Fucking hell. She’s got to stop, but I have a feeling she won’t because she’s buzzing with alcohol and her lips are real loose because of it.
“We missed you too.” I rub the light purple cream onto her face. “Did you have fun?”
She nods with a childish smile. “I like those girls, and I like Kennedy. A lot.”
“Good. I’m glad you two are becoming friends. I’m sure it’s nice for her to finally have another woman traveling with us.”
“Yeah, and it’s nice to talk to someone when my head is a mess over you.”
My chest rumbles in a laugh. “Your head is a mess over me, huh, Mills? I’m flattered.”
“You should be.”
When I’m done with her skin care, Miller wraps her hair in a knot, trying to secure a hair tie around it, but the girl is still drunk as a skunk.
“Let me have that.” Taking the tie from her, I gather her hair in my fists, much in a way I’ve done a time or two before, as I make something resembling a bun, wrapping the hair tie around it twice.
Miller checks the mirror. “That looks terrible, Ace.”
I smile at her. It does look terrible.
Her eyes find mine in the reflection. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Cuddle with me?”
“I’m sorry, but did you just say cuddle?” I touch her forehead with the back of my hand. “What the hell did you drink tonight?”
“Shut up.” She wraps her legs around my waist and her arms around my shoulders as I carry her back into my room. Once I’ve gotten the drunk girl in bed and the lights off, I remove my glasses and crawl in with her. Opening my arm out wide, Miller lifts her head, cradling herself against my chest like some kind of seasoned cuddler.
We don’t talk. We simply lay together and I’m almost certain she’s fallen asleep until she speaks into the silence.
“Tonight, I told the girls that sometimes I think about not going back to work.”
I swear time stands still as those words leave her lips. My eyes shoot open, staring at the darkness, and replaying her words to make sure I heard them right.
I swallow. “Why do you say that?”
“I don’t want to leave Max.”
Goddamn, my heart is thundering against my chest, sharp pricks burning my eyes because this girl loves my boy so fiercely. It’s something I wasn’t sure would ever happen, to have someone else love my child in the way I hoped they would.
“But I have to go back,” she continues.
Biting my tongue, I wait until I can find the right response. “Yeah,” I exhale. “You do.”
She tilts her head to look at me. “I do?”
“It’s your dream, Mills. I won’t let you walk away from that because of my son.”
Or because of me.
She settles her head back into my chest. “The pressure to perform, to live up to the expectations, is scary. There’s a part of me that battles with wondering if I’m worthy of those expectations, you know?”
“Pressure is a privilege, Miller. Expectations are high because you’re successful. If you were average, no one would be waiting on bated breaths for you. I think about that every night I take the mound. You just have to decide if your dreams and goals are worth the pressure. If you want to live up to the expectations set for you.”
“I do. I want to be the best.”
“Then do it.”
That seems like the appropriate amount of encouragement for a result I’m absolutely dreading, so in a moment of selfishness I ask, “Does your career make you happy?”
She waits, flipping to look up to the ceiling, lacing her fingers with mine. “No.”
Grinding my molars, I try my best to keep calm. There’s a weird contradiction happening, me wanting her to find happiness, but in a way, glad that the thing that will take her away from me isn’t it. But what the hell am I supposed to say? Encourage her drunken ramblings because her staying is exactly what I want her to do?
I promised her dad I wouldn’t do that.
She’s having fun this summer, which is the only reason she’s questioning her job. Out of sight. Out of mind. That’s all this is.
She’ll remember it’s what she wants as soon as she leaves here. Leaves me.
“But I don’t know if it’s about being happy,” she continues. “I want to prove that I can do it. I want to prove that I’m worth the award I won. I want to prove that I’m doing something that justifies the fact my dad gave up his entire life for me.”