Chapter 21
21
[Ruthie]
T he next afternoon, I’m rushing out the door, hoping to make Bolan’s game, when my phone rings. I almost ignore the call for fear it’s my father again. The second I see the caller ID, I answer.
“Ruth,” Jared says through the phone.
“Ruthie, darling,” Nylah echoes him.
“Hey,” I stumble over the simple word, setting the phone down to use the speaker function as I work to put Tulane’s shoes on her.
Guilt hits me square in the chest. Like they know I went out with Bolan last night. Know I kissed him again.
However, I am married to the man.
“We just wanted to check in on how Bolan is doing,” Jared continues.
“How are you doing?” Nylah counters him again. I spoke to Nylah roughly a week ago when I wasn’t feeling well.
Without seeing them, I can picture Jared glaring at Nylah and her waving at him, like she can erase him, despite them having a rather loving relationship. Jared’s tone, however, is a reminder of the pressure Clifton put on himself to please his father.
“Bolan is great. I sent a progress report the other day.” I’ve been keeping up with his stats and sharing them with Jared who wants a running record of Bolan’s highs and lows. Bolan has been hitting exceptionally well.
“How are his knees?” Jared adds.
After strapping one of Tulane’s shoes closed, I pause. “Is there something I should be worried about? I don’t recall any injuries in his initial report.”
“How about his hips or back? Those are more prone to issues as a catcher, especially as he’s reaching the end of his life span in baseball.”
Immediately, I consider how Bolan has been sleeping on the couch every night. Having my own experience lying on it while I was sick, the furniture is comfortable but a little too soft for nightly rest. Considering Bolan’s bulk and weight, plus the exertion of professional sport, he must be miserable on that thing.
Not mentioning any of my concerns to my Jared, I snort and say, “You make him sound geriatric.”
“In baseball years, he almost is.”
The thought hits me hard. Bolan has mentioned how baseball is his life, but he hasn’t mentioned what he’ll do afterward. He has three years to decide because of his Chicago Anchors contract but time goes quickly.
“And how are you, dear? Your knees, hips, and back.” If I didn’t know my mother-in-law better, I’d swear there was innuendo in her asking. She’s teasing Jared, and in my mind’s eye I can see her give him a saucy glance.
“My body parts are all intact.” I almost said well-cared for, but going by innuendos, that would certainly say a lot, and a few body parts are not well.
After our kiss last night, I collapsed on the bed and had my hand between my legs quicker than a pitcher releases a fast ball from the mound. It didn’t take long to get where I was going, and it was sadly lackluster as most orgasms I’ve experienced in the past few years have been. Because I’d gotten them on my own. Alone.
While Bolan had been right down the hall.
I should have invited him into the bedroom. Should have told him I wanted to be reckless red again. Instead, I let another moment with him pass.
Even still, Bolan should be sleeping in a bed if there are concerns for his physical well-being and performance. Proper rest is necessary, and the worn couch cannot be good for Bolan’s body.
“You’ll keep me updated on any concerns, right?” Jared interjects. “He’s staying out of trouble.” It isn’t so much a question as a declaration. As in, he better be.
“He’s been home every night after games. Goes to practice on time and attends all team meetings.”
The heavy silence that follows leaves me wondering what Jared is thinking. His son appeared dutiful and responsible and yet somehow snuck other women into the cracks in our marriage. In the everyday crevices, where every minute could not be accounted for.
I’m reminded that Jared and Nylah do not know about Clifton’s infidelities, and my love for them, as his parents, prevents me from tattle-telling on my deceased husband.
His secrets went to the grave with him.
“And you?” Nylah interjects. “Are you okay? No trouble for you.”
“With Bolan? No. I’m good.” But am I? I could be better, if I didn’t feel this incompleteness. Like we have unfinished business. Like taking our kisses to the next level.
“Hey, I hate to cut us short, but I’ve got to run. I’m trying to make it to Bolan’s game.”
“Have you found a nanny yet?” Nylah asks.
“I thought we decided against a sitter. I’m here.”
“You’re there for Bolan,” Jared states.
“Which means being here for Tulane,” I defend.
“You’re his agent,” my father-in-law reminds me.
Which I didn’t ask for , but I don’t have time to argue with them right now. With Tulane’s other shoe on and fastened, I stand and collect her diaper bag—a backpack with all the toddler essentials.
“We’ll see you in less than two weeks,” Nylah adds cheerfully, and I halt my hasty movements. I’ve hardly gone more than two days without seeing my in-laws, and honestly, the reprieve has been nice. I adore them as a couple. I love them as people. But I’ve struggled to be near them so often because of Cliff.
“Two weeks?” What’s in two weeks? I wrack my brain for anniversaries or birthdays.
“I assume you’ll come back and pack up more items for Chicago.”
“Chicago.” Right . I’m moving across the country, and I have a home to sell or rent, and more essential belongings to collect. In the hasty two days between decision and wedding, I’d only packed for a month away. Chicago’s weather will be quite different from the mild temperatures of Arizona.
“See you in a few weeks,” I say, hoping to end this call, as I pick up Tulane and struggle to hold the phone while opening the apartment door.
I don’t have time to discuss how leaving Bolan might not be optimal. Who will care for Tulane?
“We look forward to it,” Nylah states, her voice still positive .
“Look forward to an updated report, too.” Jared’s gruff demand rankles as it follows Nylah’s pleasant tone.
The reminder is clear. I’m here for Bolan. Like I was there for Clifton, someone who took advantage of my steadfastness and dedication to him.
I’m also here for Tulane, and I kiss the side of her head before mumbling goodbye to my in-laws.
“I’ve got you, baby girl,” I whisper to her, knowing better than anyone that a sports-centric parent isn’t always a win.