Rebound: Book 2 of the Mischiefs series

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 home office 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 the thought. 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 if it’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.

I love my daughter, and I have to live with the guilt and shame of not wanting her to be mine when I found out she was a possibility. She’s mine, and she didn’t ask to be here, and since her mother is gone, she’s now my responsibility. I own that, but my father should not be my responsibility too. Not when he’s only forty-six years old, and I’ve been taking care of him for a decade already.

“Keep your willy in your pants. Next time, hire a damn nanny that’s old enough to be your mother. Ginny hires all the staff. I have nothing to do with it, and that’s the way it should be. Men, for the most part, are nincompoops who don’t know anything about running a house.”

I want to tell him that I beg to differ. I’ve been running a house since before I was a man. I’ve been doing it since I was twelve, and I’ve done okay.

“Yes, sir,” is all I say.

“In fact, find your own goddamn wife, Seth. That’s my advice. And find a good one to help you raise that little girl. If I have to summon you here again, I’m going to get upset, and you don’t want that. Ask my wife what happened the last time one of our kids pissed me off? It’s not pretty. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” I say again.

I’ve never had a dressing down in my life, at least not from a parental figure like Mr. Valen, and I know one thing; I don’t like it. Not when I’m doing everything I can to get my life together so my daughter can have a good childhood.

He stands and gestures for me to do the same. I nod and lower my head as if I’ve been chastised, but he hasn’t said anything new. The irony is that my father has been spewing the same shit since I told him about Jasmine, but whatever my father says to me goes in one ear and out the other.

I follow Mr. Valen through the first floor to his gourmet kitchen. This space alone is about three times the size of the shitty trailer I grew up in. His wife has her back to us. She’s no longer holding Jasmine, and Jasmine is now in the arms of a man I’ve never seen before.

He looks like he’s in his thirties and is well over six feet tall, although several inches shorter than me. He tosses her in the air, and she lets out a big belly laugh. Jasmine is a daredevil and fearless. The higher he tosses her in the air, the happier it makes her. Mr. Valen smiles at the scene and so do I.

If only this was her life. If only Mr. Valen was her grandfather and this guy throwing her in the air was her uncle. But no. She was given a shitty hand in the family department. Not as shitty as me, but close enough.

“Seth, this is my grandson Ryder. Get to know him because I’m retiring soon and he’s taking over,” he says. “He won’t put up with any of your nonsense.” Ryder barely looks at me as he makes faces at Jasmine.

“Hey, Seth,” he says. “Cute kid.” He grabs a cookie from a nearby plate and hands it to her. Jasmine shoves the whole thing in her mouth. Ryder smiles and puts her on his hip. He crosses the room and extends his hand to me. I shake it and reach for my daughter. She practically jumps into my arms.

“Ryder’s a good boy,” Mr. Valen says of his grandson. I can see the pride in his eyes when he looks at him, and I can only imagine what that’s like. “First boy in the family,” he says proudly. “Maybe you two can be friends,” he suggests. “You look like you can use a friend.”

Ryder looks at me and back to his grandfather. From the smirk on his face, I know he’s not interested in being my friend. Besides, he looks like he’s at least ten years older than me.

“Sure, Granddad,” he says, and I know full well he’s lying.

So much for Mr. Valen’s claim of being able to tell when someone is being dishonest. Ryder pulls out his wallet and hands me one of his cards, which I’m sure I’ll never use.

Jasmine eyes the plate of cookies and starts to point at them.

“I think you’ve had enough cookies, Jazzy Girl,” I say before I kiss her temple.

“Poppycock,” Mr. Valen says. That’s the second time he’s said that word since I’ve been here. He’s the first person I’ve ever known to use that word. He reaches over and snatches Jasmine from me. “A few cookies won’t give her the collywobbles,” he says.

“The what?” I ask.

“The collywobbles. Ryder gets them every time he has dairy, don’t you, Ry?” He cackles and Ryder flares his nostrils in aggravation. “Remember that time you got them on the yacht? Milkshakes and ocean waves do not agree with you. You spent half the day puking into the ocean.”

“I think that’s enough of that,” Ryder grumbles.

Mr. Valen ignores him, puts Jasmine down, and puts a cookie in each of her hands. “Now,” he says, turning back to me. He points at a chair at the kitchen table, and I sit. “Let’s go over what we talked about,” he says as if I’m a little kid who just got in trouble.

Ryder snorts from across the room. I eye him, but he grins, crosses his arms, and leans against the wall.

“I’m waiting,” Mr. Valen says.

“My grandpa is waiting,” Ryder practically cackles.

“Uh, I’m going to stop my shenanigans,” I say, making sure to use his words. When he nods in agreement, I continue. “Cut the malarkey and keep my willy in my pants.” This time Ryder lets out a loud bark of laughter but quickly attempts to look serious when his grandfather looks his way.

“And find a wife,” Mrs. Valen says with her back turned to us.

“Well, that one might be tricky,” I say as I run a hand over my head. I don’t know what century these people are from, but marriage has never been a solution to anything.

“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 a woman 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?