Chapter 7
7
[Bolan]
I n the fuckups of fuckups, I was fucking up, and no one would be surprised.
Reckless. It’s a word often associated with my name. Irresponsible. Inconsiderate. Burdensome.
All additional adjectives I’ve heard most of my life, and at some point, decided to play into them.
If I’m considered reckless, might as well act that way and sleep with random women. Not using the excuse of my profession, but as an athlete, there are benefits. As a world-class catcher at the professional level, ball chasers are everywhere. And when you were the once-chubby kid who eventually slimmed down, thus bulking up, the unsolicited attention goes to your head. And your dick.
And if I’m going to be called irresponsible, might as well knock that out of the park too, when half the issue is I’m not terribly organized and don’t do well with schedules. Which earns you the label inconsiderate even when you try to set reminders and alarms and hire people to help you, who then call you a burden.
Because I can’t follow some mysterious set of rules.
Give me a playbook and the guidelines for a baseball game, and I’m all in. My focus is narrowed.
Everything else? A shitshow.
Until Tulane.
She’s the reason I’m trying to do better, be better, and I’ve had one little blip in the last eight months.
Ruth Avery.
“I didn’t know I had her,” I begin because I want Ruthie to know the truth. For some reason, I need her to understand that she— Tulip —was not a mistake.
“Last July, her mother came to me with an eight-month-old baby and told me she was mine.”
Rachel was an American on a long-term assignment in Japan and a one-time decision like most women in my past. She’d been a hard-working, career-driven woman in her late twenties, who never wanted to be considered a quitter. When she found out she was pregnant, she figured it was one more thing she could master.
Her words, not mine.
Only, she quickly decided motherhood was not for her. With the demanding hours of her job, she didn’t have time for a child in her life.
But the moment I learned about Tulane, I wanted her. A psychologist would have a field day studying how the irresponsible claimed a responsibility, but maybe that had been the issue. Tulane had been that something important in my life I didn’t know I needed, hadn’t known I was missing, and I was more than willing to embrace it. Embrace her. Embrace fatherhood .
The moment Tulane looked at me, she was mine, and I was hers. I am here for her.
“There were months of litigation. A paternity test.” Although looking at Tulip’s eyes, no one would deny she is mine. Her hair color also solidifies the connection. “Then the release of custody and a refusal of financial gain.”
Rachel hadn’t wanted monetary compensation and easily relinquished all rights to Tulane.
“She’s my purpose,” I state, as if that explains everything.
The need to return to the States. The desire to play for a professional level team here. The chance to end my career on a strong note, and not the decade of scandals behind me.
I might have wrecked a hotel room once. And there was that incident with a ping-pong table in a swimming pool, but I was a changed man.
Or at least, I wanted to be.
I was a dad now, and it was an honor I was not taking lightly.
Ruthie finally turns toward me and crosses her arms just below her breasts. Her hip leans against the bathroom counter. The same hip my hand coasted over, lifting a different tight skirt outlining her shape and dipping beneath it to taste?—
Tulip whimpers in my arms, wrapping her tiny little limb around my neck and shuddering against my shoulder.
The memory of Ruthie, whose brown eyes are presently wide and focused on Tulip, disappears. In those dark depths, a swirl of emotion exists. First, softness while she glances at Tulane. Something sweet and almost yearning in them. The light tug of her lips pushes up the edges, like a smile is ready to bloom.
Then her gaze flits to me and those dark wells storm, like all she sees is some irresponsible guy who does nothing but fuck up. Her lips twist, clearing any semblance of a smile from existence .
I sigh and continue. “I’m not engaged.”
Nothing had been put on paper yet. No ink signing the check for the woman my attorney found to pretend to be my wife.
This fucking scheme.
Between Jared and Floyd, I don’t know who upsets me more. Floyd Everest came up with the plan, suggesting that a wife would dispel any rumors about my sudden single-father status and give the impression of a family man which the Chicago Anchors are demanding.
My granddad loved the team, and he’d be proud of me playing for them, even from his stadium seat in heaven.
He was the only one with pride in his eyes when he looked at me.
As for Jared, he’d agreed to go along with this ridiculous plan, as my new sports agent and the one with connections to my team of interest.
“But I need a wife, according to them.” I tip my chin toward the door.
I’m nearing the end of my life span in the major leagues, and thankfully, the Anchors are interested in me. At thirty-six, my knees aren’t what they used to be, and my hips and lower back bear most of the brunt of squatting for nearly half of a three-hour game, compounded with having been in that position for almost twenty years.
“I’d been on team after team before being shipped to Japan,” I explain. “And now, I have a chance at making a comeback.” And I need a wife .
Hadn’t Ruthie known the plan? She knew who I was, didn’t she? She must have known.
Especially with her position in this agency. With the relation to Nylah and Clifton.
Maybe that was the weird recognition vibe upon first seeing her. Being my late cousin’s wife, I must have seen her at their wedding. Until I remember that I didn’t attend. Perhaps at his funeral, but I hadn’t been present for that either as I’d been in Japan when his death occurred.
Whatever the occasion had been, I can’t shake the sensation that I’ve met Ruthie Avery somewhere.
You burned me . Fuck, I hate that she thinks that about me. Hate that I’ve hurt her.
Hanging my head, I press another kiss to the back of Tulip’s as she squirms in my arms.
“Look, I’m not going to pretend I’ve been a good boy in the past. But all I care about now is my future.” I jiggle Tulane. “And if I need a wife, or a woman to pretend she’s mine, so the Chicago Anchors think I’m a family man, then that’s the play I’ll make.”
I pause, not expecting her to understand, but still I clarify, “Because I am a family man now. It’s me and Tulane. That’s all that matters.”
I’m not trying to sound like a selfish dick, but I’ll be doing whatever is asked of me to continue to play professional baseball so I can financially provide the best for my girl. Another year. Two tops. Then I can retire and figure out what’s next for us.
Probably turning into one of those former pros who own rundown bars or junkyards because I don’t know what else I’d do.
The thought makes me shiver. So, for now, I must do what I can do and worry about the future when it happens.
Ruthie nods once, acknowledging that she heard me. She might not agree with the plan or even like me as much as she did last night and the night before, but I’m used to disappointing women.
I’ve been doing it since birth. My mom was at the top of the list.
Tulip shifts in my arms so that her side leans against my chest, her head settles on my shoulder. Her gaze seeks Ruthie. Then she does something that shocks the shit out of me. She lurches forward like she wants Ruthie to catch her.
With the sudden dip of Tulip’s body, Ruthie rushes toward me, but I catch my girl with my other hand.
“Hey, baby. Whatcha doin’?” Sometimes I think Tulane confuses women, any woman, with the mother she once had.
I’d been old enough when my mom left to have distinct memories of her, but Tulane won’t ever know her biological mother. Not that I fault Rachel. I applaud her for acknowledging motherhood wasn’t for her, and I’m grateful that she gave Tulane to me.
My life has been all the richer with my little one in it.
This morning, Nylah didn’t seem overly eager to watch Tulane during our meeting, but I’d already used the sitter service two nights in a row.
The way things were going, today is going to be another long day.
With Ruthie standing in my space, I’m reminded we are in the ladies’ room, and Jared and Floyd are waiting on us.
Still, I don’t want to move away from her without her understanding where I’m at.
“I don’t regret the other night. Or last night,” I clarify. In the eight months since Tulane came into my life, I haven’t touched a woman. I needed Ruthie the other night, and something tells me she needed me as well. No woman has responded to me like she did. Clinging to me. Desperate for me, in an innocent, authentic way.
Maybe she didn’t know who I was. She certainly had nothing to gain by being with me for a few hours.
“How old is she?” Ruthie interrupts my thoughts without responding to my comment about regrets. She holds out her hand like she wants to run it down Tulip’s back, then thinks twice and retracts her hand, tucking both of them behind her back.
“Sixteen months.” What a riot the last eight months have been. The small changes that have been big steps for my little girl.
“She’s . . . beautiful.” Ruthie sighs, offering Tulane a gentle smile. I imagine my girl smiling back, though shy, maybe curious.
I’m curious, too, when I shouldn’t be. Who is this woman standing before me? How I wish I could know more about her.
The two of them continue in their holding pattern, just staring at one another. Ruthie’s eyes soften. She lifts her hand and bends her fingers in a wave. “Hi.”
Tulane mimics the motion, her wave more like a cramping fist, but those rounded knuckles are so cute.
Ruthie and Tulane share another moment of smiles and gazes before Ruthie glances at me. Her expression grows more thoughtful, then almost stern. She straightens her shoulders and lifts her head taller.
I’m liking the red-framed glasses on her, although her blonde hair is pulled back a bit too severely. She’s got that principal-vibes happening, but as often as I’d been called into a school office, no principal ever looked like her.
“Am I suddenly a page in your bad boy past?” she asks.
The sharp inhale I take causes me to catch a whiff of her scent. Floral and spice.
I’d love to tell Ruthie no. I’d love to say she isn’t a page but the start of a new chapter. I would love to explore more with her. However, a relationship is not in the books for me; not with this arrangement with Melody. Heck, I’m not even a reader.
I need a wife, and I?—
The gears in my head chink slowly at first. Then, my slog brain churns faster and faster .
“Let’s head back to the conference room,” I state, needing a minute.
Could I explore more with Ruthie? Is there a way to keep her? The sudden idea is not that absurd, is it?
Then again, I’ve never been known to have sound thoughts or make smart decisions.
Ruthie leads us back to the meeting space where Jared is standing, facing the windows, and Floyd is on his phone, seated at the table.
Jared turns as we enter and offers Ruthie a warm smile. Floyd scowls in my direction. He hasn’t liked this new development in my life. A daughter. He’s a shark and worked hard between Japanese law and American to dot all the I ’s and cross all the T ’s, as he put it, to ensure Tulane was all mine, and I owe him.
Which is one reason I am willing to entertain his plan.
And another reason Melody Cross, his niece was proposed.
“Maybe the lady could take the child into the hall,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes at me.
“The lady is right here,” Ruthie responds, giving Floyd a glimpse of her thorns despite her delicate appearance.
Jared chuckles, brushing off the sudden tension, and waves a dismissive hand at Floyd while taking his seat at the head of the table. “Let Tulane stay. This meeting concerns Ruthie as well.”
“It does?” Ruthie and I say in unison again, reminding us he’d said something similar earlier. I’m curious if Jared has the same sudden idea I do.
As I step toward the side of the table where Ruthie had been seated, Tulane drops forward again as if she wants Ruthie to take her .
My flower reaches out for my daughter, like it’s instinctual to take her from me. We stand in this awkward moment of Tulane leaning forward and Ruthie standing with her hands up, ready to catch my girl again.
“I don’t mind holding her, if you don’t mind.” Her voice is soft, her offer hesitant. Her eyes are wild while eager.
“Of course,” I state reluctantly, as I’ve become a bit of a helicopter parent when it comes to Tulane. A hovering father but not one who intends to smother my girl. She’ll be allowed to be whomever she wants to be. On her terms.
As I shift Tulane toward Ruthie, I narrowly miss a brush of my knuckles against her breasts in the pass off. Ruthie easily pulls Tulane to her chest, and the girls focus on one another again. Tulane’s small fingers fiddle with the buttons on Ruthie’s blouse, which is closed at her throat. Ruthie smiles, stroking her finger around Tulane’s cheek. Then Tulane settles her head against Ruthie’s shoulder.
Dammit . I shouldn’t like how good they look together. A simple bouquet of red and yellow.
“Shall we take our seats?” Jared directs, although he’s already seated.
I pull out Ruthie’s chair, placing my hand near her lower back to help her take a seat. Then I lean across the table, setting my fingertips on my copy of the report, and slide the file across the table toward me. I settle into the chair beside Ruthie where Tulane can see me, and I can keep my eyes on both of them.
“We left off where you need a wife,” Floyd begins. “A family man is more attractive to the Chicago Anchors in light of what’s recently happened on the team.”
One of their new-to-them players last season slept with a fellow teammate’s wife. Scandalous, indeed . I’m aware of Romero Valdez’s reputation, and at one time, worried mine equals his, but I’ve never, ever so much as look at a teammate’s wife or girlfriend other than in a friendly manner .
I do have boundaries.
I nod at Floyd, acknowledging my understanding, although my gut has told me his choice will never make a good wife nor a decent stepmother for Tulane.
I need a partner.
Tulane needs someone compassionate and caring to act as her mother.
This is the part that concerns me most. Would any woman want to mother my child? And what would that do emotionally to Tulane when the year is up, and that woman is no longer contractually bound to us? What damage will she have done if Tulane grows close to her? What damage will be done if Tulane isn’t close with her?
My own experience with a mother who flitted into and out of her role is the background for my concerns, and I wasn’t comfortable with Tulane having a similar type of mother-figure.
Melody Cross is an issue for me.
“You will secure a full-time nanny,” Jared adds, as if reading my internal worries. If I have childcare, I don’t need a mother for Tulane. For appearances, I simply need a wife for me.
“And finally, I’m promoting Ruth to be your new agent.”
“You’re what?” Ruthie barks, leaning forward, clutching Tulane tightly in her arms.
“Why?” I choke, watching as Tulane slowly closes her eyes as if comfortable in Ruthie’s lap. Or maybe she just feels the sudden tension in the room and wants to shut it all off. I know I’d like to pretend none of this is happening.
Pretend I’m not agreeing to someone random being my wife.
“You’ll need someone full-time to coach you through appearances and monitor your behavior. Ruthie is being assigned to you.”
“Jared,” she groans. “No.” Her eyes widen, and an entire conversation ensues between them. Is it me? Am I the problem? Does she not want to be assigned to me? Then again, I don’t know that I can have Ruthie close to me, with another woman pretending to be my wife.
Eventually, Jared speaks again, his voice soothing. “This won’t be like the last time, Ruth, darling. You’re older, wiser, and better experienced. You can handle this assignment.”
What last time ?
Ruthie falls back in her seat, still clutching Tulane who has closed her eyes and nestled her head into the space between Ruthie’s neck and shoulder.
I won’t think about how I nipped Ruthie there. Nope, not allowing those thoughts to enter my thick head.
Instead, I clear my throat. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about the assignment. The Reputation Repair Report. I’d like a new plan.”
Floyd groans and tosses his phone on the table. “You’re out of options, Bolan. You have a reputation as a loose cannon. And now this.”
He waves toward my baby girl in Ruthie’s arms, who looks like she’s holding Tulane even tighter, as if protecting her from the insult.
This . My child.
“A marriage is the best solution,” Floyd adds.
My earlier thought, the one that popped into my head while staring at Ruthie in the bathroom, tumbles forward.
“Then I don’t want Ruthie as my agent. I want her for my wife.”