Baby Daddy Roulette

Chapter 43

​​Mateo’s POV

The news breaks during practice, which is how I know it's serious.

Coach Williams pulls Derek off the court mid-drill, and they disappear into his office with two people in suits who definitely aren't basketball staff. The rest of us keep running plays, but everyone's watching that closed door, speculation humming beneath the squeak of sneakers on hardwood.

"What do you think that's about?" Jordan asks during the water break.

"No idea," I lied.

But I have ideas. Lots of them. And when my phone buzzes with a text from Selene—It's happening. Stay calm. Love you.—those ideas solidify into certainty.

Derek Hollins is about to have a very bad day.

Practice ends early. Coach dismisses us with a terse "something came up, we'll run full drills tomorrow" that explains nothing and tells us everything. The locker room buzzes with theories—failed drug test, assault charges, contract dispute.

Axel catches my eye across the room. We don't speak, but we don't need to. We both know what this is really about.

I'm showered and dressed in record time, desperate to get home, to hear the full story from Selene. But before I can escape, Coach Williams appears in the locker room doorway.

"Velasco. Nielsen. My office. Now."

The walk feels longer than it should. Coach's office is standard-issue—desk, chairs, motivational posters that nobody reads—but today it feels like a courtroom.

"Sit down," Coach says. He looks tired. The kind of tired, that comes from dealing with other people's drama. "I'm going to tell you something, and I need you both to stay calm."

"We're calm," Axel says, which is technically true for him. I'm vibrating with the effort of not demanding answers immediately.

"The investigation into Derek Hollins has revealed some... concerning information." Coach leans back in his chair. "Phone records show regular contact between Derek and Cassian Drummond's management company. When confronted, Derek admitted he was promised a starting position on another team if he could 'get dirt' on the team psychologist."

There it is. Confirmation of everything Selene suspected, everything we researched, everything we couldn't prove until Derek's own stupidity gave us the opening.

"He was a plant," I say flatly. "Cassian sent him to destroy Selene's career."

"That appears to be the case." Coach's jaw tightens. "Derek's been suspended pending trade. The front office is furious—not at Dr. Marlowe, but at the attempt to sabotage our staff through a player acquisition. Someone's going to answer for how this trade was facilitated without proper vetting."

Axel's voice is controlled ice. "What happens now?"

"Derek's gone. His contract's being reviewed for termination based on conduct violations. And Dr. Marlowe's position is secure—more than secure. She handled this exactly right. Documented everything, reported through proper channels, never gave him anything he could use."

Pride swells in my chest. That's my girl. That's our girl.

"As for Drummond..." Coach shakes his head. "That's beyond our scope. But the league's been notified. This kind of coordinated harassment doesn't go unnoticed."

"It should go punished," I say before I can stop myself.

"That's not our call. What is our call is protecting our people." Coach looks between us. "I know this situation is personal for both of you. I'm asking you to let the system handle it. No confrontations, no statements to the media, no social media posts. Let the professionals do their jobs."

"And if Cassian tries something else?" Axel asks.

"Then we deal with it then. But right now, we've won this round. Don't give anyone ammunition to flip the narrative."

We leave his office with instructions to go home, decompress, and keep our mouths shut. I manage to make it to the parking garage before the restraint cracks.

"I want to fly to Philadelphia and punch him in his perfect face," I tell Axel as we reach our cars. "Just once. Just so he knows we know."

"That would be satisfying but counterproductive."

"I know. That's why I'm telling you instead of booking a flight." I lean against my car door. "She was right. About all of it. The connection, the setup, the trap. She saw it coming and she handled it and she won."

"She's good at her job."

"She's good at everything." A thought suddenly occurs to me. "We should celebrate. When we get home. Do something to mark this."

"What did you have in mind?"

"No idea. But something. She's been carrying this for weeks, and now it's over. She deserves to feel that."

Axel almost smiles. "I'll pick up champagne."

"I'll pick up that cake she likes from the bakery on Pine."

"The one with the—"

"Obscene amount of frosting. Yes. This is a frosting occasion."

We drive home separately but arrive together, which is a minor miracle of Seattle traffic. Selene's car is already in the driveway. She meets us at the door looking lighter than she has in weeks—shoulders relaxed, tension lines smoothed from her forehead.

"I see you got the news," she says.

"We got summoned to Coach's office and told our teammate was a sleeper agent sent by your psycho ex." I pull her into a hug, lifting her slightly off her feet. "So yeah. We got the news."

"I handled it," she says into my shoulder, and there's wonder in her voice. Like she's still surprised by her own competence.

"You destroyed it." I set her down but keep hold of her waist. "You saw the trap, documented everything, flipped it around, and now Derek's suspended and Cassian's on the league's radar. That's not handling. That's winning."

Axel appears with champagne and the bakery box. "We're celebrating."

"You bought cake?"

"Mateo insisted. Apparently this is a frosting occasion."

Her laugh is the best sound I've heard in weeks. Full and free and unburdened.

We eat cake for dinner because we're adults and we can. Drink champagne on the couch with the babies asleep down the hall. Selene tells us the full story—Derek's fake vulnerability, her textbook responses, the moment she realized he was recording, the satisfaction of watching HR take her complaint seriously.

"You were bulletproof," Axel says. "Just like you said you'd be."

"I was terrified," she admits. "The whole time. I just didn't let him see it."

"That's what bulletproof means." I refill her champagne glass. "Being scared and doing it anyway."

She looks at both of us—really looks, the way she does when she's cataloging something important.

"Thank you," she says quietly. "For letting me fight this my way. For not charging in to fix it. For trusting me to handle my own battles."

"We'll always trust you," Axel says simply. "You've earned that."

"And we'll always be here when the battle's over." I clink my glass against hers. "Win or lose. Cake either way."

"I like that policy."

"It's a good policy. I'm full of good policies."

Later, tangled together in bed with champagne warmth and cake sugar still buzzing through us, I watch Selene fall asleep between us. The tension that's been living in her body for weeks has finally released. She looks peaceful in a way she hasn't in a long time.

Derek's gone. Cassian's exposed. She won.

But lying there in the dark, I can't shake the feeling that this isn't over. That someone like Cassian doesn't take a loss without planning the next move. That Derek was just the opening gambit in a longer game.

Tomorrow, we'll worry about that.

Tonight, we celebrate what she built—and what nobody managed to take from her.