Tossing in my agreement, I say, “We watch enough baseball anyway.”
“I think we can take a night off. Everyone gets one every now and then,” Gabby agrees.
Ivory grabs the remote and turns the TV on, pulling up a rom-com to watch. Gabby pulls out her phone and starts texting, likely checking up on Chase given how hard it was for him to leave her.
“How’s Chase?” I ask, leaning my head on her shoulder.
“Mills said he broke down a bit when he got there, but that he’s fine now. I hate putting him through this.”
“You’re not putting him through anything. You didn’t cause this. It happens. We’re here because we love you and want to be there to support you no matter what.” I try to assure her even though to my own ears, I sound like a hypocrite. What would they say about Grant and I? I know they wouldn’t care that we’re together but how would they feel about the fact that I’ve been keeping a secret as monumental as a marriage license from them for ten years.
Guilt swarms me. It’s not so much the secret as it is how long I’ve hid it from them. I can only hope they understand when the time comes.
“Thank you for being here. I love you girls.”
“We love you, too.”
“Love you big, G. Should we get some ice on that boob or what?” Leaning back, I look down at her chest, making her laugh.
With the heavy out of the way, we fall back into our normal pattern—joking, laughing, and enjoying an overdue girls night.
When Taylor got home late last night, she collapsed in my arms and sobbed. I carried her to bed and held her until she calmed down and told me about Gabby’s breast cancer scare. To say it’s devastating would be an understatement.
Finally, Taylor fell asleep and woke up this morning with puffy eyes and a mildly broken heart for her best friend. I decided to work from home today to keep her company until she goes back to Gabby’s this afternoon with Ivory. When I say we’re working from home, I mean we’re monitoring our emails and any urgent calls, but otherwise doing the bare minimum. Taylor has a soft jazz playlist on the TV and is reading a book with her feet in my lap as I do a few things for Stella corporate. My phone pings and I pick it up to see a confusing text from Mike.
MIKE
If I see you at the stadium today, I’ll be pissed.
The fuck?I own the team. What is he talking about? But then Taylor’s name pops up next, and I realize I’ve been added to a group chat against my will.
My WIFE
DADDY MIKE!
I groan and roll my head to look at Taylor where she types on her phone on the couch. Her shoulders shake trying to suppress the giggle, but her smile is full of mischief. If using that damn nickname brings her an ounce of joy after yesterday, so be it.
GABBY
Who added dad to the chat?
MILLER
Whoops, meant to add Grant.
ME
You did add me. Why am I here?
TAYLOR
WHY IS HE HERE RYAN MF MILLER?
“You do realize we’re sitting right beside each other, right?” I squeeze her foot.
She waves me off, saying, “That’s beside the point. You should not be in the group chat with my friends right now. I’m going to murder him.”
“Can you wait to murder him until after the season? Preferably until after we win the World Series?” The Troubadours’ last home series is this week, and then if all goes to plan we’ll be headed to the postseason with home field advantage.
