"Kay." She throws her arms around my waist, then turns and runs back toward the team.
I blow out a breath and glance again at the women I'm supposed to check in with about their daughters coming to Ruthie's birthday party tomorrow. If you ask me, it's rude enough that they didn't respond to the invites. But not saying anything in person—when they see Ruthie and one of her adults twice a week—is even worse. How hard would it be not to leave the girl—and her poor dad—hanging until the day before?
Checking my phone again quickly, and skimming through the petty comments my siblings are still throwing around, I pull on the collar of my hoodie and walk over. I pass by a few other spectators—some parents I know belong to one of her three closer friends, and some dads of the boys on the team. But as I get closer to the three musketeers, still closer than necessary to watch their daughters practice throw-ins, I pause.
"So, Ruthie's birthday party tomorrow… did we decide what we're doing?" One mom in a cream-colored sherpa pull-over—which is completely unnecessary for tonight's weather—looks at the other two for input.
I square my shoulders toward the field, but all of my attention is still on them, my ears thumping at the rate of my heartbeat.
"I don't know," the one who must have come from the office says. She's in a camel cardigan and the only person wearing slingback kitten-heelmules to soccer practice. "I love Liam, but… a sleepover with seven young girls? Can he really handle that?"
A fire sparks in my belly as I feel the need—and desire—to rush to Liam's defense. I wait, looking for more information, or even better, hoping that they set themselves straight.
"I just don't know if I'm comfortable with a bunch of preteen girls at a man's house anyway. Especially with no woman in the picture? I mean, what if one of them needs something… personal?"
The other two women nod in response to the third one's question. This one is in leggings and a lycra jacket with a back vent and thumb holes, but two hundred dollar sneakers that look like they've never touched a gym mat.
"What about the nanny?" Sherpa Lady whispers.
I glue my eyes to Ruthie with a ball above her head and wipe my expression.
The pretend gym-goer, who I only recognize without looking because she has the twang of a valley girl, answers. "James and I were talking about that. Do you think he's seeing this one?"
My blood runs cold for many reasons, mostly because why is Liam—sweet, gentle Liam—the topic of anyone's conversation with a bad taste in their mouth? But also, why are they talking aboutmeat all? And what does she meanthis one?
I pretend to follow the team as they make their way to the other side of the field, and glance over, that spark now a fire in my chest.
"I doubt it," Slingbacks says. "I heard he hasn't seen anyone since Ruthie came into the picture."
"What? No."
She clicks her tongue. "Right? That fine ass… seems like a shame for it to go to waste."
The group of them burst out in giggles. "Marianne," the one in the leggings squeals. "You better not let your husband hear you say that."
She scoffs. "Please, like he's ever around."
The group goes quiet until Slingbacks chimes back in. "It really is a shame, though. The poor girl has no mother. I wonder whathappened."
"I know," Sherpa says. "But I'm still not sure I'm completely comfortable with Kenzie staying the night. Maybe they could just go for the party and not sleepover?"
There's a coo ofoohsandgreat ideas, and I start to think the gossip session might be over. But when I gear up to waltz over to them still, the not-such-a-gym rat starts it up again.
"If he's not sleeping with the nanny…." Her voice trails off just enough for me to react.
My ears perk up as the heat in my chest travels the length of my body. My cheeks warm, and a rage sets in that I'm not sure I can contain. Who do these women think they are?
For Ruthie's sake, I hold myself back from marching into their little clique of mean girls, but my feet are itching to take off.
"Then… ?" one pries, and it keeps me glued to my spot, wanting to know the answer.
"Then she definitely wants to."
My whole body twists toward them.
So, I've had thoughts… that's none of their damn business. And I won't stand here and let them make a fool of me, Liam, or Ruthie. I lift one foot to stomp their way, but a rickety voice behind me stops me in my tracks.
"Don't let them get to you, sweetie."
