Hook Shot (Hoops 3)

“This is our family counseling session. Our daughter’s having a hard time with this divorce, and we’re doing this to help her,” I say. “This is real life. She needs to take it seriously. Coming out to a circus for fake reality TV does not help.”

“And where do you suggest we go?” Lillian asks, one brow flicked imperiously. I gotta give it to the kid. She’s got balls to be standing up to me when I’m in a mood this foul.

“That, Lillian James, is your job.” I point a thumb over my shoulder to the closed door of the therapist’s office. “My daughter is my job. You can park under the Brooklyn Bridge as far as I care, but get the hell out of this lobby before Simone comes out of that office.”

“Maybe you can wait in the parking lot across the street,” Bridget suggests impatiently. “Get some instant reactions from me after the session.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ross. I was told,” she says, shooting a hard, pointed look at my ex-wife, “this had been cleared.”

“To be safe,” I advise, “anything you’re shooting with proximity to me or Simone, you should clear with my team.”

“Okay. So I’ll contact you if—”

“No, this is the last time you and I speak. If you need anything, you’ll go through my agent, Banner Morales. You think I’m an asshole? Wait’ll you meet her.”

Lillian turns to Bridget. “We’ll be in the parking lot when you’re done.”

I stand by the elevator with arms folded until the last person has left and there’s no sign of a camera, cord or mic.

Bridget watches me in simmering silence, resentment tightening every line of her body. As soon as they’re gone, she unleashes all that banked vitriol on me. “What the fuck, Kenan?”

“What the fuck, Bridget? How could you think it was okay to bring a camera crew to our family counseling session?”

“They weren’t going in,” she says, shifting on her stilettos and glancing away.

“Just the sight of them here could affect Simone’s perception of things, of our life.”

“You humiliated me.”

“Oh, a taste of your own medicine then.”

“Is this payback?” she asks, hands on her hips. “Along with leaving me next to nothing to live on?”

“Next to nothing?” I huff a disbelieving breath. “You do understand I’m paying you twice what we agreed on in our pre-nup, right?”

“You wouldn’t have to be paying me anything if you had just given me a chance to explain about Cliffton.”

God, doesn’t she have the self-preservation not to bring him up? “I don’t care anymore, Bridget.”

And it’s true. I hate that this has hurt Simone, and disrupted her life so badly, but I don’t regret divorcing Bridget and only wish I’d done it sooner.

Before she can challenge that statement, the office door opens and Simone comes out, followed closely by our therapist, Dr. Packer.

“Daddy!” Simone’s face lights up and she rushes over to hug around my waist.

She’s a perfect mix of the two of us, with Bridget’s blue eyes, and my mouth and cheekbones. Her sandy hair riots all over her head, equal parts curly and coarse. Every time my mother sees Simone’s hair, she begs me to let her do it. But Simone is fourteen, too old for me to dictate who touches her hair.

“Hey, Moni.” I swipe a hand down my daughter’s face. We watched Face/Off together last year, and Simone loved how John Travolta brushed his hand down his kids’ faces to demonstrate his love. We’ve been doing it ever since.

“I can’t wait to see your new place,” Simone says. “I have a room?”

“Of course.” I bring her head to my chest and kiss her hair. “You’ll have a room anywhere I am. We can grab some food on our way home. This place called Playa Betty’s claims to have Cali-style beach food.”

“For real?” Simone’s expression brightens. Though she’s spent most of her life in Houston, she loves California as much as I do. So few things have made Simone happy lately that I notice every one.

“We’ll check it out for ourselves,” I tell her, “after we’re done here.”

“Can Mommy come, too?” She glances from me to Bridget, a mixture of caution and hope in her eyes.