Page 63 of The Legend (Rivers Wilde 2)

“You’re not the one I’m mad at anyway,” I grumble and sit across from him. He hands me a small silver frame that’s always on his desk.

“That’s Tex Harrison, former coach for the Harlem Globetrotters and that’s two-year-old you in his arms.”

“You’ve only told me a million times.”

He ignores my churlish words.

“Your father loved basketball. But he wasn’t any good at it. But, he loved watching it. Did you know, it’s how he met your mother?”

“No. I didn’t know. Not sure I care.” I hand him back the frame.

“She was working the concession at The Summit nights while she was in school. She was assigned to our box. He came home one night and told me he’d met a girl with a fire in her eyes and he thought she might be… something. I took one look at your mother and knew he was right. She would be something, all right. She had a bigger pair of balls and I knew she’d be the making of him. Or at least, I hoped.” His voice is wistful.

“Still think you were right?” I ask.

He contemplates me, like he’s sizing me up.

“Your father was in love with somebody else,” he says and completely blindsides me.

My jaw drops.

“Say what?” I sit up straight and lean toward him. The weight that had felt like it was pressing against my chest eases as shock and curiosity replaces it. I hadn’t expected that at all.

“Yes, when he first went off to college. Before UT. We didn’t approve, and he got over her, Remi. Met your mother and got to work building a family. Because that’s what men do. They don’t lick their wounds.” His eyes come to me then, full of reproach.

I flush, embarrassed that he’s calling me out. “I’m not licking my wounds.”

“You’ve had a wonderful summer. You’ve got an important year ahead o

f you. Focus on that.”

“You sound like my mother.”

“She just wants what’s best for you,” he chides.

“She wants what’s best for the family.”

“Those are the same thing, Remi.” My grandfather’s stark white brows raise in question.

“If you say so.” I purse my lips.

“Remi… try to understand your mother. She’s damaged. Your father, before he died…”

“What did he do before he died that you all talk about him like this?” I have never asked this question because I know that they won’t answer it. But I can’t take this shit right now.

He appears completely unmoved by my outburst. He gives me the once over. “He was my spitting image. You don’t look like us. All that dark hair, those dark eyes—that’s your mother.”

He gestures to the picture of her on the small table beside his chair. “But everything else about you is just like every Wilde male that came before you. We love beautiful girls. We make fools of ourselves for them. And in some instances, we ruin ourselves for them. It’s happened to every man, in every generation, and, Remi, as harmless as it may sound, it’s never been anything less than devastating.”

I do roll my eyes now. He’s not prone to dramatics. But maybe his stroke did more damage than I thought. “You seem okay. Dad died young, but you can hardly blame Mom for that.”

“Let me tell you how I’m okay. I married a woman I could live without.” I look at him like he’s crazy. “Nana must have loved knowing that.”

“She didn’t know. And I loved her. Just not too much. I had a vision and I knew everything would have to come second.”

“I don’t want that kind of relationship.” I shake my head.

“What you want doesn’t matter. What I want doesn’t matter. Any woman you have to go after, steer clear of. That path is lined with mines that will explode without warning and cut your legs out from underneath you. Trust me. You’ve got a lot to lose. Don’t go and blow your life up over a girl you just really like to fuck.”

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