“I think he hates me,” she continues.
“What are you talking about?”
“I tried to get him to sleep, I really did, but he didn’t want me.” Her voice cracks, the words whispered but watery, and her greens are glossed over in a way I’ve never seen. “I didn’t know what to do.”
A single but shocking tear rolls down her cheek, and I swiftly wipe it away with the pad of my thumb.
She’s clearly more exhausted than I assumed because Miller is not a crier.
“He kept screaming and crying and I really think he hates me, and you hated me when I first got here, and I just know you’ll both love that redhead.”
What the fuck is she on about?
More tears fall from her closed eyes, and I clean them up, reminding myself not to give her shit tomorrow once we’ve both gotten some sleep. Knowing Miller, she’s going to cringe at the reminder that she was so vulnerable.
But I love it. Whether she wants to acknowledge it or not, Miller is, at the bare minimum, attached to my son. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’ve broken down from worrying that I’m not doing enough, and I know firsthand that you only react like this if you care.
“That wasn’t on you. He’s needy when he’s sick and for some reason, I’m the only one who can calm him down. It’s always been that way.”
My brother, sitting in front of us, peeks his head through the opening between the seats. “He’s right. One time, I was babysitting while Kai was at a charity concert and I had to walk into a completely silent auditorium during a violinist’s solo because Max was going to make me go deaf from his wailing, but of course, he was perfectly fine once Kai had him.”
“Stop eavesdropping, you little creep.”
He ignores me, wearing a mischievous smile. “Miller, you’re a beautiful crier.”
“Shut up, Isaiah. Turn around and forget this ever happened.”
I try to hold it in, but I can’t keep my body from shaking with a silent laugh.
Isaiah catches my eye, giving me a knowing smile before he turns forward again. What he knows or why he’s looking at me like that? No fucking clue.
“Miller,” I whisper. “If you’re this sad, I have a shoulder you could lean your legs on.”
She cackles. Yes, cackles. It’s adorable, which is a word I would never let her catch me calling her out loud.
“Hey, I’m the one with the dirty teenage boy jokes.” Her smile falls again as more tears continue to cascade down her cheeks. “I’m just tired, and you were upset with me after the game.”
Exhaling, my head drops back. “I wasn’t upset, not with you. I pitched like shit. The press wouldn’t stop asking questions and then having to go talk to fans . . . I’m tired and I knew you were tired. I wanted to give you a break. I didn’t mean to take it out on you or make it feel like it was your fault.” Running a hand over her hair, I usher her head back to my shoulder. “And he loves you, you know?”
When she looks up at me, Miller’s eyes are an even more vibrant green from the red that surrounds them.
“I’ve never seen him so smitten.”
Which makes two of us.
“You think so?”
I chuckle. “Yes, Mills. He’s passed out and drooling on your overalls. I think it’s safe to say he’s in love.”
She looks down for a moment, running a hand over his dark hair. “Okay.” Sniffling, she composes herself. “Are you going to make fun of me tomorrow for having an overly-exhausted cry?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
She lightly laughs, regaining some of that spirit that makes her who she is, before nuzzling back into my shoulder.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I know I don’t say it enough but you’re so good with him.”
“Do you think I’m better than the pediatrician lady with all the cardigans?”
Confused, I tilt to get a better look at her. “Max’s pediatrician is a man, and I don’t think he’s all that into cardigans.”
“The redhead.” Miller yawns. “The one who gave you her number after the game. Do you think Max will like her?”
Wracking my brain, I look for something to piece together. Cardigans. Doctor. Phone number.
Phone number . . . the redheaded woman who slipped me a piece of paper after the game? I assumed it was her phone number, but I didn’t check before I tossed it in the trash outside of the bus.
“Miller Montgomery.” A smirk lifts. “Are you jealous?”