by Tia Souders
The sky was a blanket of cerulean blue above the skyscraper buildings. Huge swaths of flowers bloomed bright pink and red under the warm Californian sun. He knew from the short drive there that the balmy sixty-eight-degree afternoon awaited him when he left the confines of this office.
If only he could leave now.
In a matter of hours, he’d be headed for the East Coast, and he craved one last glimpse of the beach and a stroll down Santa Monica Pier.
The buzzing continued as Ron droned on about erratic behavior and contracts and whatever else. Man, he was worked up today.
Jordan turned his attention back to him. Ron’s face bloomed a deep red as he paused in his tirade, taking a deep breath. His cheeks puffed out like a blowfish and Jordan knew from experience he was every bit as prickly. He didn’t want an explanation from Jordan. All he wanted was for him to play nice, like a good boy, so he could continue collecting his four percent commission.
Well, better luck next time, bro, because Jordan Woods doesn’t change for anyone.
Ron leaned back in his chair and scrubbed a hand over his ruddy face. “I mean, disorderly conduct, I can deal with that. But assault and battery charges? What were you thinking?”
Ron paused, waiting. This was the part where he acted like he wanted Jordan to explain himself, but he really didn’t. Jordan was a pain in his butt, even if he did make him good money. All Ron wanted was for Jordan to play basketball, keep his mouth shut, his hands to himself, and make his life easier. And, really, that was fine with Jordan because he and Ron wanted the same thing. Jordan didn’t want to get booted from the league any more than Ron wanted to see him gone. Basketball may have been his livelihood, but it was more than that. It was his lifeline, the only thing keeping him sane most days.
“Look, I had a bad weekend.” Jordan shrugged.
“A bad weekend? A bad…” Ron scoffed. “A bad weekend is getting a scratch on your car, spilling your coffee, or running into your ex. It’s not cracking someone’s nose open.”
“He deserved it.”
Ron gaped, and Jordan fought the urge to roll his eyes. Really, he should be used to this by now.
“Please help me to understand, in a way that I can take to our publicist and garner you some sympathy, why you broke someone’s nose.”
“It’s like this. My mom’s dirtbag boyfriend gave her a black eye. So I gave him a fist in the face. End of story. Afterward, I was more than a little upset that she wasn’t pressing charges, so I had a few drinks and let loose. Can you really blame me?”
“When you have a few drinks and run through the fountains at a very crowded, very public shopping center practically nude, then yes.”
“The ladies seemed to enjoy it.” Jordan winked, but by the look on Ron’s face, he wasn’t amused. Straightening, Jordan forced a sober expression. “Listen, I know you want to spin this to the media to work in my favor, but you’re not bringing my mom and her life into this. We’re not some daytime soap opera, so you’ll have to come up with something else. Say it was self-defense, whatever, but no one in the public is to know she’s with a woman-beater. You hear?”
Ron stared at him, blinking. “Why do you make my job so hard, Jordan? Why? Enlighten me.”
“Because I can. Because you take my money.”
“Not enough,” Ron muttered. “You do realize that if you allowed us to go public with your mother’s story, the full story about your childhood, people would feel sorry for you and all you’ve been through. It would score you some much needed compassion and sympathy. Everyone already knows you grew up in the projects. Let us tell them—”
“I said, no.” A bolt of anger zipped up Jordan’s spine.
“Fine.” Ron shook his head. “I’m getting too old for this crap.”
Whatever. Ron’s attitude didn’t faze Jordan. He was used to it. He may not be happy, but too bad. He’d have to deal. Jordan wouldn’t sully his mother’s name or bring her into the spotlight just to ease his burden. It was one thing to be the poor kid from Oakland, California, but it was another thing entirely to be the kid who stood by and witnessed his mother go from one abusive relationship to the next.
No, he wouldn’t be that guy. He wasn’t a spectacle.
He was the Comeback Kid, and that’s the way he liked it. He had risen from his impoverished roots to make something of himself and had a reputation for being a game closer—the guy who could score at the last second, earning his team a win.
His mother’s life was no one else’s business.
Her current boyfriend, Chris, was her fourth abusive relationship, and this weekend was the third time the lowlife had beaten her up in the last six months. But Jordan was so close to convincing her to leave him. If his PR people ousted her now, she’d spook. He couldn’t risk that. His move to Pittsburgh could be her new lease on life. He just needed to convince her to go with him, and right now, he was closer than ever. The last thing he needed was this getting out right before she made the big decision to finally turn her life around.
Ron tapped his pen on the desk. “We’ll pay Mr.…” He consulted the paper in front of him. “We’ll offer Mr. Greene a settlement to drop the charges and keep quiet. We can potentially manage to get you off the hook, but—”
Jordan slammed a fist on the desk in front of him, cutting him off. “No. We are not paying him a dime.”
“We don’t have a choice.”
“So, let me get this straight.” The vein pulsed in Jordan’s forehead as he continued, “He beats women, and when he finally gets what he has coming to him, he gets paid for being abusive? Is that right?”
“What exactly do you want me to do, Jordan? Let’s take a look at your rap sheet over the last few years, shall we?” He glanced at the paper in front of him. “Public intoxication, drug paraphernalia, DUI—”
“You know I’m clean! The drugs weren’t mine.” Jordan interrupted. They were left in his mother’s car, probably from her latest flame, but Ron waved him off and continued reading.
“—disorderly conduct, assault on multiple occasions, and now these fresh charges, after you just finished up a twelve-game suspension in the league. You’ve been suspended too many times to count in the six years you’ve been playing ball. One more strike and you’re out. Do you understand that? It doesn’t matter how good you are.”
He held his index finger and thumb a hair apart. “You’re this close to getting booted. One more altercation. One more criminal charge, or scandal, and no one else will pick you up. I barely got the Pittsburgh Pumas to take you this time around. No one wants you anymore. You’re a liability. It was by the skin of my teeth I got you a new contract. Comeback Kid or not, you’re going to make yourself disposable real fast.”
Jordan chewed the inside of his cheek, biting off the things he really wanted to say because they would get him nowhere.
You’re a liability. Those words stung.
Maybe Ron was right. But it didn’t change anything.
Jordan raked a hand through his short, dark hair. His life was spiraling. He knew it. Ron knew it. Everyone in the league knew it. He felt like he was driving a car with no steering and no breaks, on icy roads—reckless and wild and ready to crash at any moment.
Dealing with his mother’s situation and the revolving door of crap-relationships had left him angry at the world. Basketball had been his escape growing up. A way to get off the streets. To forget the drugs that surrounded his childhood home. The gangs, the crime, his mother’s latest abuser, and the fact he had no father. But somehow, basketball wasn’t enough anymore. Where he once found solace in the exertion of playing ball, over the last few years, he found his frustration and anger spilling out into the game—fighting with players, arguing with coaches, even punching a fan, resulting in a twelve-game suspension last year. His name was constantly in the headlines. His latest antics a source of entertainment. He went from the Comeback Kid to the NBA bad boy in a matter of years.
He needed to find a w
ay to grip the wheel of his life and regain control. Just because his mother had a penchant for abusive men, didn’t mean he needed to swoop in and solve her problems. He couldn’t protect her forever. Not when it was wrecking his career. He was one step away from being without a job.
He knew this, yet…
He bent forward in his chair, clasped his hands over the back of his head, and exhaled a steady stream of air before he straightened and said, “I get it.”
“Good. So, we’ll take care of Mr. Greene, but I’m going to tell you what you’re going to do. It’s time you cleaned up your image. Give the league the Comeback Kid again. That young, raw, talented man they recruited six years ago. You’re going to get on a plane to Pittsburgh, join the Puma’s, and end the season with a bang. And I don’t mean the kind with your fist. I want you on your best behavior. You’re going to turn your image around.”
“Turn my image around? You think everyone will just forget the last few years?” Jordan arched a brow.
“People love a comeback. You’re going to add new meaning to your nickname and go from the rebel without a cause, to a boy scout. There are some fine men on that team that you could learn a thing or two from.”
Jordan laughed. “You mean like that loser, Dean Kimball? Please.” Jordan rolled his eyes. “I saw the rose stunt he pulled on the news with that chick he liked. I’ll never be that guy, so you can stop dreaming.”
Ron pointed at him, his mouth an angry line. “That’s exactly what I expect. I don’t care how you change your image, but you better do it, or you can find a new agent to clean up your mess. And here’s a tip. No one would be crazy enough to touch you, not with your salary dropping with each trade like it has, and not with the very real possibility you might not get re-signed after this.”
Jordan’s grin fell. He fisted his hands in his lap, his expression tight. “Fine. Any idea on how I’m to accomplish this miraculous transformation?”
“Join a club, go to church, do some volunteer work, or meet a nice woman and settle down. Or do all of the above, I don’t care, but from now on, I expect you to be the model player, on your best behavior. The next headline I want to see better be an uplifting story. You’re going to be freaking Mother Teresa incarnate. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.” Jordan stood. He was finished. He’d heard enough and had a flight to catch.
He flashed Ron an exaggerated thumbs-up, then headed for the door.
CHAPTER two
Maya
The set crew bustled about the studio. Maya was giddy as they prepped her for the camera, affixing her mic to the inside of her pale gray suit jacket. Someone brushed the stray hair from her eye and powdered her nose.
She wasn’t some high-profile national sports journalist, but this was maybe the biggest interview of her career. Jordan Woods was practically a legend in the NBA. Not solely known for his skill on the court, but his attitude on and off as well. He was in perpetual hot water with the league, and often, the law. The media, the press, everyone wanted a piece of him, but he never did interviews of this kind, never answered personal questions. The most you got from Jordan was a couple clipped responses at the end of the game, about the game (if you were lucky). Just this winter, Maya had heard he was offered an exorbitant amount to do a special on BEYOND THE LENS—a major pop culture news program—and turned it down.
And now, Maya was about to get more than lucky because he had agreed to this solo interview upon his arrival in Pittsburgh. For free. According to his PR people, he wanted a fresh start with the Puma’s.
More like, he was in trouble again and needed to save face, she mused.
Whatever. His loss was her gain. Whether it was a way to assuage the NBA and clear his name or not, this interview was gold.
After the crew stopped fussing with her, Maya checked her makeup and added an extra dusting of powder to her nose, then skimmed her eyes down her body. She looked good—sharp and professional in her pale gray suit and fitted pink shirt.
She flicked a hand over her jet-black chin-length hair, grown out from the pixie cut she had last year. Then she rubbed her glossed lips together as she heard the producer of Mornings in the Burgh give her the signal.
It was go-time.
She walked out onto the makeshift set, took a seat in the chair closest to the camera, and stared straight into the lens. When they gave her the cue to begin, she smiled and started, “Good morning, Pittsburgh sports fans. We have some exciting news in the Burgh. In case you haven’t heard, the Puma’s took a rather controversial and exciting trade for the rookie team. As of yesterday, it was official. NBA Bad Boy, also known as The Comeback Kid, Jordan Woods, will be joining the Puma ranks as of next week. And we have him here with us this morning, ladies and gentlemen, for an exclusive interview. Let’s bring him out.”
She grinned and turned in the direction Jordan was to emerge. He sauntered out on cue with his eyes fixed on the camera. And when he paused, then turned his gaze on her before sinking into the chair beside her, Maya’s heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught.
He had the most gorgeous brown eyes she had ever seen—dark, like freshly brewed coffee. His tanned skin, notably a product of the California sun, glowed under the lights, and his navy-blue suit fit his trim form to perfection. She had seen him on television many times. She had also seen him on the court before, but not up close. Not like this. Right in her face.
He was striking.
Maya moved her eyes from his, shaking off her reaction and the flutter of nerves, reminding herself she was a professional and not a hormone-riddled teenager.
Once seated, she glanced down at her cue cards for support since forming words suddenly seemed daunting. “Welcome to Pittsburgh, Jordan,” she said, noting her slightly off-pitch tone.
She started with the typical questions about his move and how he found his first couple days in the new city, then launched into the heart of things. “So, Jordan, I think what everyone really wants to know is, which Jordan will we get at the game next Tuesday? Will we get The Comeback Kid or the Bad Boy?”
“Which one do you want?” He threw her question back at her, grinning.
She shifted in her seat, a chuckle spilling from her lips. “Well, I think I speak for everyone in the city when I say maybe we want a little of both, but we need The Comeback Kid. We’re winding down on a mostly losing season, a first for the Puma’s since their blazing start in the league three years ago.”
Jordan nodded in understanding. “Losing Emmett Hall this year hurt Pittsburgh. But now that I’m here, we’ll bounce back.” He winked at her, and though she hated herself for it, she felt the heat of that gesture shoot through her body, straight down to her toes.
She cleared her throat, ready to ask…
Wait…what was her next question?
Her heart rate picked up. She racked her brain for something—anything—to ask him.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Oh. My. Gosh. Speak!
Just because he was gorgeous didn’t mean she had to get tongue-tied.
Remember. Basketball. Games. Dribble. Ball… Oh, this was bad. Then it clicked.
Her smile faltered for only a moment before she recovered and cleared her throat. “You’re coming off a twelve-game suspension. Are you ready?” she asked, mentally patting herself on the back.
“More than ready. My palms are itching for a ball.”
“How long until you get another suspension? That seems to be your pattern, does it not?”
The question didn’t seem to faze him. His lips curled as he said, “It won’t happen this time. I’m going to finish out the season with a bang, and then next year, I’ll return better than ever. I’ll prove the naysayers wrong.”
“The naysayers?” she asked.
He nodded. “The ones who say I won’t last, that I’ll finally get the boot, that I can’t stay out of trouble. I’m not going anywhere.” His eyes darkened with his tone.
Yeah, right, Maya thought; h
e’d become a regular boy scout.
She stifled a snort. “So you’re turning a new leaf? Changing your image?”
“Something like that.”
“Rumor has it you got in trouble again, just this past weekend. Any truth to that?”
Jordan cranked his neck from side to side.
Was he getting angry? Uncomfortable? It made Maya smile in anticipation; her minor snafu forgotten. She was getting a rise out of him.
“I may have had an incident at a water fountain where my clothes went missing, but anything else is untrue. All rumor.”
Maya grinned and tilted her head, watching him as she asked, “So the police weren’t called on you for assault and battery?”
Irritation flickered in his gaze. He hadn’t been prepared for that. No doubt, he thought his PR people had suppressed that story, but Maya did her homework. And having an old friend with connections didn’t hurt.
“Nope.” His jaw tightened.
She had expected the denial. She couldn’t make him talk. Still, a girl had to try.
“Some people are excited about the trade; some are dreading the moment you set foot on Puma-court. What do you want Pittsburgh to know about you?”
He looked directly at the camera. “I’m here to play ball and win games, nothing more. I think you’ll find a completely different Jordan Woods come game-day next week. One that’s focused, motivated, and takes his anger out on the court and nowhere else.”
Maya’s gaze sharpened. “I think what people want to know is, what are you so angry about?”
He hesitated, and she noticed his clenched fist. “Everybody has something that sets them off.”
“Some more than most,” Maya said. “But why does Jordan Woods have such a short fuse, and how do you plan on combatting it?”
“I’ve never allowed myself to become rooted in one place. I’ve never invested myself fully in a team since my first year. But it’s time that changed. I plan on getting more involved in the community, planting roots, forming ties in Pittsburgh. I’m making a change, and I think it’ll show on the court.”