10. Spring Training
10
SPRING TRAINING
[Bolan]
R uthie and I don’t have the pleasure of a wedding night as I’m a late addition to the Chicago Anchors and spring training games begin in days. Pitchers and catchers reported to the Anchors’ spring field in Arizona a week ago Monday.
The afternoon of our wedding, we fly to the Scottsdale location.
The wedding chapel in Vegas was not how I pictured my wedding day. Hell, I hadn’t ever pictured such a day for me, but there Ruthie stood, looking breathtaking and nervous in a white dress.
One she’d worn for me.
One I wanted to untie by the bow at her throat and kiss along the column I haven’t kissed enough.
When she told me she planned to wear pink, our situation being an arrangement hit home. My new bride wasn’t even going to wear white to our ceremony.
And I’d only be doing this once.
Ruthie was not a virgin. She’d been married before, plus we had our interlude during The Red Dress Affair. Still, I wanted my bride to wear the traditional color that marks the significance of a wedding.
What Ruthie is doing for me is important.
I left Floyd and Jared to hash out financial compensation for Ruthie and settle on a one-year marriage commitment compromise. The timeline will hold off suspicion that the marriage was only for gain. Of course, part of the agreement was that the team never find out our marriage is a sham.
I assume Ruthie is all-in because of the money. The Chicago Anchors signed me with a three-year deal, with a payout that wasn’t as high as the highest paid catcher, but still substantial money. Happily restored to the major leagues in the States, I will retire with the iconic team.
I can almost hear my granddad cheering from the heavenly bleacher section.
But could Ruthie be proud of me, too?
I don’t have time to contemplate this big question before Ruthie and I arrive late-afternoon in Arizona as a newly married couple.
Players often bring their wives and families to spring training to live in a compound-like setting, renting homes near each other or condos in the same building. A sense of community grows and helps players and their families transition to the long months ahead when our time at home will be cut in half, spending the other half on the road.
When Ruthie and I enter the condo rented for us, we collectively take in the couch and recliner chair in the living room. A small round table that seats four stands in a dining space beside the narrow kitchen .
Ruthie wanders down the hallway holding Tulane in her arms as I carry our bags up to this second-floor apartment. She stops in front of one bedroom with two twin beds.
“We need a crib,” she says quietly, glancing down at Tulane and jostling her a little bit. My little girl stares into the stark room as well.
I’ve rented a duplex in Chicago and can’t wait to set up a space I can call home for my Tulip, and now Ruthie. For the next month, this place is home, though.
Ruthie turns toward the open door at the end of the hallway and pauses at the entrance to the larger bedroom. I stand behind her while we both stare at the king-sized bed.
“I can take the couch.” I clear my throat, not liking the idea. My hips and back can’t handle a lumpy set of cushions, but I don’t want Ruthie to feel uncomfortable. She’s been quiet since departing Vegas and I’m worried she might have doubts about her decision to marry me.
I won’t make my wife into a foregone conclusion, even if I have already slept with her. Ruthie’s doing me a favor, not turning into a kept woman.
“I can take the couch,” she counters, still staring at the bed.
“Absolutely not.” I can be a gentleman, or at least try to be. Which proves nearly impossible every time I see Ruthie interacting with Tulane. I’ve heard of breeding kinks. Is there a mommy kink? Because watching Ruthie with Tulane revs my engine and embarrassingly gets me hard.
I swipe a hand down my face and clear my throat again. “So, I gotta head out. Check in with the team as I’m already late, and?—”
“Of course. Go. Go .” Ruthie turns toward me. Her dark eyes unreadable. “I’ve got this.” She jiggles Tulane in her arms. “We’re going to be fine.”
I don’t doubt Ruthie can handle my child. Hell, she’ll probably be better at nurturing her than I am. The issue is . . . I want to stay. I want to be with them for a little while. I want to know more about Ruthie and I’m cognizant that I’m basically dumping my new wife and new-to-me child in a rented condo and leaving them to fend for themselves.
“I can order groceries. Or have a meal delivered.”
“Bolan.” Ruthie softly chuckles. “I’ve got us covered.”
I’m sure she does. She’s more capable than I am. Definitely more punctual, as I was almost late to my own wedding. Thank goodness for alarm-reminders on phones. It’s not like I would have forgotten, I’m just not good with time management off the field.
With a final glance at Tulane, I swipe my left hand over her downy red hair and catch sight of my silicone wedding band. I gave Ruthie a thin gold band I bought hastily in Vegas. She bought me a package of three athletic-safe rings.
Very efficient of her.
I kiss the top of Tulane’s head. Then I have a momentary lapse in judgement and lean toward Ruthie, intending to give her a quick peck. She flinches back from my approach. Our mouths never connect.
Shit . I’d promised on our wedding day I’d use patience. I’d earn her kisses.
Because make no mistake, I intend to be kissing my wife.
“I’ll see you later.” I pull away, stamping down my disappointment at Ruthie’s rejection.
“I’ll be here.” Her voice is light but strained, implying where else might she be?
I have no idea what her life was like outside of Imperial Sports Management, but I’ll learn.
As far back as I can remember, I’ve been a part of a baseball team. At the professional level, an unspoken hierarchy exists between veterans and rookies. Then there are seasoned players who become newbies on a team, like me, and time is necessary to establish a place in the current dynamic. Like the new kid at school trying to fit into an established friend group.
The team bench manager, Dalton Ryatt, handles introductions when I hit the practice field where my new teammates and coaches are in a variety of positions. Warming up. Batting practice. Individual lessons.
There is Ross Davis, the newly assigned head coach.
Kip Garcia, a pitching coach.
Ford Sylver, the long-time centerfielder and a current captain. Roughly the same age as me, Ford appears preoccupied. He has reasons to be standoffish. His wife slept with another team member, Romero Valdez, who has dubbed himself Romeo, and remains the shortstop for the Anchors this season despite the scandal.
“You want to be an Anchors, cha ?” the shortstop asks in a thick Hispanic accent upon meeting me. “Got to play with your balls.” He grabs his crotch, turns his head and waggles his tongue at someone nearby like that guy understands the reference.
“You got a wife? Girlfriend?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Why?” Does he think he’ll get in the pants of my significant other? Not a fucking chance.
“She can’t have a grip on you.” He squeezes his fingers in front of his dick again. “You need to lay it all on the field.” He waves his arm outward, addressing the brilliant green field within the spring training stadium. “You come out with us. I show you, Bad-ler.”
I bristle at the mention of a long-ago nickname. A combination of my name and reputation. Only, I’m not here to relive my wilder days. Valdez might consider his advice sage, like I’m some rookie, but I’m not interested in his thoughts.
And I’m not going anywhere with him or any lackeys who follow him. He’s a fucking prick for taking advantage of a teammate’s wife, or whatever the case might have been. Wives are off limits. Girlfriends, too.
And being the new kid on the block, I do not want to be affiliated with the known troublemaker in the sandlot.
I’m bigger than Valdez, so I’m not half as worried about an altercation. I don’t trust him, though. While most rumors are exaggerations, some contain hints of truth. No one understands that better than me as the source of gossip in the past.
By marrying Ruthie, I’m here to keep my reputation clean, not tarnish it, so I reject Valdez’s invitation. “Thanks, but I’m gonna pass for now.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing. Ball chasers are everywhere down here.”
Spring break desert dwellers. Baseball fangirls. I know the gig but I’m not in the market anymore, and relief hits me harder than a ninety mile per hour fastball.
I don’t need to play games to win over some random woman for a night.
The only score I want is getting my wife to open up to me.
For now, I don’t have time to concentrate on the anxious silence surrounding Ruthie as my introductions continue with the bullpen of pitchers, who will be my partners on a rotating basis.
Catchers and pitchers go, well, glove-to-glove.
Finally, I meet Cyrus Sawyer, who is the current catcher for the Anchors. We’ll essentially flip-flop between games. One on for him. One on for me. Cyrus comes from a small town in Georgia and seems like an all-around good guy from first handshake.
I’d like us to be friends, but I don’t need new buddies. I’m here to prove myself.
Prove something to myself.
And from there, I begin practice.