Chapter 37
37
[Bolan]
H ow the hell did everything get so fucked up so fast?
One minute I’m preparing to say goodbye to my wife for a week and the next I’m blindsided by Melody’s video.
Someone sent me that damning clip. The one going viral of me and my wife kissing. Back in college. During an experiment.
I knew she felt familiar .
My wife and my mystery girl are one in the same and yet they are completely different people. I don’t even know my wife anymore. The woman who kisses me like I’m her lifeline. Like I’m the air she needs to breathe, the same as she’s become oxygen for me.
Was it revenge at first? Was it for the money now? I didn’t want to believe either, but in the moment, anger overruled everything.
My commitment-white had become a lie .
I would have called Floyd on the way to the airport, but I’d tossed my damn phone, pitching it at the back door of our duplex. I regret that decision. That outburst of anger. And the mess I’ve left in its wake, because Ruthie will need to pick up the shattered pieces, so Tulane doesn’t find any and hurt herself.
The device felt like it was scorching my hand.
Damn notifications. Damn social media. Damn Melody.
She was in breach of our non-disclosure agreement and if she thought she was getting a penny from me, she was wrong.
A thought trickles forward. What was all that Ruthie mentioned about our contract? The one between her and me?
My brain instantly flips to more important thoughts. Our vows to one another. The ones I’d taken seriously, promising patience and love. Respect and honesty.
Why hadn’t she told me the truth? If our first kiss during that experiment meant so much to her why hadn’t she reminded us both of that moment when she saw me again?
On the plane ride to Philadelphia, these thoughts fire through my head and the second I take my seat, I jam my headphones over my ears and close my eyes, ignoring the stares and whispers of my teammates. By now the video has spread like a wildfire among them, but I’m trying to quell the rage and confusion inside me.
What I did with Melody. What I did with Ruthie.
Once we land in Philly, we take a bus to our hotel.
As I sit on the bus, head tipped against the cool glass of the window, I’m given a wide berth by my teammates, certain the vibe coming off me says I’m ready to throttle anyone who comes near me.
The Bear is angry, but also restless. The unsettled sensation has more to do with Ruthie. The hurt in her eyes. The accusations I flung at her. The ache in her voice when she spoke .
“I’d never felt anything like that moment. Those sixty seconds. Not before. Not after. Not until I kissed you again in that ballroom.”
Her words were my sentiment, and I tap my head against the window, berating myself for not recognizing her sooner. Not finding her on that college campus. Not realizing who she was in that ballroom. Not listening when my gut said there was something familiar about her.
My memory had been fleeting, though.
I can only hope social media is the same. Unfortunately, they are vultures, looking for the next riff in a team or wrong move by a player. The press will have a field day with this one.
Bolan Adler takes a wife and pays her to pretend .
I close my eyes again, stumbling over scene after scene of Ruthie and me. And Tulane.
At no time did anything feel fake between us. Ruthie is as real as I thought a person could be. Sweet and kind. Thoughtful and inspirational. She’s everything and so much more. And the way she is with Tulane. The idea that we would have more children together.
“Looking for a family. Looking to start one and be part of one.”
Ruthie has no idea that I’ve longed for the same thing. She didn’t give me the chance to prove myself. Then again, she isn’t entirely wrong. I wouldn’t have been ready for her when I was in my young twenties. I was too self-absorbed. Too full of piss and vinegar and drive. Too wild and impulsive.
“You wouldn’t have picked me.”
Like selecting kids for your team before a pick-up game, I’d pick Ruthie first. She’d always be my number one choice. Now and for the future. I cannot change the past.
I cannot change that she went back to Clifton, and I lost out on an opportunity. And I really need to know what she means about our contract.
Startling me, Ross Davis swings into the empty seat next to me. He’s quiet for a second. We haven’t had much interaction after my altercation with Valdez other than the coach-player dynamic. After my plea for him to do something about the troublemaker on the team. Looks like I might be the next one under the spotlight.
“Gotta let social media roll off your back,” he starts, staring toward the front of the bus. “Shit’s never half the truth.”
I snort, keeping my head pressed against the window, gazing out the glass, but not focusing on any one thing. “Which means the other half is the truth.”
Ross chuckles. “Half full versus half empty concept?”
“Something like that.”
He huffs, being thoughtful a second, before asking, “Which part is true?”
I swallow thickly, knowing that as much as I’ve accused Ruthie of being dishonest, I haven’t exactly been truthful either. At least not with the Chicago Anchors.
“I didn’t pay that woman a million dollars.” Melody Cross hadn’t gotten a dime from me. Only a verbal agreement. Not even a romantic one. “And we were never officially engaged.”
“Ah.” Ross is quiet another second. “And Ruthie?”
My head whips in his direction. “She’s my wife.”
However, my proposal to Ruthie hadn’t been any more romantic than asking Melody if she’d agree to a fake marriage.
Yet, Ruthie is the whole truth. We are married. She quit her job and she’s in Chicago for me. She’s caring for Tulane right this minute.
“I’m here for you and that precious little girl . ”
You don’t do that unless you love someone. Two someones.
My head falls back to the window.
“Then that’s all that matters,” Coach says, in response to my declaration. “Love her through the thick and thin. Because there will be thin moments that test everything in you, but thick moments that remind you why you picked her in the first place. Why you love her. Most of the time, it’s because she still loves you during the thin.”
I nod, appreciating his advice.
Ross pats my knee like I imagine a compassionate father might before pulling himself up to stand by using the back of the seat in front of us.
“All those emotions you’re feeling, let it out on the field tomorrow. It’s never good to keep everything bottled up inside.” He nods once and steps away, leaving with advice my granddad used to give.
Maybe Ross is more grandpa than father figure.
My thoughts instantly drift back to Ruthie.
“I knew no one else could kiss me like that but you. And I’ve been holding onto that kiss all this time.”
She’s been bottled up for years, at least a decade or more, and the thing she’d been holding onto was me. My kiss.
I recall how I searched for her back in college. How I’d asked for her phone number and wanted a chance at kissing her again. A second chance.
How I left it up to Fate to bring us together. Or not.
Instantly, I reach for the omamori around my neck. Glancing down at the silver medal, I rub my thumb against the Japanese letters. The place where Ruthie kissed. I’ve touched the charm so often her kisses are now gone.
But had Fate responded after all? Had it pulled me into an empty ballroom to find my future standing there?
I tip my head back on the seat and blink up at the bus ceiling.
Her final words ring through my head. The deep ache, like I’d plucked my flower without care for her roots. I crushed her, dammit.
Gripping the top of the seat in front of me, I tug myself upright like Ross did and reach over the back of the seat, surprising Flynn Royal, the rookie pitcher who has the same lawyer as me.
“Dude, let me borrow your phone.”
It’s been a long day of travel and by the time we reach the hotel, I’m emotionally drained. The last thing I expect after checking into our hotel rooms is a message from the front desk that I have a package. Not wanting to put the staff out, I offer to go down to the lobby and claim whatever has been sent to me.
The bag presented is recognizable. A note inside reads: So you can see Tulane .
Guilt slams into my chest. I left without a final check on my baby girl. Without a final kiss. I’m such a horrible father.
Further feelings slap me in the face when I realize this gift is one more way Ruthie is thoughtful.
She bought me a new phone and had it sent to the hotel for me.
Within minutes, I have the thing powered up and find a missed text message. Only one.
A video of Tulane fills the screen. Ruthie’s voice is in the background, her face notably not on camera.
“Tell Daddy you love him. Wish him good luck.” That isn’t our phrase, though. I need Ruthie to wish me to catch all the catches.
And as Tulane struggles with the l-sound, she hasn’t mastered the phrase I love you.
I don’t want to read deeper into the message. Find some subliminal meaning behind it, but I really want it to be Ruthie saying she loves me.
I want her apology, and I have one for her as well. Because I’m so, so sorry, suddenly .
Tulane places her tiny open hand over her mouth, then pulls it away. “Yuck,” she says, no l in sight.
“Yuck. Yuck,” she says again between what is supposed to look like her blowing kisses. Her hand covers her lips and then she tugs it away from her mouth, showing me her palm.
Yuck. It’s how I feel right now. Crummy, crappy, shitty.
I wish Ruthie was on the screen. I should call her, but I’m clapped on the shoulder, startling me.
“Dinner,” Cyrus says, holding onto my shoulder and catching on my eyes.
“I need to make a call.”
He watches me a long second. “Not yet.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because you need to let go of a few more feels before you make a call you’ll regret.”
Cyrus couldn’t be more wrong. There is nothing I regret about Ruthie.
Nothing.