It’s organized chaos outside of the stadium in Anaheim. The equipment managers are supervising the loading of the buses as the team finishes showering post-game. Fans are screaming, signs and jerseys in hand, hoping to catch sight of their favorite player before we head to the airport.
Typically, I’d be on the bus already and Max would be asleep, but he’s been fighting a sickness over the past few days and his typical schedule has gone right out the window because of it. I’m equally as tired, dealing with a sick toddler on a road trip, and whatever it is Max has been fighting has finally caught up to me in the form of overwhelming exhaustion.
My head is pounding as I bounce him in my arms near the back entrance of the visitors’ locker room. I’m trying to soothe him, but from what I’ve learned over the last few days, the only person he wants when he doesn’t feel well is his dad. But Kai pitched tonight so I’m sure he’s doing post-game press interviews and some amount of physical therapy.
“You’re okay, Max. Shh.” I run a hand over his back before lightly pressing his head into my shoulder, hoping it’ll force him to rest.
It doesn’t. He wails his little lungs, his cry deafening next to my ear.
“Dadda,” he sobs, his ice-blue eyes rimmed in red as he frantically looks around the busy parking lot. “Dadda!”
“I know. I know. He’ll be out soon.”
He doesn’t stop, somehow finding the lung capacity to scream even louder.
My dad shoots me a quick, worried glance from across the lot, but he’s so busy going over scouting reports with the rest of the coaching staff that I simply shake him off, telling him I’m fine.
Everyone has a job to do, and this is mine.
But I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing. I know how to have fun with Max, how to figure out what he needs, whether that’s food, sleep, or a diaper change. But I have no idea how to help him when he’s this sick or upset.
I don’t have that motherly intuition, and I’m not sure if it’s because I lost my own at such a young age or what, but this might be the first time in my life that I’m bitter over the fact I didn’t have her around longer to learn those instincts from.
When I excel at something, I have the satisfaction of knowing I belong, that I’m worth the investment. Whether that be the chefs that invested in me by selecting me for exclusive internships, or knowing that my dad invested his life by adopting me when he wasn’t exactly in the position to take on that responsibility. At least I’ve made a name for myself.
But right now, I’m doing nothing for Kai or his son.
Fans line the roped-off area, keeping the walkway clear for the team to get to the bus, but most of the guys will take a moment to head over there, sign a few autographs, and thank the fans for staying so late.
They’re staring at me like I have no idea what I’m doing with a seventeen-month-old still awake at 11 p.m., screaming bloody murder in my ear, and they’d be right. The insecurities are settling in fast because everyone here knows I’m not what he needs.
Just seven weeks ago, I was planning to spend my summer working on new recipes and ironing out my issues in the kitchen, but now all I can think about is trying to be enough for Max in hopes he might feel better. I know he’s uncomfortable, you can see it clear as day. His throat is swollen and his nose has been running non-stop. But I’m not Kai, and Max isn’t going to relax until his dad is out here.
My head is throbbing so fiercely that all I want is to fall into a bed and get a few hours of sleep when Kai finally walks outside, backwards hat and contacts replacing his glasses. Looking annoyingly handsome and put together while I feel like shit.
His son’s cry is a beacon, pulling his direction to us immediately.
“Come here.” Kai takes Max from me, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he tries to settle him. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “You’re all right, Bug. I’ve got you.”
Max’s wail softens to a sniffling cry as he melts into his dad’s shoulder.
“Did he not sleep at all?” Kai asks me, his tone a bit curt.
I simply shake my head, too tired to say much of anything, and too embarrassed that I couldn’t help.
Kai sighs with frustration. He’s gone three nights without getting a full night’s rest, so not only is he as exhausted as me, but I think he feels guilty that he’s putting his son through a grueling travel schedule during a sickness. Add that to the fact he kind of pitched like shit tonight and the Warriors lost due to a run he gave up while he was still on the mound.
Kai looks at me, and I can sense his fingers itching to pull me into him. I want him to. I want to say “screw it” to my dumb rules and fall into him because I need his comfort right now. I’ve become more and more reliant on it.
But as soon as the words are on the tip of my tongue, one of the team’s media coordinators taps him on the shoulder.
“You’re kidding me,” Kai states because he knows what he has to do without being asked. “My kid is sick. Let me just get on the fucking bus.”
He’s clearly frustrated. Kai rarely cusses in front of his son.
“Sorry, Ace.” The coordinator cowers a bit. “You’ve dodged fans after your last two starts. Unfortunately, I have to insist that you do your rounds tonight before we leave.”
Kai’s cool gaze is almost murderous, and my heart goes out to the poor media relations guy who is simply trying to do his job.
I hold out my hands. “Do you want me to take him?”
“No.” I’m not surprised by his quick answer. He’s been on edge for days, and maybe I deserve for him to be upset with me. I haven’t been any help.
Kai slips the jacket off his shoulders and uses it as a blanket to cover his son. “This is bullshit,” is the last thing he says before plastering on a smile and beelining it for the horde of fans whose noise level is growing with excitement as he gets closer to them.
The poor coordinator gives me a sheepish grin before he corrals more of the players and directs them to do their rounds. Luckily for him, none are as resistant as Kai.
Other players join the mass of fans, but through the crowd I see Kai putting on his handsome smile and using his only free hand to sign some autographs. There are male fans over there too, drooling over him, but all I notice are the women. Women who are fawning over little Max in his arms. Women with blatant signs declaring how much they’d like to wife up the single dad on the team.
I hate them all and I don’t care how childish that sounds.
I hate that eventually he’s going to meet someone who will give him the kind of commitment he needs. I hate that one day he’ll complete their family.
And I hate that the woman he chooses won’t be me because I’m simply a summer fling passing through.
“Millie,” my dad calls out, pulling my attention, and waving me over to the team bus. “You okay? You look like you might be sick.”
Spot on, Dad. That’s exactly how I feel.
He touches my forehead with the back of his hand. “Your head isn’t too warm.”
“I’m just running on fumes at the moment.”
“Why don’t you sit up front with me for this flight so you can get some rest?”
“No, I’m fine. Kai just worked all night. I can’t leave him with a sick baby.”
“Well, my baby is sick, and I’m worried about you.”
I breathe a half-hearted laugh. “I’m almost twenty-six, Dad.”
“And you’ll always be my baby.”
This guy is a walking juxtaposition, I swear. Tall, built like a tank, covered in tattoos, and the softest guy I know.
“Come on.” He continues up the steps of the bus. “We’ve gotta get to the airport.”
Instinctively, my attention finds Kai one more time before I get on the bus. He’s speaking to a woman with long auburn hair, and she’s of course gorgeous. Decked out in a jersey with his name on it. He says something to her and whatever it is causes her head to fall back in laughter before she tucks her hair behind her ear and looks up at him through her lashes.
I know that look. I’ve used that look.
But it’s directed at Kai so now not only am I tired, but I’m also fuming.
Handing off her Sharpie, she turns around and collects her hair to one side, allowing him to sign her jersey, and when he’s done, you’d think he’d move on. But no, he stays to speak to her some more. She points to Max, who is finally relaxed, and whatever she says puts a smile on Kai’s face, one that I’m used to being the main recipient of.
And then my blood begins to boil when she slips a piece of paper into his free hand—her number, no doubt.
I’m not the kind of girl who simply sits back and watches her man get hit on. I’ve also never had a man to claim before, and although I’d like to walk right over there and claim Kai for myself, he’s not my man either. And I’m the one who made sure of that.
I shouldn’t feel possessive, I don’t have the right to, but I can’t help it. I’m oddly rattled. This woman doesn’t know anything about him.
She doesn’t know that he raised his brother or that he tried to retire the same day he became Max’s only parent. She doesn’t know what he tastes like or that his glasses fog up when he kisses for too long.
I get it. He’s absurdly attractive and a professional athlete. I know that selfless single dad thing has to do it for other women the way it does for me, but he’s not available.
Right?
Since when am I jealous? I’ve never been attached enough to be jealous.
And why am I spiraling, imagining this random redhead as Max’s new mom?
I bet she’d know how to make him feel better when he’s sick. I’m sure she would’ve been able to get him to stop crying in the parking lot. She’s most likely a lawyer or a doctor. Even worse, she’s probably a pediatrician who owns a lot of cardigans and comes from a giant family who would love to welcome those two into their fold.
Family is the most important thing to Kai, and I’m sure he’d love a big one to raise his son around.
God, she’s perfect. I hate her so much.
This is why I need girlfriends. I can’t exactly bitch to my dad about how much I hate Kai’s red-headed future wife or that, regardless of me leaving town soon, those are my boys, and I’m not prepared to share.
So I text the only girlfriend I have.
Me: Kai’s future wife is stunning. I hate her. She also has red hair and I’m real close to hating all gingers because of it.
Kennedy: I have red hair.
Me: I know. That’s why I’m giving you a warning. But at least you’re not trying to seduce the man I’m sleeping with by asking him to sign your jersey or give him what is most likely fantastic parenting advice which is conveniently accompanied by the phone number you slipped into his hand.
Kennedy: Uh-oh. Are the fans making you jealous?
Me: I’m not jealous. But yes.
Kennedy: Why? You and Ace are just sleeping together, right?
Me: Right.
Kennedy: I gotta finish cleaning up the training room, but sit with me on the plane? We can talk about all your confusing feelings on the flight to San Francisco.
Me: Can’t tonight. Max isn’t feeling well, but let’s get lunch or something tomorrow.
Kennedy: Deal, but wait. Did you save my number in your phone? I’m honored, Miss Unattached.
Me: Yeah. Yeah. You know what this means, right? We’re in a committed relationship now.
Kennedy: Omg. Am I your first?
Me: You popped my committed relationship cherry, Kennedy Kay.
Kennedy: Double honored.
I give Kai and his son one more long, lingering look. He’s still talking to that same woman, and before I can look away, he turns to catch me staring. Kai stands locked still, watching me while she continues to speak to him, and our eye contact is only broken when I eventually offer him an understanding smile and turn back to the bus.
I don’t want to understand it, but I do. Kai will eventually meet someone who will settle down with him, and we both know that someone won’t be me.
