We’ve been back in Chicago for a couple of days, and I’ve been working hard in the kitchen. The photographer for the shoot comes at the end of this week, which means my return to work is just around the corner.
Tonight, I have the house to myself. Kai, Max, and my dad are all at team dinner. I’m used to being by myself—having empty hotel rooms or house rentals whenever I’m on the road—but I hadn’t realized how lonely I was until I got to Chicago. Until Max and Kai.
Mixing bowls, dry ingredients and baking sheets all line the countertop in Kai’s kitchen as I try to work in this rarely quiet space.
I remember exactly what it feels like to have a chef breathing down my neck while I’m trying to create, or what it sounds like to be yelled at in front of my peers because one of my sauces didn’t meld to the right consistency. As I’ve grown in my career, I’ve become my own motivation. Providing my own internal voice to push me when I’m messing up.
But looking around Kai’s kitchen, I don’t care about those voices. I don’t want to hear any of them. I don’t want to hear the clatter of pans or the communication among the line staff. I don’t want to feel the heat from the stove’s flame or the pressure of a head chef looking for his next order.
I only want to hear Max’s incoherent words and Kai’s soothing timbre telling me I’m doing a good job, two things I won’t have when I leave this place.
Turning the flame off on the stove, I remove the half-melted chocolate. I untie my apron, throw my dish towel onto the counter. What a waste of my night. This is all I’ll be doing once I get back to my busy life, and I have no desire to do it now.
Kai invited me to team dinner and I turned him down because I decided to work, but if I can be completely honest with myself, I don’t give a fuck about work. I only have them for a few more days, so what the hell am I doing here alone?
As I pull my phone out to call him, wanting to know where he’s at so I can join, a text comes through.
Unknown: Hi! This is Indy. Kai’s friend. This might sound strange, but I want to get drunk tonight, and my best friend can’t support me in this because she’s pregnant. So, would you want to come over and have a drink with me?
Indy—the blonde ray of sunshine who hosted Kai’s family dinner. Meeting up with Kai and his teammates sounds nice but I like the idea of having a girls’ night even more. I’ve never been a part of one of those.
I’ve only made one girlfriend this summer, but she’s so busy that I rarely see her when we’re on the road.
But like me, Kennedy isn’t used to being around a lot of girls so maybe she’d want to join too, and more than anything, I need to talk through the bullshit going on in my head.
Me: Count me in. Any chance I could invite one more drinking buddy?
Unknown: The more the merrier! See you soon!
“We’re going to do it right out there.” Indy points towards the backdoor slider, leading to her backyard. “It’ll be small. Around fifty people. Perfect for us.”
I’m surprised fifty people is enough for them. Her fiancé, Ryan, is a well-known basketball player and she’s a social butterfly. It’s fairly obvious judging by how welcoming she’s been to me, someone she’s only met once, and to Kennedy, someone she hadn’t met until tonight.
“I can’t believe I’m going to be in Ryan Shay’s wedding,” Rio sighs. “A dream come true for me, really.”
“You do know you’re standing on my side, right?”
Rio waves Indy off. “Semantics.”
Indy chuckles and brings her cocktail to her lips, clearly unaffected by her best guy friend wishing he was a groomsman instead of standing next to her as a bridesman.
Stevie, the only sober one of us, sits on the couch with Kennedy while Rio, Indy, and I take up the floor in Indy’s living room. Kennedy picked me up on her way, and an hour in, Rio busted through the door to join our girls’ night.
“Miller, when do you head out to LA for your next job?” Stevie asks.
If I wasn’t three sheets to the wind right now, that question would’ve sobered me up.
“Sunday.”
“Wow,” she exhales. “I didn’t realize it was so soon.”
I sense all pairs of eyes on me.
“How do you feel about that?” Kennedy asks as she takes another sip from her drink, clearly knowing better than anyone else here that I’m struggling with the idea.
I roll onto my back, eyes on the ceiling, holding my cocktail above my head because well . . . I’m drunk and I don’t know what I’m doing. “Do you want the sober answer or the drunk one?”
I tilt my head back to see Stevie’s brows furrow as she rubs her belly. “The drunk one, obviously.”
“There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to leave.”
“Then don’t.” Rio’s words seem so simple.
“It doesn’t exactly work that way,” Kennedy says. “The girl is a world-renowned pastry chef, who has a three-year-long waitlist of kitchens she’s going to be working for.”
“Four years now.” I point to Kennedy over my head. “But, yes, exactly.”
“What’s keeping you from wanting to go back?”
Whipping my head to the side, I immediately find Indy, who’s wearing the biggest shit-eating grin from her question that she seems to already know the answer to.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Okay, Miss Romantic. Why don’t you tell me, since you seem to already know.”
“Because you’re in love with Kai.”
“Wrong. I’m not.”
“Well, I know you’re in love with Max and you can’t even try to deny that one.”
Exhaling, I drop my head back to the floor, holding my drink on my stomach. “I am. God, I love that kid so much. Is that weird?”
Indy, sitting cross-legged, looks down at me. “No, Miller. That’s not weird. Sometimes we can’t explain how or why we love who we love. We just do. You don’t really get to tell your heart what to do.”
“Is that the alcohol speaking, or are you really that much of a romantic?”
Stevie laughs. “She’s love’s number-one advocate. Drunk or not.”
I sit up on the floor to face the group. “When I look at Max, I think about him going to his first day of school and how much I know Kai is going to cry over it. I think about the friends he’s going to make and I just hope that they’re good people. Those aren’t normal thoughts just a nanny should have, right?”
Looking up, I find everyone watching me, expressions ranging from knowing smiles to glossy eyes.
“Miller, I don’t think you’ve been just a nanny to anyone in that family,” Kennedy says.
“Fuck my life.” Rio pounds back his drink before going into the kitchen for another. “I’m going to be the only single one left, and that was so fucking adorable that I don’t even mind it.”
Indy squeezes my leg. “It’s okay for the important things in your life to change, you know?”
Stevie nods. “And it’s okay to change directions even when you’ve spent your entire life headed on a one-way street.”
“It’s not that simple. This is everything I’ve ever worked for. Everyone in my industry knows my name. I’ve won awards that people strive their entire lives to achieve, and I’m only twenty-five. People don’t just walk away from that kind of a career.”
“They do if they don’t love it anymore. If they love something or someone else more.” That’s Kennedy who speaks up, and to say I’m shocked that she’s suggesting I leave my job is an understatement. Kennedy is all about her career. She doesn’t even hang out with the team because she’s worried it’ll tarnish her reputation or that the boys won’t take her seriously.
Rio comes back into the room with whatever is left of the tequila, which isn’t much, handing Stevie another water.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I drunkenly admit. “Everything is so messy. I was just taking a break from work, and now I’m head over heels for Max and I’m having the best sex of my life with his dad.”
“There we go!” Stevie sits up straighter. “That’s what we want to hear. After we saw you two together at dinner, we knew this was going to happen. Give us the details. It’s good?”
“It’s so good.”
“I knew it. I told you!” Indy points at Stevie. “You’ve seen Kai’s hands.”
“The hands are a tell,” I agree.
“Goddammit.” Rio shakes his head. “It’s official. I’m the last one.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing. Who fucks the single dad of the kid they’re nannying for?”
Stevie pops her shoulders nonchalantly. “I fucked a hockey player on the team I was working for.”
Indy points to Stevie. “I fucked her brother.”
“I’m not fucking anyone,” Rio sighs.
Kennedy takes a long drag of her cocktail. “My ex-fiancé is fucking my stepsister.”
As if a record scratched, the whole room freezes in silence, all eyes on her.
“Okay, you win,” Stevie says. “But you should probably expand on that.”
Kennedy holds up the bottle of tequila before taking another swig. “My ex-fiancé ended our engagement because I wouldn’t quit my job after last season. His ego was too fragile for his partner to be traveling with a bunch of male athletes, so he called it off. Then in a turn of events, right before this season started, I found out his new girlfriend is my stepsister. And just last month, I learned via a picture of a ring on Instagram that they’re now engaged.”
What the actual fuck? I’m attempting to school my expression, but I’m too drunk to keep my jaw from hanging slack.
“Oh!” She laughs with a dark edge, not showing any sign of weakness. “I’m not done. Said engagement ring was the one I had picked out, but not the one I was proposed to with. However, he did trade in mine for my stepsister’s, and now I get to spend every family holiday with the two of them for the rest of my life.” She raises her cocktail glass in a cheers.
Kennedy isn’t hurt, but she is pissed. I can see it in the way she tells the story. She’s tiny in stature, but quite frightening when she’s mad.
“Damn.” Indy stands from the ground. “I think we need more alcohol after that.”
Rio clears his throat. “You know, if you need help moving on—”
“Rio,” Stevie scolds with a laugh. “No.”
“I’m just saying, Kennedy, take it from me, in this group you don’t want to be the only single one the way I am. We could help each other out here.”
“Isn’t Isaiah part of this group?” she asks. “He’s single.”
I lift my brow mischievously. “Right. He is.”
“Oh, no. Absolutely not. Don’t look at her like that.” Rio points between Kennedy and me. “If Isaiah, of all people, settles down before me . . . It’s not going to happen. You two. Stop giving each other ideas.”
“Don’t worry, Rio,” Kennedy cuts in. “I wouldn’t even give up my career for my fiancé. The last thing I’m going to do is throw it away over Isaiah fucking Rhodes.”
Stevie yawns again, rolling herself off the couch. The poor girl has been a champ tonight, hanging out with us while sober and exhausted. “This pregnant lady needs to get to bed. That was fun, and Kennedy it was great to meet you. Ind, I’m taking a guest room!”
“Okay!” she shouts from the kitchen. “See you in the morning.” Indy makes her way back into the living room. “Rio, you’re staying, yeah?”
“Yes! And I’m sleeping in Ryan Shay’s bed.”
“No, you’re not.” She turns to Kennedy and me. “I have two more guest rooms. You can each have one.”
My drunk brain does not want to shut up tonight. “I think I want to go back to Kai’s. I don’t have too many nights left, and I want to spend them at his house.”
“Wow, okay.” Indy’s eyes widen. “That was way too fucking cute.”
I’ve never been one to like the word cute, especially when it’s directed at me, but there’s just something about that Clark Kent lookalike that has me feeling like a marshmallow these days.
“Kennedy?” I ask. “He has a guest room.”
One that I’ve been staying in, but drunk me doesn’t want to sleep anywhere other than Kai’s bed.
“I’m fine with that. Ace is probably the only player I’m cool with seeing outside of work.”
Unfortunately, it’s late, I know Max is sleeping, and I don’t know if Kai would be able to pick us up without waking him.
With a buzz in my head and a drunken smile on my lips, I pull out my phone.
Me: Hi.
He responds immediately.
Baseball Daddy: Hi, Mills.
Me: I miss you.
Baseball Daddy: Are you drunk?
Me: If I say yes will you still take advantage of me later?
Baseball Daddy: Nope.
Me: Then I’m stone-cold sober, and I want to come home, but neither Kennedy nor I can drive.
Baseball Daddy: . . . because you’re drunk.
Me: Nope.
Baseball Daddy: I’ll come pick you up.
Me: What about Max?
Baseball Daddy: Isaiah is sleeping over. He can stay with him.
Me: Okay!
Baseball Daddy. Okay. See you in ten.
Me: Are you mad at me? You seem mad at me.
Baseball Daddy: Why would I be mad at you?
Me: I don’t know, but you’re putting a period mark after every sentence.
Baseball Daddy: I always use period marks. Would you rather me use an exclamation point instead?
Me: Maybe! Let’s see. Give it a try.
Baseball Daddy: Isaiah is staying with Max! I’ll be there in ten minutes! Kennedy can crash at my house if she wants!
Me: Jesus. I get it. Stop yelling.
Baseball Daddy: I hate you.
Me: You don’t hate me.
Baseball Daddy: You’re right. It’s just about the opposite of that. Stop texting me. I need to start driving.
If I was a little more sober, that text might freak me out, but drunk and loose Miller doesn’t mind it one bit.
