Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(119)

“Hey, Kenan,” she says, her voice filling the car interior. “How are you?”

Oh, manners. I remember these. “I’m good. What’s up?” I repeat.

“The cast has an appearance in LA today,” she says, her tone slightly hesitant. “I, um, thought I might swing by to see Simone.”

“You know she has that dance camp in Laguna Beach,” I remind her. “I’m on my way home to take her now.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Um . . . maybe next time.”

“Well LA is even closer to Laguna Beach. Pop in and see her before you go back. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“You think so?” she asks, brightening.

“Yeah. I start a stretch of road games tomorrow and will be gone for the week, so seeing one of us will probably be good for her.”

“Okay. I’ll text her to make arrangements.” She goes quiet for a second. “She’s better, right?”

The same cold-sweat fear I have—that I’ll find Simone barely breathing on my bed again—resides in Bridget’s voice. I find myself in my daughter’s room when she’s asleep and watching her breathe, like I did when she was a baby. It reassures me. Right now, Bridget doesn’t even have that.

“Yeah, Bridge. She’s better.”

“I think we all are,” she says, a smile in her voice.

“Yeah.”

“She told me you’re not seeing Lotus anymore,” Bridget says, the tiniest flicker of hope in the words. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”

“They’re actually working out fine,” I reply carefully. “Lotus and I wanted to give Simone some time to recover, and for me to focus on her as much as possible while the season is still so demanding.”

“Very thoughtful of you.” An edge blunts her words.

“Lotus’s idea actually.”

Several drops of quiet form a shallow puddle of silence that starts becoming uncomfortable just when she speaks again.

“I saw you with her a few times, you know,” Bridget says, exhaling a breathy, bitter laugh. “There were a few shots of you this summer out doing things together. Laughing. Having fun. I barely recognized you.”

“Searching hashtags again?” I ask, unable to staunch that familiar irritation.

“How else would I know what was going on in your life?”

“Why would you want to know?” I demand, exasperated. “I don’t get you, Bridget. You have an affair with one of my friends. You throw our marriage out the window—”

“Our marriage?” she asks, a double-edged sword of scorn and bitterness. “Is that what you called it?”

My mother, as angry as she was with Bridget, expressed sympathy for her because we were ill-matched.

Bridget tried to crack you like a nut. For the woman you love, though, really love, it’s not hard work. I didn’t have to crack your father. He spilled himself with me.

God, my mother was right. I don’t know that I did anything wrong, but there must have been some things with Bridget I didn’t do right. And now I see clearly that I couldn’t, would never have trusted myself, the real me, my inner self, with the person Bridget has proven herself to be. I don’t think I was capable of it with her.

“Look, Bridge, we’ve been at war with each other for years, and if what happened with Simone showed me anything, it’s the value of a second chance. We have a chance to clean the slate. I’m tired of fighting. It’s destructive, and we both have to move on.”

“With Lotus, you mean,” she says, her voice subdued. “You’re moving on with Lotus.”

“Yeah.” I meet the disappointment in her voice head-on. “With Lotus.”

I ignore her sharp breath and continue.

“I’ve been angry with you,” I admit. “For years, angry that our family, our life was ripped apart.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Bridget whispers.

“I’ve been angry,” I continue. “But I could never understand why you were angry, too. You’ve been angry with me for not being what you thought I would be. For not letting you in, for abandoning you in our marriage.”

“It doesn’t excuse what I did,” she says faintly. “I never meant to cheat on you. It just . . .”

I’m grateful she doesn’t say it just “happened.” Those things don’t just happen.

“It wasn’t all you,” I tell her, clearing my throat. “It was me, too. You used to talk about the wall that came up during the season, but it wasn’t only when I was playing ball. It was all the time. I’m a hard man to know, to reach.”

“But not for her.” Her words come out on a light breath, but land with a thud.

“No, not for her.” A wry half-smile crooks my mouth. “I don’t regret us, Bridge, because we have Simone, and she’s the best thing.”

“She is.” She chuckles softly on the other end, hesitating before rushing on. “Can you ever . . . could you forgive me, Kenan?”

I’ve simmered in resentment for years, and in this moment, all the pain and humiliation and awful things Bridget’s affair caused me rush to my mind.

Then other memories slowly start to sift in. Bridget, young and alone in a strange city with a newborn while I was on the road. So many missed birthdays, anniversaries, milestones, and times I knew there was something she needed, and had no clue how to give it to her.