“Look at you in your jersey,” I say, running a soothing hand over his back where our last name is. “You’re ready for the game, huh?”
Max falls onto my shoulder, burying his head in the crook of my neck and knocking his tiny baseball hat off his head. I catch Miller watching him—us—with a soft smile.
“Max-a-million!” Isaiah exclaims. “Are you here to watch your uncle absolutely dominate on the field?”
My brother takes my son from me, running him to the infield and showing him off to the rest of the boys. Max smiles while my entire team dotes on him, as if we don’t have a professional game we need to focus on in less than an hour.
With my hands up on the barrier between the field and the stands, I watch as Isaiah holds his nephew on his hip, running him around the bases, only to be greeted by the rest of the team at home plate.
My heart physically aches, but it’s not from the time away or the missed moments with my son. It’s because for the first time since Max came into my life, I feel like I could have it all.
A small hand lands on mine as it sits on the padded barrier, and I look up to find Miller watching me.
“He’s never been to one of my games before,” I tell her, my voice a bit hoarse. “Thank you for bringing him, Mills.”
A single brow lifts. “Mills, huh?”
“Don’t try to ruin the moment with humor, Montgomery. I’ll call you whatever the hell I feel like.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
The woman next to her coughs into her fist, reminding us that she’s there.
“Baseball Daddy, I mean.”
I simply shake my head at her.
I’ve quickly learned that Miller isn’t great with sentimental moments, so instead of saying anything in that regard, she simply squeezes my hand. I squeeze back, the two of us having a silent conversation in the crowded stadium. Her telling me she’s backing up her promise to help me find balance in my life and me finally accepting some help.
“I’m going to go show him around the dugout.” I lean down, picking up Max’s hat, but as I walk backward, I keep my attention on her. “I don’t see you wearing number twenty-one. Where’s your jersey?”
“I’m more of a fourteen gal myself.”
Her softball number.
I keep my mouth shut to not let out that I’ve looked at that photo of her on her dad’s desk too many times and know the reference well.
“If you’re going to start coming to my games, I better see Rhodes on your back and I’m not talking about my brother.”
“Is this some athlete kink you got? Need to see a girl in your jersey?”
The old flirty side of me that I’ve kept hidden and locked down for the most part since Max came into my life is itching to break free.
I pop my shoulders. “I like to see pretty girls in my jersey. Like to take it off them too.”
Miller’s lips part, a shocked and satisfied grin lifting on the corners. “Well, with that kind of promise, I’ll be sure to wear it next time.”
My chest heaves in a laugh she can’t hear because I’m too far away now, and though Miller’s blatant comments are meant to rile me up and they hold no guarantees behind the words, I can’t deny that they make me feel like my old self, the one who was happy and light without the weight of more responsibilities than one person could handle alone.
Only, the best part of it all is that my son is here, and I still feel that way.
The training room is packed post-game because besides the flight home, we finally have the day off tomorrow. Most of the guys are getting their treatment done tonight so they don’t have to meet with a trainer or team doctor in the morning before the flight. I’m one of those guys, looking forward to sleeping in as much as my son will allow, so with an exercise band tied around a pole, I pull it away, giving my rotator cuff some light work.
Typically, I’d be rushing out of here, especially after a loss, hoping to get back to the hotel in time to put Max down for the night, but for the first time all season, I don’t feel the need to make up for those missing moments.
Because I got to see him all game.
Sitting on Miller’s lap, he’d wave at me in the bullpen every few minutes until he passed out in the third inning, sleeping against her chest. I’m fairly certain my kid was drooling all over her, but she didn’t seem fazed. She simply rubbed his back as he napped, reapplying sunscreen on his little body when the time came, and kept a mini fan on him for all nine innings.
I got to be there when he woke up, reacclimating to his surroundings, and when he looked up at the girl who had him in his arms, that sleepy smile bloomed.
He loves her. It’s obvious in the way he looks at her, in the way he reaches for her when she’s near. She brings him a comfort he was missing, and she equally brings me the same, knowing how well they get along.
“Kenny, please,” my brother begs, following his favorite trainer around, slipping between tables to stay on her heels.
“I’m not working on you.”
“It’s your literal job to work on me.”
Kennedy ignores him, wrapping ice around Cody’s knee.
“Kenny,” he whines like the child he tends to be.
“Sanderson is free. Hey, Sanderson!” she calls out. “Rhodes needs some work.”
“No—”
“What’s hurting?” he asks, stepping up.
My brother’s eyes widen. “Nothing.”
Kennedy falls into laughter behind him. “C’mon, Isaiah. Tell him what you wanted me to rub out.”
Sanderson holds his hands up. “I swear to God if you say your dick, I’m quitting on the spot.”
“Jesus Christ,” I huff, shaking my head because well, I’m fairly certain that’s exactly what my brother was about to say.
“No. God no. It’s my ass.”
“Your glutes,” Kennedy corrects.
“My glutes.”
“Hop up.” Sanderson pats his table. “Let’s take a look.”
Isaiah shoots Kennedy a death glare and holds her attention while he gets on Sanderson’s table, ass up.
She wears a satisfied smile when Sanderson starts working an elbow on my brother’s glutes, but when Isaiah starts giving the trainer genuine direction and making sounds of discomfort, Kennedy’s face falls.
“Isaiah, are you actually hurting?” I ask.
“Yeah. What did you think, I was asking Kenny to work on me just so she’d touch my butt?”
“Yes,” most of the room says in unison.
“You all suck, but no, I just think she’s good at her job.”
“Hey,” Sanderson scolds.
“You too, man.”
My brother stiffens on the table in pain, his entire body going rigid as Sanderson works an elbow into his glute muscle.
Kennedy watches from above him for a moment before putting a hand on the back of Isaiah’s shoulder, her teasing tone gone. “I got you next time, Rhodes.”
“Thank God because next time what I need rubbed out is my di—”
“You always make me regret it.”
He peeks his head out from the table, shooting her a cheeky smile.
A knock sounds on the training room door before Miller enters, eyes closed. “Everyone decent?” she asks before peeking one lid open to see the entire team somewhat dressed. “Dang it.”
She holds both of Max’s hands above his head, letting him use her for balance as he practices his wobbly steps into the giant open room.
“Look at those big steps!” Isaiah says, sitting up on the edge of the table.
“Nice work, Maxie!” Travis, my catcher, chimes in.
Hurrying to the door, I get on my haunches only a few feet away from him, holding out my hands. “Come on, Max. Let’s see it.”
I wait, hoping this is the time he finally gains the confidence to take his first steps.
When Miller releases him he pauses, wobbly as fuck, and when he tries to take that first solo step, he simply falls back on his butt, his diaper taking the brunt of the impact before he gets to his hands and knees, crawling to me equally as happy for himself as if he were to walk.