Five minutes to three o’clock, a forest green Mercedes Sprinter comes rolling up my driveway. Besides the fact I already know who this is because security at the front gate had to call me and clear her, this van screams Miller.
As does the way she’s blaring music from the speakers and driving a little too fast for my liking. A fucking travel van. I bet the nomad herself lives in it too.
I was surprised when I got the call that she was here, but I’m thankful she came back.
Miller parks, hops out of the driver side, and rounds the front.
“What the hell is that?” I ask, arms crossed, leaning against a pillar on my front porch.
“This old girl?” She proudly pats the hood. “My van.”
“You have a van.”
“Yep. Live in it sometimes too.”
“Of course you do.”
She mirrors my posture, leaning on her car with crossed arms, a peek of a smile tugging on her lips. I’m sure she loves the satisfaction of knowing she can get under my skin with something as simple as not having a permanent residence, but I truly have no clue as to how someone could live so unattached.
Miller’s tanned and tatted arm glistens under the early July sun, the glint of light reflecting off her septum ring. Max’s new nanny has yet to figure out the concept of a real shirt because, once again, she’s only wearing some kind of strapless piece of fabric as a bra, almost like a bathing suit. It’s flimsy and barely there, but the rust orange color looks nice underneath the denim one-piece.
“Overalls again, huh?”
She’s got a different pair on, and this time they’re baggy and full-length, covering her thighs I tend to daydream about.
“They’re easy.”
“You know who else wears onesies?” I gesture to the baby monitor in my hand where a sleeping Max can be seen.
She huffs a laugh. “Shut up.”
“Seriously though, those seem like the biggest pain in the ass to take off.”
“So, you’re thinking about taking them off of me?”
“No—”
“At least get me inside first, Baseball Daddy. We’re in public.”
I can’t help the small smile tilting on my lips as I lean my shoulder on the pillar, thankful she’s up for bantering with me after what went down the other night.
Miller takes the steps leading up to my porch, bypassing me for the front door, but I gently grab her wrist to stop her, pulling her back until her chest bumps into mine.
My voice is low and sincere. “I’m sorry. About the other night.”
Her gaze dips to my lips for a split second, but I catch the movement. I especially catch how she licks her own lips after looking at mine. “And?”
“And thank you for coming back. I appreciate what you’re doing for us. For me.”
“And?”
“And . . . you’re good with Max.”
“And?”
What the hell? “And . . . I don’t know what else you want me to say, but I am sorry for how overprotective I’ve been with him. It’s just that he’s all I’ve got.”
Miller’s set shoulders drop. “Remember that time you grabbed my tits?”
“Okay.” Reaching around her, I grip the doorknob to usher her inside. “Great talk, Miller.”
She puts her hand on mine, stopping me, her tone growing serious. “That was your one fuck-up, Rhodes. Treat me like my presence is a burden to your summer again, and I’ll walk out this door and never come back.”
A small smile tilts on my lips. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t smile. You’re too old to be smiling. You’re sure to get wrinkles just from doing it once.”
Shaking my head, that grin grows as I open the door of my house for her.
She enters first and, from behind, I watch as she takes in the first glimpse of my home. I bought this place a few months ago, so there are still some boxes tucked in various corners, but overall, we’re moved in. The house is a nice size. Perfect for Max and me. I’m not sure if Chicago is our long-term spot, but I like the idea of picking a place and setting roots. Especially now that I have a son. Once he’s old enough to start school, I don’t plan on moving him.
God, that thought is depressing. He’s only fifteen months old and I already feel like I’m missing out on too much time. What am I going to do when he’s too old to be traveling with the team? When he’s in school? Leave him in Chicago while I travel for work and hire someone else to raise him?
I want to be involved. I want to be a good dad. I want him to be surrounded with unconditional love from his family. The last thing I want is for him to feel the weight of too many responsibilities at too young of an age the way I did.
I want his life to be easy. At least, in a reasonable way. I want him to learn how to work hard, to earn things in his life. But the big stuff, like finding a way to get to school when you live across town, figuring out where your next meal will come from, or forging your dad’s signature on paperwork because you don’t want anyone to know you and your little brother live alone. Yeah, my kid will never know what that’s like.
Rounding Miller’s body, I face her in the foyer. “Max’s room is down that hall. I’ll let you explore on your own once he’s awake from his nap, but the main part of the house is this way.” Hands in my pockets, I nod towards the opposite side of the house. “Come.”
“God,” she moans, head falling back. “I can’t wait to hear you say that in the bedroom.”
Jesus.
I wouldn’t know where to start figuring out how this woman’s mind works, how she makes these connections. She loves to throw me off balance, to get a rise out of me. But this is my house. I’m in charge here, and I’m tired of this twenty-five-year-old woman making me feel like a teenage boy with no retort for the pretty girl who spits out the most asinine statements.
Instead of backing up or shaking my head at her as I typically do, I take a step into her, invading her space before leaning down to keep my voice low but clear. “If you’re as terrible of a listener in the bedroom as you are in real life, Miller, I can promise you this, you wouldn’t be allowed to come.”
Those pretty lips part, jade eyes wide.
“Two can play this game, Montgomery. Now, let’s go.” I nod towards the other side of the house once again.
Her lips press together, holding back a grin. “You keep talking like that, Kai, and I’ll be ditching the ‘baseball’ part and just be calling you ‘daddy’.”
A laugh bursts out of me, a smile mirroring the one on Miller’s mouth.
Her eyes track my face as she stands only inches from me. It feels only slightly sexual, but more so satisfied. Like she’s proud of herself for getting me to laugh.
“Thanks for helping me out with him today,” I add, needing to voice a bit of my appreciation for her coming back before she can leave the two inches that separate us.
She nods, following behind as I lead her through the other side of the house. Max’s bedroom is in the furthest corner, done purposefully in hopes that he’d be able to sleep through whatever noise is happening in the main part.
“My room is down that hall, as is a guest room. Living room. Dining room,” I continue, rattling off the open spaces as we pass them. Turning the corner, we leave the main family room. “Here’s the kitchen, and if you come this way, you’ll find—”
I stop in my tracks, no longer hearing Miller’s sandaled feet slap against the hardwood. Her back is to me, eyes on the kitchen.
“This is your kitchen?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Kai, it’s stunning.”
Is it? I guess it is, with its butcher block countertops and brand-new appliances. There’s plenty of storage, white cabinetry, and black finishes. But I’ve never thought much of it because I, for one, never use it.
“It’s what the contractor had picked out, but it works.”
“It works?” she asks with a breathy laugh. “This is my dream kitchen. Is that a convection oven?”
“I have no idea.”
She leaves her spot, opting to explore, her hands roaming over the electric buttons. “It is.”
Miller continues to open cabinets and drawers because of course she does. The woman wouldn’t know what a boundary was if she tripped and fell right over one.
She comes up empty in almost every drawer before continuing to the fridge. It’s embarrassingly bare, but I just got back from a road trip so I’ll chalk up my lack of groceries to travel and ignore that I’ve been too exhausted to set up a grocery delivery or even go to the store myself.
“Kai Rhodes,” Miller gasps. “Is that beer in your fridge?”
“Will it still be there by the time I get home, or should I plan on you emptying me out?”
Miller glances at the stove to check the time. “It’ll probably be there. It’s after three. Too late in the day for my drinking habits.” She closes the fridge, leaning on the counter next to it. “Would you mind if I borrowed your kitchen tonight?”
I shrug. “Go for it. Just try not to burn my house down. And I uh . . . clearly don’t have much to cook with.”
“I won’t be cooking, but I’ll get some groceries delivered. I’ll get you stocked up too.”
After how I treated her the other night, I figured I’d have to be on my hands and knees to get her to watch my son again, but she’s being surprisingly . . . pleasant. What the hell did Monty say to her?
“I mean, you’ll be paying for it obviously,” she continues.
“Obviously,” I chuckle. “I’d appreciate that. I haven’t had the time. There’s an emergency card you can use in that drawer.” I point to the small drawer by her hip. “As well as all the phone numbers you need. Max’s pediatrician, local hospital, my buddy Ryan’s number is there if you need any help. He lives ten minutes down the road. I also laid out Max’s nighttime routine. He’s eating regular foods now as you know from the last time you watched him, but if he gives you any trouble while you’re putting him down, you can give him a bottle. I already prepped it for you. Just add water.”
“So organized, Baseball Daddy. I bet you’re one of those people who knows where their birth certificate is, aren’t you?”
“You don’t? Miller, that’s something you should definitely know the location of.”
This woman, who is about to be responsible for my child for the next two months, can’t even locate one extremely important piece of paper.
Max likes her. She’s Monty’s daughter.
“I’m going to need you to say something reassuring right now because I’m about to leave a human in your hands and I’m not having much faith.”
“I’m fun.”
I can feel one side of my mouth tugging upward. “Is that supposed to be reassuring?”
“I’m also very good at poker.”
“Well, thankfully my fifteen-month-old doesn’t have much money to his name.”
She slides her palms against the counter. “And I look good in your kitchen.”
I attempt to hold back, but fuck it, I like sparring with this woman. “That you do.”
There’s no question there. Miller looks damn good in my kitchen when I allow myself to look.
“Does your boyfriend know what a flirt you are?”
“Oh, come on, Kai. You’re better than that. Be direct. Ask me if I’m single.” There’s a sly smile on her lips, a smile that screams she likes flirting with me as much as I do her.
There’s something about Miller, something so fierce about her personality, that my gut knows loyalty is deeply ingrained in her. So, no, she wouldn’t be flirting with me if she had a boyfriend.
“No need to ask. I’ve already got my answer.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”
I miss letting loose and flirting with a beautiful woman, remembering how easy life used to be, and Miller makes it pretty easy to get caught up in pretending I still have the freedom to be that man.
But I fucking don’t. There’s a kid in the next room reminding me of that.
I clear my throat, not answering her question. “Call security at the front gate when the groceries get here. They’ll come and drop them off.”
She looks around the room. “It’s fancy out here, Baseball Daddy.”
“It’s safe.”
“Glad to know I don’t have to worry about anything dangerous getting in.”
She might not have to worry, but I do. Because with Miller Montgomery, my coach’s daughter, standing in my kitchen looking like that, I’m afraid something very dangerous has already gotten in.
These seats are the fucking worst.
Before I signed my contract last year, I should’ve amended that the bullpen needed more comfortable chairs. Eight and a half innings and my ass is numb as I wait and watch for my team to pull out the W at home.
Isaiah is playing his ass off. His defense is tight and locked in. He hit a two-run homer in the fourth and another double in the seventh, bringing in a run and giving the Warriors a comfortable lead. I was going to invite him over after the game to have one of those beers that may or may not still be in my fridge, but with how well he’s doing, Mr. Popular is about to get a whole lot of attention he’s not going to want to pass up.
It’s not that I’m not a team player, but I hate bullpen days. Besides my forty pitches thrown to get my arm loose and active between my starts this week, I don’t do anything here other than watch.
We sit somewhere off the foul line for the entirety of the game when I could be sitting at home, spending time with my son. This is where it gets hard for me. On my starting nights, I can justify the time away, but nights like these, I wish Max were here too.
With my hat in my hands, I absentmindedly run my thumb over Max’s picture. It’s a habit, but also a good reminder when work becomes too much, none of it really matters. He does.
I love the game, I really do, but I love my son a whole lot more and I don’t know how to find that balance.
Maybe if his mom hadn’t left him the way she did I’d be handling all of this a whole lot better. I’d be more hands-off perhaps. But most of the time I feel like I need to overcompensate, to be both parents and just hope that Max doesn’t notice the gaps.
“Ace.” One of our relief pitchers pats me on the back. “I like this no-work thing. You think you can go another eight innings on your next start?”
Chuckling, I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “I’ll try my best.”
Taking a seat next to me, he offers me a bit of his chew, but I decline, holding up my seeds instead.
“Your brother is going to be insufferable after tonight.”
“God,” I exhale. “Tell me about it.”
And right on cue, post-game in the training room with the music blaring, my little brother waltzes in like the arrogant fucker that he is.
Isaiah slowly unbuttons his uniform to the song, the jersey with his number nineteen falling to his still cleated feet. “I’m here, baby!”
Lying back on a training table as I get my shoulder rubbed out, I watch, trying my best not to laugh. But it’s pretty difficult not to when he’s got the whole room on his side, cheering him on as he strips down to the music, high from our win and his personal game.
“Rhodes, you’re on my table tonight,” Kennedy, one of the trainers, says. “I’m rubbing you down.”
Isaiah stops mid-dance, his eyes going wide with excitement because well, he’s in love with Kennedy.
“Kenny . . . are you serious?” He follows her to her table like a love sick puppy dog.
“Yep. Strip down and hop up.”
My brother’s attention darts to me, his mouth hanging open but smiling at the same time. Kennedy rarely volunteers to work on Isaiah because the kid can be a colossal pain in the ass.
Looking at me, he points to her then to himself as if she has no idea how obsessed he is with her.
I can’t help but laugh at him from across the room, but then my doctor’s thumb digs into my rotator cuff and wipes my smile right off my face.
“Is this part of my reward for having a good game?” Isaiah asks Kennedy as he strips down to nothing, his cup clattering to the floor. “Just how much are we talking here with this rub down?”
“Jesus, Rhodes.” Kennedy turns away from him as quickly as possible, covering her eyes. “Leave your goddamn compression shorts on. This isn’t that kind of massage.” She peeks over to me. “Ace, what the hell is wrong with your brother?”
“I wish I knew, Ken.”
Isaiah uses both hands to quickly cover his dick while standing bare-ass naked next to Kennedy’s training table. “Well, you said to strip down and I got excited.”
I motion to what he’s covering. “Clearly.”
The entire room falls into a fit of laughter. Isaiah pulls his shorts back on and hops onto the table with his stomach down and his calves exposed.
“I just thought,” he continues. “Finally, my Kenny is going to realize I’m the guy for her. After all these years and all this tension, it only took a two-run homer for her to open her eyes.”
Kennedy’s voice has no inflection. “There’s no tension.”
Isaiah smirks, looking over his shoulder at her. “Baby, there’s tension. You could cut it with a knife. You’ll see one day, Kenny. You’re gonna want a real man, and I’m a real man.”
Kennedy’s elbow digs into Isaiah’s right calf.
“Oh, holy fuck!” he screams, biting into the padded table to muffle the sound. He lets out a strangled whimper, his voice cracking. “Kenny! Kenny!”
“That’s it, baby. Let it out like a real man.”
The entire room is in hysterics as my egotistical brother melts into the table, squirming to get away from her. “You like hurting me?” he asks, sitting up and getting out of her reach. “Little do you know I like pain. Some might even call me a masochist in the bedroom.”
Kennedy is trying her hardest to hold back her smile. They’ve worked together for three years and my brother has tried his best to get her in his bed. It hasn’t worked. Though, the girl used to have a diamond on her left ring finger, and this season she doesn’t, so who knows, maybe that’s reignited his determination.
“If you like pain so much, get back on this table.” She pats the cushion.
“Kenny, you’ve had a long day. I’m good. I don’t want you working too hard.”
She laughs, shaking her head and walking away. “Wimp.”
My doctor continues to stretch out my throwing arm as I speak to my brother. “You’re going to drive her to quit one day.”
“Nah,” Isaiah says, his voice growing louder as he walks to my table, looking down at me. “She’s in love with me. She has absolutely no idea, but she is. And clearly, I’m in love with her.”
“Clearly. Since you flaunt a new girl in your bed every night while staying in the same hotels as her.”
Isaiah pops his shoulders. “We have an understanding.”
I chuckle.
“I’m surprised you stayed for PT. I figured you’d be rushing home to get Max away from the hot nanny.”
“Yeah, well, I’m trying to work on loosening the reins per Miller’s request.”
“We’re taking requests from Miller now? Interesting.”
“She’s not so bad, I guess.”
Isaiah’s brows shoot up, a mischievous smirk on his lips. “She’s not so bad, huh? Who are you and where’s my overbearing big brother?”
I use my free hand to flip him my middle finger.
“You know, I was thinking, maybe I should come over tonight. Make sure Miller is okay. If she doesn’t like your house, she can stay at mine.”
Kennedy walks by, shaking her head.
“As a friend,” Isaiah quickly adds for her to hear. “As a friend, Kenny!”
“You’re an idiot and she’s not staying at my house.”
“But Max’s nannies have always lived in your house.”
“And Max’s other nannies didn’t have a dad they could crash with who lives thirty minutes away.”
They also didn’t look like Miller, talk like Miller, or have me wanting to flirt back with them every time they open their damn mouth. Additionally, they didn’t have my throwing hand putting in extra work while in the shower because flashes of her thick thighs and green eyes won’t leave my fucking daydreams.
