Hook Shot (Hoops 3)

“I’m done.” Simone stands abruptly and strides to the door. “I’ll be in the car, Mommy.”

The door slams behind her and I release a heavy breath, lean forward, and rest my elbows on my knees. My head feels so heavy in my hands. My heart, like lead in my chest.

“Well, that went well,” Bridget drawls dryly.

The tenuous hold on my frustration snaps. I swivel my head to scowl at her.

“Why the hell did you show up at my apartment unannounced yesterday, Bridge?” I grit out. “We could have avoided all this if you’d just—”

“If you’d just kept your dick in your pants?”

“Don’t you worry about my dick. Stay out of my personal life and away from my relationship.”

“Your relationship.” Bridget twists her lips into a disdainful curve. “With a girl barely out of college you’ve known for, what? A couple months? Spare me. It won’t last. I don’t even know why we bothered telling Simone.”

“We bothered because Lotus is important to me,” I tell her, seeing through her bravado the same way I saw through my daughter’s. I force myself to soften my tone, despite my irritation. “Simone’s not the only one who has to accept that, Bridget.”

She stares back at me, the ire flickering and fading until she bites her lip and lowers her lashes.

“I agree this wasn’t an ideal way to introduce this subject,” Dr. Packer says, “but at least you’ve been honest with her. She’s hurt and confused and still getting used to her new life. Her foundations have been shaken, and any hope she had of restoring things seems farther away than ever now.”

She leans back in her seat and eyes us both.

“I think Simone may benefit from a few one-on-one sessions with each of you,” Dr. Packer says. “There could be some things she’s reluctant to say in front of one or the other.”

Bridget and I nod our agreement.

“Give her time, watch her closely, and put her first,” Dr. Packer says. “That means setting aside all this acrimony.”

She splits her gaze between the two of us, her brows lifted. “Think you can do that?”

Bridget and I exchange a look charged with all the things that infect our every interaction—resentment, anger, fear, regret—before both nodding curtly. Bridget stands as abruptly as Simone did, and she, too, walks away.

28

Kenan

I’ve returned to the scene of the almost-crime.

And Kenya’s not with me this time when I enter the Gilded Bean, so I need to check myself.

“Oh.” The woman with the glasses from the other day looks up from her writing pad. “You’re back.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry if I . . . came on too strong the other day,” I say, pulling from my very limited supply of charm. “I was disappointed the photo wasn’t for sale.”

“Yes. I picked up on that, Mr. Ross.”

“You know who I am?”

“When a man offers twenty-thousand dollars for a photo in my gallery,” she says wryly, “I make it my business to know who he is.”

“The offer still stands. I want that photo very badly.”

“It’s not for sale. Actually, as you can see,” she says, gesturing to the wall where the photo of Lotus hung before, “it’s no longer in the exhibit.”

I study a picture of the High Line where the Lo photo hung. So Lotus was right. It has been removed.

“May I ask why you were so interested?” she asks “I mean, besides the obvious. She’s a beautiful girl.”