn’t pull it off this season. That wasn’t because of me. I’ve played every game and average twenty-four points per game.

Hell, I was MVP when we won the finals. I’m still one of the best players on the team, but none of that seems to matter lately. Some overly enthusiastic fans' antics have gotten out of control. Lies are swirling that I have another child on the way, but that’s biologically impossible. I haven’t been with anyone since before Jasmine was born.

“Truck!” she yells while pointing at the UPS truck across the busy Manhattan street. She bounces in the baby carrier strapped to my body. She’s a tall baby and her head hits my chin.

When the light changes at the intersection of Lafayette and Leonard, I run across the street. A car honks, and when I turnaround, a young woman is hanging out the passenger window with her tongue hanging out.

“I’m a certified Sethhead!” she yells. She puts her index and middle finger on each side of her mouth and sticks her tongue in between. I wave, but I don’t do it back like I normally would. That’s how some of my problems started.

It’s with relief that I step inside the New York County Family Court. I exhale and take a deep breath while I bask in the air-conditioned building. July in New York City is not for the faint of heart, especially when you have a fifteen-month-old strapped to your chest.

After that lecture by Mr. Valen, I left his Stamford Connecticut estate, drove home, and walked to the courthouse.

“It’s Seth Wakowski!” someone yells. It’s one of the security guards, and I wish he had a little more tact. Today is not about me. “All the Mischiefs are here today,” he says with way too much excitement for a Wednesday afternoon. “Holy fuck,” he says under his breath. I cover Jasmine’s ears and shake my head at the guard with disapproval. He grins sheepishly.

“O-M-G! Seth!” A woman from the other side of the security desk stands and does the obscene Sethhead movement. She takes it a step further and thrusts her hips three times. I give her a head nod and go through the security routine. I take Jasmine off my chest and put her hand in mine. She hops through the metal detectors, and I walk with her without incident.

“Take your first left, and they are in courtroom one,” one of the guards says. He subtly hands me a notebook and a pen. I scribble my signature and leave the gawking crowd behind. I pick up Jasmine and jog to the courtroom. It’s already full, and I spot my colleague, Colt Chastain, and his wife and kids sitting in the front. Their families as well as most of our team are here.

“Baba,” Jasmine says, pointing at my former coach and his wife. Other than me, Aiden Walsh is her favorite human. I’m glad I had the foresight to make him and his wife her godparents. Jasmine starts to kick her legs, and as soon as I put her down, she runs down the hall and practically climbs over two other people to get to her godfather. When he kisses her cheeks, she squeals in delight. Coach’s wife, Jeannie, reaches over and kisses Jasmine’s cheek too.

I follow my daughter and manage to squeeze into the same bench.

“You’re late,” Coach whispers in my ear. He might not be my coach anymore, but he still acts like it. I don’t mind. He’s the closest thing I have to a big brother and mentor. “I know Wayne summoned you today,” he says with a smirk. He also still knows everything that goes on with the team. I think Mr. Valen is trying to lure him back, but if he had asked me, I would have told him there’s no chance in hell Coach would come back. He’s happy to be at home with his wife every night. I know this because he tells me each time we see each other.

“He told me some old boomer bullshit,” I whisper.

“Pray tell,” Coach says.

“That I should find a wife to run my household. I’ve been running a household since I was a kid. I’m never going to be a simp like you and Chastain,” I whisper again.

I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad to have someone to go home to after a game, especially if that person cares about me, but I have no idea how to go about finding that.

“What do you mean by simp?” Coach asks. I don’t trust the question. He knows what a simp is. Coach is a lot of things but he’s neither dumb nor misinformed.

“You know how you and Chastain are always kissing your wife’s butts?” His eyebrows arch to his forehead. “Imean, I saw him holding Vickie’s purse the other day. And remember that time Jeannie called you because she slammed a drawer on her finger, and you ran off to console her? That stuff. That’s being a simp for your woman. You're simp one, and Chastain is simp two.”

“Oh, right. Gotcha,” he says with an eye roll.

“Yeah. I’m never going to be like that.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, sounding unconvinced. “But you see, I get to go home to this every night.” He reaches over and kisses his wife’s cheek. "Chastain gets to go home tohiswife." Then he gets close to me and whispers, “Every. Single. Night. Who do you go home to?”

“Jasmine. Duh,” I say, and he grins.

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