10. Liam
Liam
The drive home from a game is always bittersweet. In one sense, I'm on my way to see Ruthie—to hear about her day and decompress from mine. But on the flip side, these eighteen minutes mean I've just ticked off one more day and am one step closer to the end.
I've always hung around after the final out. Win or lose, there's something to do—skills to work on, details to fix. But lately, I find myself leaving later and later, the plush field and packed dirt begging me to stay.
Sometimes I feel closer to the game than I ever have.
I think time does that—with it passing and with it winding down.
But I also sense a distance growing even as the world keeps spinning—my coaches still talk about next season, my teammates move through each day like it's one of hundreds still ahead of them.
Both of those things make me want to hold on—to the game, to my team.
To everything I know.
I could make this drive with my eyes closed, every part of it all too familiar.
The seat feels too soft compared to the dugout bench.
My fingers open and curl around the steering wheel to stop my hands and forearms from cramping.
My whole body is both drained and wired—adrenaline still humming through my veins even as my limbs beg to be still.
It's knowing that there's a last time in sight that gets me.
Pulling into our development, I roll down the window a few inches, welcoming the cool air that reminds me of home—fresh cut lawns, the subtle sweetness pouring from a nearby dryer vent, the lingering smell of the Johnsons’ barbeque—all things that center me back here and not the field.
My chest tightens with the anxiety of another night gone, then immediately eases again as I spot Ruthie's bedroom light left on from our driveway.
Taking one last look in the rearview mirror—a habit from when we lived in the part of the city where you could still see the stadium lights from our street—I hit the button on the garage opener.
The rolling door whirs to life, and with it comes the small rush of relief that comes from being home.
With each inch that it climbs, the ache in my muscles grows as if they know the cramped ride is finally ending.
Once it's lifted, I pull in, throw my truck in park, and kill the ignition. I open the door, stand and roll my shoulders back, and at the same time, the inside garage door opens. Tessa's face comes into view.
"Oh, hey," she says cheerfully. She's glowing as the house lights cascade around her and into the garage. Somehow, even holding a bag of trash, there's no denying that the girl is beautiful.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." I reach into the back seat and grab my duffle bag before moving toward her. I take the trash, tossing it into the large can beside the steps.
She shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest to fend off the chill. "I heard the door open."
"Good." We stare at each other like we so often do, not awkwardly, but just… existing.
Why does this keep happening?
And why do I like it?
"Well, come in," she says, backing up through the door.
I clear my throat and toss my duffle into its typical spot in the garage to deal with later, then slide out of my sneakers. "How was everything?" I ask, following her inside.
"It was good. We got all of her schoolwork done pretty early, so we had a chance to walk around the mall when we went to pick up the new cleats you ordered."
"Did they fit?"
"Dad, they're perfect." I walk into the kitchen to find Ruthie at the kitchen island drawing. "Tess passed around with me outside before practice so I could break them in and everything."
I look at Tessa who's smiling at Ruthie as she plops down on the chair beside her. "And they look cool too," she says, nudging her elbow.
Ruthie purses her lips and wiggles her shoulders as she continues outlining a sketch of what looks like a cartoon version of Sammy, her muse whimpering in his sleep at her feet.
"Well, that's most important," I tease, kissing the side of her head. I walk to the fridge and pull out a water. "Get anything else at the mall?"
Ruthie's eyes dart to Tess's, who offers her a reassuring smile. "Not today," Tessa says, looking at me. My forehead creases, and she gives me a look that says I'll explain later.
I tip my chin up, my gaze falling to my daughter who is back to dragging a black colored pencil over the faint outline of Sammy's tongue. Slowly untwisting the bottle of water in my hand, I take a large, yet hesitant, gulp.
"Sorry I couldn't make it to your game, Dad. We caught the last few innings though, after practice. That hit in the eighth was awesome."
I swallow and wink. "Yeah? You like that?"
She nods, still coloring. "I was trying to explain to Tess how you turned on that inside pitch, but she didn't really get it."
"Hey," Tessa chimes in. "I'm learning. I now know when the ump makes a fist in the air that it's a strike."
Ruthie giggles. "That's true."
I watch the exchange between them and instantly feel pulled in two directions—one brimming with hope and the quiet thrill that maybe this will work out after all. The other, heavier, more disappointing. The one whispering that nothing good lasts anymore.
"Ruthie, why don't you head upstairs and start getting ready for bed. I'll be up there in a minute."
"Aw, can't I just finish this first?" She looks at me, an exaggerated expression on the same face I'm positive was blowing raspberries at me from her highchair last week.
"It's late, Roo. You can finish it tomorrow."
She groans and snaps her drawing pad shut—the dramatic, yet amusing, exit I've come to expect. "Fine. Come on, Sammy."
At the sound of his name, the dog springs to life like he wasn't just snoring on the kitchen floor. "Night, Tess."
Tessa smiles shyly. "I'll see you tomorrow. I had fun today."
Ruthie grins and bounds toward the stairs, her furry best friend at her ankles. Tess and I both seem to wait until she's gone to move or speak or do much of anything besides stare in the direction of the steps. When the water begins running from Ruthie's bathroom, we both break the silence.
"I better get home."
"Did you eat?"
Tess pauses before standing and waving me away. "Oh, no. That's okay. I'll make something when I get home."
"Are you sure?" I ask, though I’m not quite sure why. "There are leftovers from last night." She freezes as she reaches for her purse on the counter. "Salmon, remember?" I ask, slightly raising one brow and bringing up our literal run-in from yesterday.
"Oh, uh, right." She huffs out a laugh and throws her braid behind her. "Of course. God, I'm sure it was better than the burnt grilled cheese I had." Her eyes snap to mine as if she didn't mean to say that aloud.
"Is that a Trevor special?" I ask, instantly regretting my tone.
"It's usually better," she offers, defending him. I narrow my eyes, stopping the response that wants to pour out by bringing my drink to my mouth. "So, how was your date?"
I hold the sip of water I just took in between my lips, now processing both her excuse and her question before swallowing. "My date?" I ask, testing her and taking full advantage of the situation. "Oh, yeah. She loved it. In fact, it's her favorite meal."
"Is it?" she asks with phony intrigue, her voice an octave higher than normal.
"Sure is. That's why I made it."
Her cheeks turn pink, and I find myself hoping it's from envy rather than awkwardness.
"Well then." She smiles, her eyes almost too big for her face. My gaze snags on the way her chest heaves in big waves as she adjusts her stance once, twice, three times until she's back in her starting position. "She's a lucky lady. Maybe I'll get to meet her someday."
"Oh, you already have."
Tess's face falls flat as she presumably racks her brain for who may have been at my house for dinner.
I should feel bad for messing with her, especially after what I put her through daily with my undulating mood.
But I don't. In fact, stirring her up is the most fun I've had outside of hanging with Ruthie in these past few weeks—and the most fun I've had with a woman in as long as I can remember.
Damn, is this what flirting feels like?
I shake the idea and clear my throat—reminding myself that Tess is taken despite how atrocious Trevor seems, and Ruthie and baseball have to be my focus either way. "She's right upstairs," I add, finally throwing her a bone.
Tess's shoulders slump, her face twisting into a pout that's undeniably adorable.
"Come on, that was good. I had you guessing."
She shrugs her shoulders, tossing the strap of her purse over her head. "Jokes on you. I assumed you meant Grandma Birdie from soccer."
A laugh rips out of my chest. "Oh my God, you met her? Did you happen to figure out which kid she belongs to?"
"No," she giggles. "But Lily's dad is now taking bets in case you're interested."
Tess rounds the corner of the island, and I really take her in for the first time tonight. "Oh, I'm definitely interested."
She grins, turning toward the door only after she gives me a casual once-over, her throat moving up and down before she does. "I'll see you tomorrow," she says moving down the hall.
I trail behind, catching up to her as she slides into her New Balances. "Oh, hey."
"Hmm?" She looks up, her shoes on but her laces still untied.
"What was that look about before? When you were talking about the mall?"
She hesitates, then quickly ties both sneakers before standing again.
A slight panic passes through me as it hits me that she may not have given me any look at all.
"We passed a bra store," she says, the words only deepening my concern—and burning my ears as I hear them.
She must read my expression, because she doesn't wait for my response before continuing.
"I told her she should talk to you, but I think she's embarrassed. "
"What?" I say quickly, a pinch in my chest like a side-stitch to the heart. "She knows she can tell me anything."
She inhales slowly, nodding to amuse me. "I'm sure she does."
I sigh, resting both hands on my hips. "Bras?"
She offers an apologetic smile, and I squeeze my eyes shut. "Looks that way."
I take a minute before responding, gathering my thoughts—and my heart off the floor.
I knew this day was coming—Ruthie will always be my little girl, but I'm not delusional.
She's growing up—getting older and transforming more and more each day into the amazing woman I know she'll eventually become.
But that doesn't make it any easier. And it doesn't make it hurt any less knowing that she felt more comfortable telling Tessa than she did telling me.
"I'll talk to her," I say, distress evident in my voice.
"Let me know if I can help."
"Thanks but I got it."
She half-smiles, then lingers there like she's trying to decide if she has something to say. When she reaches for the door and pulls it open, I suspect she doesn't, but then she spins back around.
"I'm really sorry about Trevor yesterday."
Surprised she's bringing it up again, I huff out a laugh as I close the gap between us. "Hey, you're the one who took the cart to the ankles," I remind her, saving her the embarrassment—and me the visual—of talking about her ass.
"I meant about what he said."
I freeze, my hand propped up on the open door, peering down at her. The second the words leave her mouth, her eyes glaze over with something I can't quite name and her chest rises and falls in quick waves.
"Don't be. He was right," I say before I can stop myself. I stare into the green that feels like it could swallow me whole. Why is it so easy to get lost in her?
She lets out the faintest gasp that I'm afraid to admit does something to me I wasn't sure would ever happen again. Her lips fall open, and my gaze darts to her mouth as she attempts to form a response. But before she can, I explain.
"Ruthie will always be my baby."
Tess exhales a breath, her shoulders falling from her ears. "Right," she says, her cheeks pink and her voice soft and breathless.
I tip my chin down and slide my hand to the doorknob, encouraging her to leave—before I do something I shouldn't. Before I even let myself think it.
Before I admit that he was right about what I heard before the crash too.
Tessa is hot—objectively, of course.