Chapter 17

[Vee]

We don't talk about the kiss and steer clear of both baseball and romance.

Instead, we discuss our kids.

I tell him about Laurel being a teacher and loving the quirkiness of fifth graders. Hannah is studying physical therapy but isn't certain what she wants to do with the degree. Possibly sports medicine.

"I might be able to hook her up." Ross winks as we sit side by side, decimated plates of food before us, with wads of meager paper napkins ruined from sticky brisket and warm cornbread.

Ross tells me about his son Landon who wants to be an engineer. And Harley who is studying musical theatre in Chicago.

When I'm surprised his sons aren't into sports, he explains their animosity.

"Landon played through high school, but I think they resent baseball more than admire it," he says, going into detail about his schedule—the trainings, practices, meetings, and conferences, and all of that on top of the games.

"It was hard on them that I didn't have a nine-to-five job. But Patty was great."

He hasn't discussed his late wife much, so I cautiously ask, "How did she pass?"

"Aneurysm." He lowers his eyes and picks at the remains of his meal with his fork. "She'd been experiencing a lot of headaches, but we didn't look deeper into the cause." When he finally looks up at me, his eyes are sad.

Setting down his fork, he sits up straighter and I place my hand on his forearm. "I'm so sorry."

"She was a good woman, who gave me lots of leeway to be the man I am. I missed out on a lot with my kids. When Landon was in sports, or Harley had plays, I wasn't present for them, and it's my greatest regret. I didn't do enough for them." Remorse etches his round face, sharpens his cheeks and jaw. "I was a mess the year she died."

The year the Anchors won the championship.

"I was desperate to keep playing. To keep my head in the game and not on reality." He lowers his gaze, where his hand cups his stemless wineglass. "My kids suffered because I was suffering. I took a year off after that win, but I still needed baseball." He glances up at me, guilt deep in his eyes. "When the Flash was looking for an assistant coach, I jumped at the chance. Plus, I'm from Philly and my sister is there, so she offered to help."

"You have a sister?" I ask eagerly, trying to distract him from his sad history.

"Regina. We call her Rena. And a brother named Rocco."

"The three Rs."

Ross chuckles but the sound still holds his sorrow.

With my hand on his forearm, I say, "I'm sure your boys realize now you did the best you could then. Loss is so difficult, whether you anticipate it, or it's sprung on you. Grief is really an individual process. We all deal with it the best we can, which is even harder when you feel responsible for little ones and their grief."

Ross lowers his head once more, his thumb rubbing up the side of his wine glass in distraction. "I mentioned that Patty let me be me, but sometimes I wonder if I did enough for her. Did I even know who she wanted to be outside of a wife or a mother?"

His grief weighs heavily within him.

"Is that how it was with you?" He swallows and lifts his eyes for mine. "How did Cameron die?"

"He was a police officer. Shot in the line of duty."

"Jesus." Ross shifts, his knees brushing my stool until his thighs are spread and he spins my seat, so my knees are between his legs, similar to our position the last time we sat on these stools.

With his hand on my thigh, he says, "I'm so sorry that happened to him. To you. "

I nod, a weak smile on my face. The one I'd perfected when people wanted to make Cameron into a saint at his passing when he was anything but, especially after falling for another woman.

"I actually felt fully aware of who Cameron was when he passed. He was a cop and while not all cops are crooked, Cameron wasn't exactly straight, which is how he got involved with someone else."

I push away the reminders of the woman Cameron hoped to save.

"The doubt I had in his ability to change made me angry when he died. I'll never know if he could have been a better husband, father, police officer. But when he died, I didn't grieve the man he was ."

With Ross's hand on my thigh, his thumb rubs my skin in the same way he pressed at the wine glass. With methodical strokes back and forth.

"Do I sound cold-hearted?" It's a question I've asked myself over and over again. Then I remind myself I was willing to take Cameron back after he confessed his adultery. I told him we'd get counseling. We could work on us. He agreed but I'll never know if he truly meant it. If he'd be dedicated or stray again. If he loved me at the end or thought of her instead.

The grieving woman in the back of the funeral home.

"No," Ross interjects. "You sound like you're being honest with yourself."

"Well," I chuckle bitterly. "I've had ten years to figure myself out."

"And that's when the writing began?"

"That's how the writing started." More than just scribbling in notebooks or typing notes on my phone. "It was time to do something for me and not make my life all about Cameron. Something inside me felt the separation from him. Maybe I was preparing for when I'd be without him."

I don't want to give Cameron credit for my creative mind, though. My writing desires came from me.

We sit in silence for a few minutes before Ross squeezes my leg.

"Okay, no more sad storytelling," he suggests .

The other night he said we didn't need to share our sexual histories. Somehow our marital ones feel just as fragile. A decade, or nearly a decade, has passed for each of us.

"Want to watch another movie?" I question.

"Sure. You pick." He stands and picks up our plates, carrying them over to the sink. I follow, dumping trash into the bin. When I turn around, Ross is close, and he tugs me to him for a surprising hug. One I'm not reciprocating at first, until he holds on a little longer than I expect.

And when I'm finally giving in, I hadn't realized how much I needed that hug. His hug. One that's bear tight, and just as warm. As I melt against his chest, he kisses the top of my head, lingering in this position. We hold each other for a minute, letting our thoughts be random.

Maybe his remain on the sad loss of his wife.

As for me, I'm just grateful he's sharing pieces of himself with me.