Chapter 32
32
[Bolan]
F or the remainder of the nights that I’m home, Ruthie and I are in bed together, learning more about each other’s body. Our likes and dislikes. I only want to do what pleases her because she pleases me in so many ways.
After our talk on the couch, I learn I need to speak with intention. Take a moment before I blurt things that might hurt my girl. I’m not always going to be perfect. I’m still probably going to say the wrong thing more often than I want, but at least I’ll be better aware and try not to misstep.
Our home game series is short, and we will be back on the road for another full week stretch. Ruthie and I have already spent almost a week apart when she went to California, so I’m feeling pretty confident about this future separation.
I got this.
But there is something about this second stretch of time apart that has me on edge. When the first set of games was in Milwaukee, Ruthie surprised me by driving up for the day game at the end of the series. Unfortunately, the team had to catch a bus that drove us directly to the airport for a flight to Cleveland.
When Cyrus enters our hotel room after our first game, I’m sulking on the bed because I haven’t been able to reach Ruthie yet today.
“Come out with us. One drink. It will take your mind off whatever’s bothering you.” He watches me, waiting on me to explain why I’ve been itchy all day.
“We won,” he reminds me.
We did win and I should be celebrating with my team, bonding with them. I’m still the new guy, and I’m reshaping my reputation as the happy-go-lucky teammate. The one with a cheer or encouraging word for everyone else. Maybe that’s what’s draining me today. I didn’t catch well but I hit like a monster, taking out any frustration on that ball connecting with my bat. I hit another homerun.
I have no idea if Ruthie saw it.
“You played hard today,” Cyrus reminds me, pulling me from my thoughts.
I exhale. “How do you do it, man?” I blink while staring up at the ceiling. “When you miss them so much, how do you do it?” I shift only my head, catching on Cyrus staring back at me from his seat on the edge of his bed.
“You call home. Text a lot. Video chat with the kids. Have phone sex with your wife.” Cyrus chuckles, the sound a bit off. “At least, you use to do some of those things.”
“You guys okay?” I ask, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed and sitting upright, remembering what Ruthie once asked me. If Cyrus had cheated on Lacey.
Out of all my teammates, I’m closest to Cyrus as I’ve only been on the team for less than two months. However, that doesn’t mean we’re diving deeply into our pasts or divulging secrets. Still, I’m concerned for my newest friend.
Cyrus sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Some days are just harder than others, right?” He speaks like I’d have any clue. I haven’t been married as long as him. Don’t have three rambunctious boys at home.
Still, I nod, like I do know what he means. I’m just off, I guess, and realize I’m not being very supportive if I sulk in my room like some lovesick lackey.
“One drink,” I state, holding up a finger. I’ll call Ruthie later.
We don’t go farther than the hotel bar and I’m already having regrets. The place is packed, and I’m lucky to find a stool along the counter, not really interested in interacting with anyone, but being present for that one drink I promised Cyrus. Who has already disappeared in the crowd.
I order a whiskey neat then twirl the glass on the edge of its base, watching the liquid slosh around the ice cubes.
“You gonna drink that, or just play with it?” The feminine voice coming from beside me is salacious with a low chuckle wrapped around her second question.
Turning only my head, I find a woman standing a little too close to me. I tug my spread elbows closer together on the bar and glance back at my glass. I’m not trying to be a dick, but I’m not interested.
“Strong silent type. I like that in a man.”
My head whips in her direction again. What the fuck? I’m used to women coming onto me. In Japan, I stood out like a sore thumb being taller than the average man over there. Everything about me screamed American, and probably, available for a good time.
But that’s not me anymore.
I glance down at the ring circling my finger on my left hand and then look back up at the brunette standing beside me, leaning a little closer to me, despite having tugged my arms in tighter. She’s pretty enough. Long eye lashes. Wide mouth. Sultry dress.
But again, I’m not interested.
I drop my arms from the bar completely, placing my hands on my thighs as my left leg begins to jiggle. I don’t want her standing so close to me. I don’t want her even talking to me. Sadly, I don’t know how to get rid of her, other than ignoring her and hoping she’ll take the hint.
“You played well today.”
As if she didn’t already have strikes against her, this is the final one, because the last thing I want is someone coming onto me because she knows who I am. Because she sees a baseball player, and she wants to chase balls. Mine.
When her hand lands on my shoulder with her compliment, I stare down at it, starting to sweat. She has not right to touch me. Nothing about me says willing. I’m not talking to her. I didn’t initiate anything. Didn’t even glance in her direction at first.
Still, a bead of sweat trickles down my back and another along my brow. The idea of a panic attack brewing causes me to further panic. My breath is like shards of ice pricking my lungs.
Another hand claps my other shoulder, squeezing tightly, and drawing my attention to the firm, masculine grip.
“Adler,” Cyrus says, keeping his eyes on mine, like he senses what’s happening to me.
“Sawyer,” I counter, keeping my attention on him.
An entire conversation ensues between us with only our eyes.
Do you want this? he asks.
Fuck no , I counter.
“You should go call your wife now.” His gaze leaps from me to the woman whose hand slowly drags off my shoulder .
I’m married. And while some men don’t respect that status, I do.
My left leg continues to jiggle beneath the bar almost uncontrollably. “I wasn’t going to do anything.” My throat knots. “I swear. I wasn’t going to go off with her.”
Cyrus pats my shoulder. “I know.” He continues to look at me, assessing my face, catching on the bead of sweat rolling along my hairline. “Go call Ruthie.”
“I—” I nod once, knowing I should have been doing that in the first place. Hastily, I stand, knocking back my stool which Cyrus catches before it hits the floor. My hands are trembling. I haven’t done anything wrong. I wasn’t looking at another woman. Don’t want another woman. But suddenly, I’m a mess.
I fumble with my wallet, struggling to retrieve my credit card for my drink.
“I’ve got it. Just go.”
Cyrus and I meet gazes once more before I nod again, unable to find my tongue to speak. To thank him.
I would have turned that woman down. I would have told her I was taken and shown her the ring on my finger. Because I do not want to be unfaithful to my wife. I would not do that to Ruthie. I am not Clifton.
As I rush into my hotel room, my phone is already in my hand, and I fall against the closed door as if that woman literally chased me.
I press Ruthie’s contact and hold my breath, waiting on her to answer.
“Ruthie.” I breathe her name, like the air I need to exist.
“Bolan?” Her voice is groggy.
“Flower.” I choke on the nickname as I slide down to the door and swipe at my forehead, then hold my elbow on my knee and rest my forehead against my fingertips.
“Are you okay?” Concern fills her voice, and I breathe another sigh of relief .
“Ruthie,” I whisper. “I just need you.”
She’s silent a second, and I hear rustling, like she’s adjusting herself in bed. Our bed.
“What do you need?”
“I just needed to hear your voice.” I lean my head back against the door and stretch out my legs. “I just need to know you’re still there.”
“Of course I’m still here.” Her laughter is light, not having known what just happened downstairs. Not knowing that another woman touched me without my consent. I wouldn’t be giving consent to someone else. I only want Ruthie.
“I don’t want to fuck this up.”
“ Okay. ” Her voice shifts, growing deeper, growing more concerned. “What did you do?”
“Nothing. I didn’t do anything.” I exhale and swipe my hand down my face. I sound guilty when there’s nothing to be guilty about. “Just talk to me. How was your day?” I just want to hear her voice.
She’s quiet for a moment, maybe contemplating the crazy edge in mine. I should just tell her what happened, but I don’t want her worrying about me. Don’t want her thinking I might have gone off with that woman. I’m not Clifton.
“My dad tried to call me again today.” Her voice drops, quiet and sad.
I still don’t know a single thing about my in-laws. Not their names. Not their locations. In my head, I keep thinking of Nylah and Jared as her parents, which makes them my in-laws when they are actually Ruthie’s in-laws. That’s just confusing.
“Maybe you should take another call from him.” The man obviously has something urgent he wants to talk to her about. “What if someone in your family died? Left you a ton of money? Or maybe you inherited a cat?”
Ruthie laughs and the sound soothes my soul .
“No family members. No financial inheritance. And I don’t want a cat.”
I chuckle, finding further relief in releasing the sound.
“I still think you should answer his call.” I’d be crushed if Tulane stopped answering mine when she is older. Then again, I hope I never do anything to warrant my daughter ignoring my phone calls. Like being a shitty dad, making my daughter feel unwanted or unloved.
“Let me tell you about Tulane instead.” Ruthie changes the subject by diving into her day. How her phone was dead this morning and then she couldn’t find it because Tulane kept taking it, walking around the house with it, like I would magically appear on the screen.
“She misses you.”
“I miss her. I miss both of you.” I knock my head back on the door, realizing the hollow ache in my chest is because of how much I miss them. And I’m missing out on all the little moments with Tulane. The mundane ones like her stealing a cell phone and acting like it’s a magic machine.
Ruthie once told me I’ll make my own mundane memories with her. Have my own moments, and she never means to make me feel bad that I’m missing out. She only wants to fill me in on all the other minutes.
“Saw your game today. Nice homerun.”
“I didn’t catch all the catches.” I lower my head, plucking at my jeans on my outstretched legs.
“You did fine, Bolan. That throw was over your head.”
Our new centerfielder, the replacement for Ford Sylver, has quite an arm but his aim was off, and the ball went a good foot above me.
“I still hate when I suck.”
“You don’t suck, bear.”
I tip back my head again, taking a deep breath, holding in the sound of her voice in my ears. “You just called me bear. ”
She quietly laughs. “Guess I did. Everyone else around here has a nickname.”
Tulip. Flower.
“I need something that fits the garden theme.” She chuckles a little harder.
“Yeah, grass doesn’t exactly cut it.” I snort. “Did I just make a dad joke?”
“Neither does plow or hoe.” She snorts, breaking into deeper laughter. “Is there such a thing as mom jokes?” She snorts again. “I’m sorry. I’m so tired today, I think I’m a bit delirious.”
I glance at the time on my phone.
“It’s late, and I should probably let you go.”
Ruthie ignores my suggestion and asks, “You’re still happy you signed with the Anchors, right?” She knows all about my granddad and wanting to play for Chicago because he’d been a lifelong fan.
“I’m happy, baby.” For more reasons than simply signing with my team of choice. I wouldn’t have her in my life without the Chicago Anchors and their demands.
“I’m glad.” Her tone is quiet, the hint of a smile present. “Do you feel better?”
“Yeah. I feel a lot better. Just hearing your voice has changed everything.” Everything about her has changed everything. She makes life better.
“Get some sleep,” she says.
I press up off the floor, wincing after sitting for so long on the hard surface. I don’t want to hang up, but she needs rest as well. “Sorry I woke you.”
“You can wake me at any time.”
“Miss me in our bed?” I tease, walking deeper into the hotel room.
“Yeah, Bolan. I do.”
My heart begins to hammer in a new way, and I want to ask her if we can pretend I’m there now. I want to make her feel better, give her confidence in me, or maybe that’s just reassurance in myself, feel better that she’s here for me, making me feel confident she isn’t going to leave.
But phone sex doesn’t exactly feel appropriate.
“I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Okay, honey. I’d like that.”
I chuckle. “Bears like honey, let’s stick with that. Get it? Honey. Stick. Another dad joke.”
Ruthie laughs, the sound light and refreshing and putting me at complete ease.
“You are ridiculous.”
“I’ve heard that a time or two before from you, but like I say, that’s why you love me.”
“Mmm. Maybe.”
Not a full confession but not a denial either. I’ll take it.
“Talk to you tomorrow, then, baby.”
“Tomorrow.”