A/N: I am reading Evelyn Sola's book Rebound, and I have decided to make a lot of changes and turn it into a summer Samcedes fanfiction. I am working hard and traveling more out of the country, so I am unable to upload stories like I have in the past. This is for my guest reviewer who said they had gone back and reread all the stories I have posted. Brave soul...I hope you and others enjoy this. Please forgive all the mistakes, and know that my writing skills have fallen off tremendously. I own nothing in this story of course, and I can never promise if will remain on this website. So, please enjoy it while it is being posted.

One

Sam

"I need you to get your crap together, boy. This is a family business. My grandson is going to inherit this team in a few more years, and I'm not going to let the club go into shambles because of you," Cooter Jenkins, the owner of the Guardians, instantly begins berating me.

Unfortunately for me, I had to start my day with a call from the owner of my team demanding a meeting with him at his home. I must have some freaky wake up Sam with bad news every morning, curse, because the day before my father called about his most recent session with his psychologist. And I can't forget that three mornings ago, my daughter had a diaper explosion in her crib sometime in the early morning. The crap continues to rain down on me, both literally and figuratively.

There's no point in me telling Cooter that what happened this time wasn't my fault. It wasn't, but given my reputation, he probably won't believe me. Hell, I don't believe it myself, but it's the truth.

My recently turned one year old daughter Jessica moves around in my arms and reaches for Mr. Jenkins's big nose. He lets her pull on it until she's had enough and drops her hand. I run my hand through her dark curls, and she calms down.

"Explain yourself, Sam," Cooter demands. He crosses his arms and leans against his desk. His home office is a mess of old newspapers, magazines, and all media that has to do with our team, and he also has pictures of our baseball team on the cover of a magazine from last year when we won the World Series.

"Mr. Jenkins, this time I am not the blame," I start to explain. "What happened was—"

"Oh, bullcrap," he says. "I don't want excuses, and don't for a second think you can spin some cockamamie story that I haven't heard from you before. Don't even think you can lie to me. I've raised four daughters and have ten grandchildren. I can recognize every tell people give when they lie, and what happened was, is the beginning of most whoppers." I want to interrupt and tell him that he doesn't know as much as he thinks he knows because I'm telling the truth. "Every darn day you're involved in some kind of scandal, and they all involve women. In my day and time, a man knew how to carry himself and not bring shame wherever he went. Do I need to cut your balls off?"

If I was a smartass, I'd remind him that his generation thrived on sexually harassing their secretaries and having secret families on the other side of town along with beating up on their wives if they got disrespectful and just basically being an ass. That men like him from his generation thrived on keeping others who weren't white, Christian, and rich beneath them by being racist, sexist, and elitist jerks.

"With all due respect sir," I say after taking a calming breath, "it's not my fault that my nanny got into bed with me while I was sleeping and took that seven second video and posted it online. I fired her and threatened to sue the agency that placed her with me if she didn't agree to tell the truth." I might be guilty of a lot of things but screwing the help was never one of my sins, and it was taking every resource that I had to stay calm.

"You want me to believe that young woman did this?" I nod. Of course, a man from his generation wouldn't believe blond hair blue eyed women are capable of doing diabolical things. "For goodness sake, your hand was on her breast," he whispers, clearly outraged by the thought like he had never touched a breast in his entire life.

"She put my hand there while I was asleep," I say louder than I intended. I've already been through this with the agency. The explanation was on social media. The agency had fired the nanny and issued a formal public apology. Maybe when Mr. Jenkins was doing his research on all the wrong I've done, he should have dug deep enough to find out I'm the victim here.

Mr. Jenkins stood up and looked down at me. He stares into my eyes as if he's trying to look into my soul. I looked away first, uncomfortable with his gaze.

"Well, why in the hell would you choose a loose woman like this to take care of your only child?" I sigh. I won't tell him that the nanny told me some kind of sob story that I fell hook, line, and sinker for, and with her being hot on top of all that, I didn't think anything wrong with hiring someone who was recommended by the top childcare agency in the state. She had the credentials and the looks and I didn't mind the eye candy she was on top of this.

"I went by the agency's recommendation." Is what I ended up telling the old coot.

"Don't get smart with me. I have accomplished more in my life than you could ever dream of doing. I am not an imbecile who will fall for your crap." He inches closer to my face, but Jessica grabs his finger and tries to put it in her mouth. His surliness instantly disappears, and he laughs as if she's the best child in the world.

He pulls his hand from her and gestures to me to let him hold her. I hand her over and wait for her to scream and kick and reach back for me, only she doesn't. He bounces her and she grabs his nose again and pulls. He laughs as if it's the best thing on earth. He walks around with her and talks in a high-pitched voice while he tickles her belly. I grin at that and wish my daughter could have a normal grandfather like Mr. Jenkins is now pretending to be, but she doesn't. She only has my dysfunctional dad because I've never met her maternal grandfather. I've only spoken with her wicked ass grandmother.

Jessica's mother, Bree, was a one-night stand that I barely remembered who I'd slept with after drinking too much. I'm ashamed to admit that I don't remember her or that night, but according to the paternity test that I volunteered to take, I was indeed Jessica's father.

In the beginning we were doing our best at co-parenting, and I was paying regular child support. Unfortunately, she died, and I became a single father, Jessica's only parent.

While he was walking around being entranced by my baby girl, his wife walks inside of his office. She is as tall as her husband and looks fierce but you can tell by her eyes that she is a gentle, caring soul.

"How about I go and get some cookies for this little angel?" she says as she slowly approaches her husband and Jessica. Jessica practically jumps into her arms when she reaches for her.

"Save some cookies for me, Shannon," Mr. Jenkins says.

"You don't need cookies," she says but winks at him. "And don't be too hard on Sam." She stands in front of me. "He's a good guy. I can tell. All he needs is a good talking to and a good woman to help him raise this little sweetheart." She pats my cheek and leaves the office with my daughter in her arms.

Cooter walks across his vast office and goes behind his desk. He pulls out a bottle of Bourbon and two shot glasses, but I shake my head no at him. After Bree, I'm not a big drinker and rarely drink at all. He bends underneath his desk and plops down a water bottle before gesturing for me to take it. I do. For someone so rich, you'd think he would have expensive bottled water, but it's the generic brand you get from Sam's Club.

"You seem to be lost, Sam, and since I've never met your parents, I assume, you don't have a good relationship with your own father, so I will tell you what I would tell my grandson if he were in your situation." I remain quiet, eager to hear what he's going to say next. Lord knows there's no advice my father can give me that I would take. Whatever Dwight Evans says, I'm more likely to do the opposite because he doesn't doesn't know crap about anything. "I never said a word about all the social media posts about you being a man whore who will stick his pecker in any hole available. I figured you're young and rich and sowing your wild oats, but you have a child now. You can't be screwing your nanny and Lord knows who else. Also, enough with that ridiculous dance you have those women doing." He lifts both hands in the air and shakes his body. I don't know what the hell he thinks he's doing, but that's not the dance. He looks like he's having a seizure. "You and them are acting like a bunch of sex addicts. You need to grow the hell up, and the first step is to put your public access dick away, Sam."

I grind my teeth, but instead of responding, I decide to take a drink. This is the same sort of bullcrap my father's been saying for years, only I never listen to anything he says. My father is a joke, but Cooter Jenkins is different. He's built this team. He's my boss, and he's a family man with a good wife and children and grandchildren. He's the opposite of my dad.

"Say something," he commands. "Don't just sit there like an idiot. You think I have time to waste? I could be spending time with my wife and family right now, but I'm here trying to set you straight."

"I promise you I did nothing with the nanny. I treated her with respect. As for one night stands and any sexual activity, I haven't done anything since Jessica came to live with me full-time. I didn't encourage those women to do that dance, and in the past, I was only with women who wanted to be with me. I didn't force anyone or lead any of them on. I never lied to any woman who I had relations with. Right now, I'm trying to be a good father for Jessica, Mr. Jenkins."

I love my daughter, and I have to live with the guilt and shame of not wanting her to be mine when I initially took the paternity test. As soon as I got the results and found out she was mine, I loved her more than I loved myself. And since her mother is gone, she's now my full-time responsibility when she was only my part-time responsibility. Ever since I had been drafted I had been taking care of my grown ass father, and it did make me kind of resentful, but taking care of my daughter is the opposite of resentment. I feel it is a privilege to be her dad. Someone she loves unconditionally as I love her unconditionally.

"All you have to do is keep your Johnson in your pants. Next time, hire a damn nanny that's old enough to be your mother. I never had this problem because my Shannon hires all the staff. I have nothing to do with it, and that's the way it should be. Men, for the most part, are idiots who don't know anything about running a household."

I want to tell him that I beg to differ. I've been running a house since before I was a man. I've been doing it since I was thirteen, and my dad lost his job, and I've done okay.

But all I do is nod my head in agreement.

"In fact, find your own wife, Sam. That's the best advice I can give you. Make sure she is a good one to help you raise that little girl. Don't be fooled by a pretty face and a sexy body. Look for substance. Look for someone you would like your own daughter to emulate. And do it quickly before you can get into any more trouble. Because If I have to call you here again, I'm going to get upset, and you don't want that. Ask my wife what happened the last time anybody pissed me off? It's not pretty. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I answered quickly.

I've never had a dressing down in my life, at least not from a parental figure like Mr. Jenkins, and I know one thing; I don't like it. Not when I'm doing everything I can to get my life together so my daughter can have a good childhood.

He stands and gestures for me to do the same. I nod and lower my head as if I've been chastised, but he hasn't said anything new. The irony is that my father has been spewing the same crap since I told him about Jessica, but whatever my father says to me goes in one ear and out the other.

I follow Mr. Jenkins to find his wife who has my baby girl. We enter the kitchen and it is about twice the size of the crappy trailer I grew up in. His wife has her back to us. She's no longer holding Jessica, and Jessica is now in the arms of a man I've never seen before.

He looks like he's in his early thirties and is well over six feet tall, a couple of inches taller than me. He tosses my daughter in the air, and she lets out a big belly laugh. Jessica is a daredevil and fearless. The higher he tosses her in the air, the happier it makes her. Mr. Jenkins smiles at the scene and so do I.

If only this was her life. If only Mr. Jenkins was her grandfather and this guy throwing her in the air was her uncle. But no. She was given a crappy hand in the family department. Not as bad as me, but close enough.

"Sam, this is my grandson Ryder. Get to know him because as soon as I retire he's taking over," he says. "He won't put up with any of your nonsense." Ryder barely looks at me as he makes faces at Jessica.

"Hey, Sam," he says. "Cute kid." He grabs a cookie from a nearby plate and hands it to her. Jessica shoves the whole thing in her mouth. Ryder smiles and puts her on his hip. He crosses the room and extends his hand to me. I shake it and reach for my daughter. She practically jumps into my arms.

"Ryder's a good boy," Mr. Jenkins says of his grandson. I can see the pride in his eyes when he looks at him, and I can only imagine what that's like. "First boy in the family," he says proudly. "Maybe you two can be friends," he suggests. "You look like you can use a friend."

Ryder looks at me and back to his grandfather. I could tell he had no interest in being my friend.

"Sure, Granddad," he says, and I know full well he's lying.

So much for Mr. Jenkins's claim of being able to tell when someone is being dishonest. Ryder pulls out his wallet and hands me one of his cards, which I'm sure I'll never use.

Jessica eyes the plate of cookies and starts to point at them.

"I think you've had enough cookies, Jessie Love," I say before I kiss her temple.

"Lies you tell," Mr. Jenkins says as he reaches over and snatches Jessica from me. "A few cookies won't hurt her," he says.

Mr. Jenkins puts Jessica down, and puts a cookie in each of her hands. "Now," he says, turning back to me. He points at a chair at the kitchen table, and I sit. "Let's go over what we talked about," he says.

Ryder snorts from across the room. I side-eye him, but he grins, crosses his arms, and leans against the wall.

"I'm waiting," Mr. Jenkins says.

"Uh, I'm going to stop being known for my indiscretions and be a good example for my daughter."

"And find a good wife," Mrs. Jenkins says with her back turned to us.

"Well, that might be complicated," I say as I run a hand over my head. I don't know what century these people are from, but marriage has never been a solution to anything. It should be taken seriously and not entered into lightly.

"Well, uncomplicate it then," Mr. Jenkins says. "Without my Shannon, who knows what would have become of me."

I look at Mrs. Jenkins, who is now looking adoringly at her husband. Just where the hell does he think I'm going to find a woman who will tolerate me, much less look at me like she looks at him?

"He was quite the Lothario in his day," Mrs. Jenkins says. "I quickly put an end to that." She walks to me and takes my hands in hers. They're soft and warm. They are what I imagine a grandmother's touch is supposed to feel like. "I can tell you're a good boy just like my Ryder," she says. "That little girl deserves a family, and you're the only one who can give it to her."

Lord, these people. It's not like I can order a wife from Amazon or get one from an agency like I did my nanny. I can't bring just any woman into my daughter's life. I work a job where I'm gone for half the year. Not to mention that I come with baggage named Dwight Evans. Where could I find a saint who accepts all that?

A car passes by much too close to us. I'd cuss if I didn't have my daughter with me because she loves to try to repeat whatever I say.

I think back on the meeting I just had with Jenkins. I know most of my problems are because I was voted MVP when we won the World Series. I'm still one of the best players on the team, but none of that seems to matter lately. Some of my fans' actions have gotten out of control. Lies are constantly being posted about me on social media including one that I have another child on the way, but that's biologically impossible. I haven't been with anyone since before Jessica was born.

"Truck!" she yells while pointing at the Fed Ex truck across the busy Cleveland street. She bounces in the baby carrier strapped to my body.

I run across the street as soon as the pedestrian crossing gives me the right of way. A car honks, and when I turn around, a young woman is hanging out the passenger window.

"I'm a certified Sammyfan!" she yells. And starts to do the dance. I didn't respond with a body roll of my own knowing that was how the dance started.

It's with a sigh of relief that I step inside the air-conditioned building. July in Ohio is not for the faint of heart, especially when you have a fourteen-month-old strapped to your chest.

After Mr. Jenkins' lecture, I left his estate, drove home, and walked to the courthouse where Marley was finally going to be given custody of her stepchild Alexander.

"It's Sam Evans!" someone yells. It's one of the security guards, and I wish he had a little more tact. Today is not about me. "All the Guardians are here today," he says with way too much excitement for a Wednesday afternoon. "Holy fuck," he says under his breath. I cover Jessica's ears and shake my head at the guard with disapproval. He grins sheepishly.

"Hi Sam!" A woman from the other side of the security desk stands and does the obscene Sammyfan movement. She takes it a step further and thrusts her hips three times. I ignore her and go through the security routine. I take Jessica off my chest and put her hand in mine. She hops through the metal detectors, and I walk with her without incident.

"Take your first left, and they are in courtroom one," one of the guards says. He subtly hands me a notebook and a pen. I sign my autograph and leave the gawking crowd behind. I pick up Jessica and jog to the room. It's already full, and I spot my teammate, Jake Puckerman, and his wife and kids sitting in the front. Their families as well as most of our team are here.

"Ike," Jessica says, pointing at my former coach and his wife. Other than me, Mike Chang is her favorite human. I'm glad I made him and his wife her godparents. Jessica starts to kick her legs, and as soon as I put her down, she runs down the hall and practically climbs over two other people to get to her godfather. When he kisses her cheeks, she squeals in delight. Mike's wife, Tina, reaches over and kisses Jessica's cheek, too.

I follow her and manage to find a place on the full bench.

"You're late," Coach Mike whispers in my ear. He might not be my coach anymore, but he still acts like it. I don't mind. He's the closest thing I have to a big brother and mentor. "I know Cooter met with you today," he says with a smirk. He also still knows everything that goes on with the team. I think Mr. Jenkins is trying to lure him back, but if he had asked me, I would have told him there's no chance in hell Coach would come back. He's happy to be at home with his wife every night. I know this because he tells me every time we see each other.

"He told me some old boomer bullcrap," I whisper.

"Please share," Coach says.

"He says that I should find a wife to run my household. I've been running a household since I was a kid. I'm never going to be an old married man like you and Puckerman," I whisper again.

I was only bluffing. I didn't want to admit that I didn't have a clue on how to find a quality woman like those two had. I would love for Jessica to have a mom and someone to love us both as much as Tina and Marley loved Mike and Jake.

"Who are you calling old?" Coach asks.

"You know you are almost old enough to be my dad, and Jake just acts old because of his old ball and chain."

"Yeah, I am only seven years older than you, dude, and Jake is several years younger than you," he says, pretending to be offended.

"Yeah, but like I said Marley has him acting just like you. You old geezer. You are both whipped and have let your good days pass you by."

"Sounds like jealousy to me," he says. "I get to go home to this beautiful woman every night." He reaches over and kisses his wife's cheek. "Puckerman gets to go home to his wife." Then he gets close to me and whispers, "Every. Single. Night. Who do you go home to?"

"The most beautiful female in the land. Jessica. Duh," I say, and he grins. And I notice Tina looking at Jessica with disapproval on her face.

"Sam, what the hell?" Tina asks as she gestures at Jessica. "I showed you color combinations and put a bunch of outfits together for you a few days ago," she says. "Why the hell do you have my goddaughter dressed like this?"

"You did but that was before she got into the drawers and pulled everything out. Her outfit today isn't too bad," I tell her. Jessica is dressed in pink leggings and a pink tutu. It's paired with a Guardians jersey that has the signature red, white, and blue colors. She has a green headband on top of her curly hair because green is her favorite color and the color of our eyes, and I matched that with her favorite purple high tops.

"Text me pictures of her clothes before you leave the house from now on," Tina whispers. "This is ridiculous."

Coach elbows me in the ribs and says, "Did you hear my wife?"

"Yeah, and I will, but I don't understand why," I whisper back. "She looks good." She's dressed a lot better than I was dressed as a kid. All of her clothes are high-end, unlike the thrift store crap I had. I take my time and pick out her clothes myself. From the time I was thirteen, I had to go to the thrift store alone to pick out my own crap.

Coach looks down at Jessica and back at me. I shrug again, and he shakes his head as if I'm a lost cause. Jessica stands on Coach's lap and looks around the room.

"Onny," she yells. She points to the front of the room. Jonathan Puckerman's nickname is Johnny, and he is my teammate's one-year-old son. As soon as he hear his name, he stands up and sees her and points at Jessica. They're barely a month apart and are best friends. Whenever we're not on the road for a game, we arrange playdates. Marley Puckerman, Johnny's mother, was a godsend when Jessica came to live with me full-time. She volunteered to watch her for me whenever I had an away game. Between Marley and Tina and Coach, I didn't have to worry too much about my daughter when I had away games. She was with people I trusted with my entire heart.

I never thought I'd be a father at age twenty-five. Then at age twenty-six, I became a single father when Jessica's mother left her with me and never returned. After a couple of weeks, Jessica's maternal grandmother, Barbara Westbrook, showed up at my door, demanding that I hand over Jessica so she could take her home.

I knew immediately that something was wrong, though she would not admit it. She claimed she was there on behalf of her daughter to pick up Jessica, but I hadn't heard from Bree since she dropped our daughter off. I refused to give her my daughter. I knew in my gut she wasn't right. I know the signs. I've dealt with a father who has had mental health issues all my life.

I finally kicked her out when she made a scene and threatened to call the police. I called her bluff and dared her to before I lifted her off her feet, put her outside my door, and closed it in her face.

I got a call from Bree's sister, Brandi, minutes later who told me that Bree died two weeks prior. They already had a funeral and no one bothered to tell me. No one would give me any details about what happened, and from that moment on, it was only me and Jessica.

I don't regret anything when it comes to my child. Jessica is the gift I didn't know I needed despite juggling single fatherhood and a demanding career that takes me away for so much of the year. Unlike Puckerman, who was once a single father too, I don't have a family to help me with my daughter.

The woman who raised me, who I thought was my mother, bailed when my dad lost his job and we were homeless. I don't blame her. My father hasn't left the house I bought him in years, and my uncle and great uncle are convicted red-neck felons. I've raised myself, and I've always been alone. I've never had a member of my family at a single one of my games. My team has become my family.

An older woman in a black robe comes into the courtroom and we all stop talking. Instead of sitting behind the bench, she walks to Jake Puckerman and his family. She's all smiles as she shakes hands with Marley and Jake. She even takes Johnny in her arms and puts him on her hip.

The judge allows Xander to speak before making her judgment. As soon as Marley Puckerman is named as the adopted mother of Alexander Wilson Puckerman, everyone in the courthouse stands up and claps their hands..

"Everyone, you are invited to come to our home for a party," Jake says. "Judge Tibideaux, we'd love for you to come." He hands the judge an invitation with his address, and she takes it before reluctantly giving Johnny back. Once she does, she takes Marley's hand and the two have a conversation I can't make out. Marley wipes a few more tears, and the judge moves on, shaking hands and chatting with all the players.

"We need our favorite coach back," she says when she gets to Mike. "And you, young man." She addresses me. "Behave." I put both hands up. "These Sammyfans of yours have gotten out of control."

"I promise you that I am being good," I say with a grin. She gives me a dubious look before running her hand over Jessica's head. Jessica, who is now pulling on her godfather's tie.

"Can I ride to the reception with you? I walked," I say to Mike. "I need to talk to you," I whisper.

"Tina already has Jessica, so let's go.. My driver's outside."