He doesn’t have to say it, but I know he’s never had anyone there for him at one of these events. I would guess Isaiah had always been too busy with his own season that they couldn’t be there for each other, and yes, this year he’ll have his son, but he’s also going to have me.
“I’m sure your dad would want you there,” Kai adds.
His tone is casual, easy, and detached, just the way I’ve asked him to be, but he shouldn’t be detached when it comes to asking for someone to finally support him.
Hand on his forearm, I trace my fingertips up the thin skin on the inside. “I’ll be there,” I say with conviction. “For you.”
I don’t miss the way his eyes soften before drifting back to the island to check on his teammates and coach, reminding me that they’re here, and maybe wondering why I’m suddenly okay with a bit of PDA.
I lean my head on his bicep, hand wrapped around his arm to hold him while he washes the dishes, forgoing my rules for the moment. “Thank you for tonight.”
He leans his cheek on my hair. “I’d do anything for you, Miller.”
Chapter 28
Miller
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.