Chapter 14
14
[Bolan]
W hen Ruthie comes to my game on the second day, she is wearing the jersey I had made for her, with my mini-me in tow wearing her Adler jersey as well.
After the awkward interlude with the two women I couldn’t remember, I rushed to the Anchor shop, hopeful to get a jersey custom printed with my name on the back until the official jerseys arrive.
I hate that my past catches up to me at times. Hate that Ruthie has a rough past with Clifton.
My cousin is one of those guys people hail as a hero but forget that he was only human. His death elevated him to sainthood, but it’s evident the halo people like to place above his head slipped, and slipped, and slipped.
What a fucker .
I’m not a fan of cheaters. As in, I hate them. My mother cheated on my father and ran off with another man. I might have messed around with a lot of women in my past, but I was always crystal clear about my intentions. No strings attached. No hard feelings. So, I wasn’t committed to someone, then dipping my wick into some side piece.
The thought angers me even further when I think about Clifton. How inconsiderate he was and a fucking moron. He didn’t treasure what he had with Ruthie, in Ruthie, and I’d like to bury him all over again for being the reason behind the sad, insecure look in her eyes.
I’m more determined than ever to do right by her. To prove that she deserves of better.
After Ruthie shared her story, Tulane woke up and Ruthie’s demeanor shifted. She went into mom-mode, which reminded me that, for all intents and purposes, she is Tulane’s stepmom. Ruthie is amazing with my little girl, who adores her as well.
Like I do, and I’m biding my time with Ruthie. Patience . It’s becoming nearly painful.
I can control my impulses, but I’m a sexual guy. Not making excuses for myself, but I crave physical connection, and I’d been in a drought until Ruthie and our two times. I’m not looking to touch just anyone either. I want my wife, and it’s been torture living with her. Smelling her shampoo in the shower. Watching her wear those sweet denim shorts. Knowing she sleeps just down the hallway from me. She’s all I want. All I think about. All I see. I feel her, too, because I still have this strange sense of familiarity with her.
Maybe the sensation is as simple as how easily she fits with Tulane and me.
However, Ruthie remains distant, when her eyes tell a different story. I think she wants me, and I don’t like the separation. It makes me itchy, like she’ll bolt any second. Something tells me Ruthie is more responsible than a runner, though.
She wouldn’t leave me, would she ?
The most important thing I’d taken away from the information she shared about Clifton was that she trusted me. She shared a dark part of her history with me. And I want to know all her secrets.
Spring training for the Chicago Anchors is not starting off strong. The gossip mongers and rumor mills are spinning early about our team, especially after a guest appearance by Cadence. The world-renown country singer slipped into the lawn section on day one.
I’d asked Ruthie if she met the superstar, knowing they sat near one another. Ruthie said she introduced herself to the famous singer, but didn’t make a big deal of the other woman’s notoriety. Ruthie’s met tons of stars in her profession and something tells me she isn’t impressed by fame.
After the game, I linger outside the stadium waiting on my girls. Two games, and I’m addicted to seeing them directly afterward.
When Ruthie approaches, she kindly offers, “Tough game.” We lost and as I’d played the opener, Cyrus Sawyer caught today.
“Yeah, it was a rough one.” I tug my ball cap off my head and spin it around, setting it backward now that the game is over. Then I reach out for Tulane who lunges toward me. Tugging her close, I pepper the side of her head with kisses.
“Did you see my hit?” I mutter to Tulane while really asking Ruthie. I went in as a designated hitter in the seventh inning for a rookie who got hurt earlier in the game. Was she watching the game? Was she paying attention to me? Even thinking such thoughts makes me sound desperate, needy even. But for two days in a row, she’s been at the games, for me. That’s two more professional games than anyone has attended for me.
“Nice one,” she states.
The double I’d hit landed me on second base. Unfortunately, I didn’t get home as Valdez followed me in the batting order and struck out.
“Thanks.” I set Tulane down on her feet and stand upright, keeping my eye on my little one. “Thanks for coming again today.”
My throat catches on my gratitude. I remind myself she’s here because of the arrangement. She’s been assigned to be my agent, which essentially means she’s babysitting me. She agreed to be my wife which brings its own level of confusion. When I dig deeply, nothing in our situation settles well in my gut.
Then Ruthie says, “Of course, Bolan. I’m here for you.”
How I want that statement to be true.
I take a deep breath, turn my head to the side and squint in the bright sunshine. “Never had someone come to my games before.”
“What do you mean?” Her voice is light, like she thinks I’m kidding.
I bring my attention back to her. “My dad stopped coming when I was younger. My mother never showed up for me.”
“Bolan,” Ruthie softly whispers, stepping closer to me.
I glance down at Tulane, who is looking around at all the people exiting the stadium. Her little arm is wrapped around my knee like a buoy. Safety in a sea of people.
“My mom left when I was ten,” I begin, wondering where this information is coming from. Why I’m telling her this now, and here, in the side lot. “She’d been having an affair. Left to marry the guy. Had two more boys with him. They are the favored ones.”
Hunter and Miller Frederick aren’t bad guys. Hunter and I are eleven years apart; Miller and I thirteen. We’re not exactly close as brothers go, but I check in on them occasionally. When I went to Japan, communication became even more limited.
I scoff. “Which is why giving that speech during The Red Dress Affair was a joke.” My voice hardens and I clear my throat.
Ruthie doesn’t take her eyes off me.
“My dad was another story. He drank a bit too much.” A lot too much. “And he’d make a scene. One time, he got kicked out for unruly behavior.” I glance down at Tulane. “I was in high school.”
One of the most embarrassing moments of my life. My father so drunk, hollering at the coach, taunting me with how to play better. A bad catch. A missed hit.
Finally, the school security removed him. I asked him never to attend one of my games again, and he didn’t. Not a college one. Not a professional one.
“I never want Tulane to feel that way. Unwanted. Unworthy.” Dammit . My eyes prickle, but I’ll deny tears and blame the sunshine for the burn. I clear my throat again. “Anyway, I just want to say thanks again for showing up. For being here. It means a lot to me.”
My gaze drops to where her fingertips brush the thick hairs on my forearm.
“I totally get it,” she whispers. “And I?—”
“Adler, man, quit flirting with all the ladies and get your ass in the locker room.” Romero Valdez claps me hard on the shoulder as he’s passing me.
The moment with Ruthie was getting a little intense, although she was on the verge of telling me something. Something probably important.
“I don’t flirt with all the ladies.” My gaze lands on Ruthie, holding on those dark eyes, willing her to believe me. She’s the only woman I want to flirt with.
Turning toward Valdez’s retreating back, I become defensive. “She’s my wife.”
Valdez stops, the abrupt clomp of his cleats on cement cut short, like he hit the brakes. He does an about-face and turns back toward us.
“Damn.” He hums in appreciation, looking Ruthie up and down. “I didn’t know you were married.” He winks at my wife. “You’re one lucky man.”
Holding out his hand, he approaches her. “Romero Valdez. Around here they call me Romeo.”
Everything in me wants to step between Ruthie and Romero. I want to tell him he can’t touch her. Keep his hands off her and his eyes away from her. Instead, I growl, “Now who’s flirting with who?”
Ruthie chuckles. “Ruthie Adler. Nice to meet you.”
My head swivels toward her. Ruthie Adler . While I know it. While I’ve heard it. This is the first time I’ve heard her say the name in her sweet voice, and my chest puffs up.
Valdez is right. I’m a lucky man. That’s my wife . She’s smoking hot. Blonde hair in a ponytail peeking through the back of an Anchors ball cap, wearing a jersey that says our name on the back, and denim shorts with frayed hem. The jersey is long, and those shorts are a tease beneath the length of the shirt. Ruthie looks good and my gaze drops to her feet. Red toenail polish peeking through her sandals.
Fuck . Those toes. That color. Reminds me how badly I want my wife. She’d been wearing heels that first time. The spike poking into my ass when her legs wrapped around me. We’d been lost in the moment then and I relished the pain. But something in me wants to take her sweet and slow, tuck those feet around my back and feel her wrapped around me, skin to skin.
“Down boy,” Valdez claps my shoulder again, and I’m jostled from my salacious thoughts.
Ruthie smiles softly before bending to pick up Tulane and set her on her hip.
And my wayward thoughts run rampant again because nothing makes me hotter for her than watching her interact with Tulane.
Mommy kink? I swipe my palm down my face. I need to get myself together.
“I’ll see you at home.” There’s hesitation in Ruthie’s voice, like she’s questioning I’ll be there when I don’t want to be anywhere else.
“Of course.” I’m here for her, too, she just doesn’t know it yet.