Chapter 17
17
[Bolan]
I like how Ruthie says catch all the catches . But what I’d really like is something else.
“Toss me a good luck kiss, flower.” I cup her chin. Wide innocent eyes stare up at me, glassy-eyed, fever-riddled, and yet beautiful.
“I don’t want to get you sick,” she says, like she’d really kiss me on the mouth.
I saw the disappointment on her face during our wedding. When I didn’t kiss my bride on the lips but stamped a soft peck to the corner of her mouth instead. The seal of a promise that I’d wait until she was more comfortable with me. Until she gives into me again without the coercion of gin and tonic and an empty ballroom.
We almost had that moment the other night, when she was leaning toward me until Tulane cried out. That wail was the first sign that my baby girl might be sick .
“Just blow me a kiss.” My teenage brain wants to simply tell her to blow me but that wouldn’t have sounded right. Even thinking the word ‘blow’ has a chuckle rumbling up my throat. “I feel lucky when you do.”
Yesterday, I’d had a good game despite Ruthie and Tulane not being present. On a pop-up, fly ball that went behind home plate, I shucked my mask and raced for the hit, catching it and spinning for home plate, where the pitcher, Flynn Royal covered the base when a Cleveland player stole for home, diving toward the plate.
Out is a satisfying word when it’s on the other team.
“You can even put it here.” I pull the medal I wear on a woven black strap forward and bend at the waist to give Ruthie a better view.
Her hair is piled on her head again. The rings beneath her eyes fading only a little bit.
“What is that?” she asks.
“It’s called an omamori ,” I explain. “When I was in Hiroshima, my teammate Roki Enomoto was a good friend, and his grandmother, Honoka, babysat Tulane for me whenever I had games.”
Awkwardly bending toward Ruthie, I glance down at the charm.
“Most omamori are cloth with a little pouch in them. They are considered an object of higher power that brings protection to the owner. They need to be given as gifts, and Honoka gave this one to me the day I left Japan.”
I smile at the fond memories I have of the older woman who didn’t speak much English and yet understood how to raise a child and how to teach me to take care of one.
“Inside the pouch is a letter. More like a directive. A wish, maybe.”
Ruthie looks from the omamori pinched between my fingers to my eyes. “What’s it say? ”
“That’s just it. I don’t know. I’m not supposed to know. It’s simply a statement. Protection, like I said. Or willing something to happen, like success, employment.” Or even love .
Honoka gave me this charm before I left for the airport, and I haven’t taken it off since. I was wearing it the night I met Ruthie. In hindsight, I wonder if she was my destination. Is she the request inside the amulet? Was she sent to me by some higher order?
She’s certainly been the answer to my needs. A wife. A mother for Tulane. She’s giving more than she’s receiving.
I recall what she told me last night. The horrors of Clifton’s death. The ache of her not having a child.
A new flame of desire burns inside me. I want to give this woman everything. But first, I want her to get well.
“I could open this, like a locket, but I won’t.” I sigh, standing taller as my back aches from bending like I was. “I’m letting Fate direct me. Plus, baseball players are notoriously superstitious, and I’ve determined this thing has brought me luck.”
“Really?” Ruthie arches a brow. “How?”
“It brought us together.”
Ruthie chuckles, the sound rough, like when I teased her about petals and sighs yesterday. “How is that lucky?”
“Because I met you. Then met you again.” I wiggle my brows suggesting the two times Ruthie and I came together. “Then saw you again. Three times. Lucky number. And now, here we are.”
“I’m sick. In your bed.”
“One out of two isn’t bad.” Now if she’d only allow me in that bed next to her . . . “So set your kiss on the omamori , flower, and I can wear it all day.”
“Why does this feel like I’m kissing the ring of a mafia don?” she jokes, but then reaches for the charm, reverently placing her hand around it, and cupping it in her palm, before tangling her fingers tighter into the leather strap and tugging me toward her. Our faces come closer together and I reach for the headboard to steady myself.
“Consider me your king.” I do my best impression of Marlon Brando from The Godfather but note the tremor in my voice. I want to kiss my wife. “I’ll make you my queen.”
Ruthie laughs, breaking the sexual tension between us, before rising to her knees in front of me. In this position, her head comes to my chest, and my brain goes haywire, wanting her in this position again, only my pants are lowered, and my dick is long and hard, and pointed in her direction.
Which it kind of is doing right now, confined in joggers that reveal exactly what she does to me.
Ignoring my stiff dick, though, Ruthie lifts the omamori , sets her lips on the Japanese etched letters running top to bottom on the talisman, and raises her lids so she can look up at me while kissing my good luck charm.
“Ruthie,” I growl, wanting to tell her how good she looks on her knees before me, gazing up at me, mouth so close to where I want her.
She blinks once and slowly pulls away. “What?”
The innocence in the question contrasts with the knowing gleam in her eyes suggesting she’s well aware of how she affects me. And I want to push her back to the bed, climb over her, and show her all the ways I want to affect her.
Only she’s sick and my phone dings with a notification that it’s time to leave.
“Saved by the bell?” she whispers.
Fucking damn bells . “Yeah.” I shift my ball cap to the forward position and straighten to my full height, keeping my gaze on my wife, kneeling in front of me. I dig my upper teeth into my lower lip, wanting this woman something fierce.
Especially after what I’ve been learning about her late husband, and the one thing Ruthie wants most, despite saying otherwise .
A baby . Ruthie wants a child, and I want to give her one. I want to see her pregnant with my kid, which I missed out on with Tulane. I want to rub her feet and run my hand over the swell of her belly. I want to see her body expand and know my heart will as well, because this time, I’ll get to experience everything from the start.
I want to be the one to give Ruthie everything she’s ever desired and share in the adventures with her.
“I should get going,” I whisper, struggling to find my voice with all the thoughts rattling around in my head. Like balls tossed into the air and I’m trying to catch them all when I only have one mitt.
“Take it easy today,” I suggest, when I want to be the one to take care of her.