With too many people still by home plate, I carry her to the pitcher’s mound for some privacy before setting Miller back on her feet. She’s wearing that too-big grin again, much more of my Miller coming back after a day of sulking.
When she goes back to working six to seven days a week, twelve hours at a time, I want her to remember this. How it feels to be surrounded by the people that love her, that she loves in return. That life is so much more than the money you make or the status of your job. It’s about chasing your joy.
But then Miller’s smile drops when she falls into my chest.
“I hated everything about that photoshoot yesterday,” she finally admits. “I hated wearing that coat again and hearing them call me chef. I’m supposed to be excited. My career is taking off, and I thought it’d feel like a dream. My dream.”
I never know what I’m supposed to say when she talks like this. Do I agree? Disagree? I just want her to be happy, and up until the other night, I thought her career was doing that for her.
“If it didn’t feel like a dream, then what did it feel like?”
She peeks up at me, her chin on my chest. “A nightmare.”
I push her hair away from her face, coaxing her to continue.
“I’ve been in a bad mood since yesterday because I didn’t expect it to feel that way, and that makes me angry. I’m mad that something I worked so hard for doesn’t feel fulfilling in the slightest. I’m angry that time is against us, and I have to leave tomorrow.” She covers her face with her hands, shaking her head. “I should be excited for what’s waiting for me, but I’m not. And regardless of how I feel about it, I have to go. There are too many people counting on me to get back to work, and as you can see, I’m a fucking mess over it.”
Pulling her hands from her face, I run my palms up her arms. “Miller—”
She keeps her eyes down on the ground.
There’s a part of me that wants to lean into what she’s saying, to get my hopes up, but I know these feelings will fade for her as soon as she’s back to her routine. It’s simply the last night of her vacation.
And the last night I can indulge in this fantasy.
“Sorry. I’m fine. I’m just having a moment.” She takes a deep breath, composing herself, when her eyes land on Max off in the distance with my brother. “You know, sometimes I look at him and get irrationally mad at you because you were with another woman before me. The audacity you had not to think of me then, you know?”
A bark of a laugh escapes me as Miller breaks the emotional tension with humor per usual, a sly little smile plastered back on her lips. Just where it should be.
Wrapping an arm over her shoulders, I kiss her head. “You are the most jealous woman I’ve ever met. You know that?”
Her head jerks back. “You’ve met other women?”
“Charming as always, baby.”
“I’m sorry I’ve had an attitude today.”
“That’s okay, Mills.” I quickly take her mouth with mine. “You know I appreciate all your flaws.”
“Well, shit. I wasn’t aware I had any.”
“Mmm!” Max hums, attempting to say Miller’s name as he charges in our direction, his little legs working so hard to eat up the distance. “Mmm.”
I was really hoping she’d get to hear him say her name before she leaves tomorrow, but he’s not quite there.
“There’s my favorite guy,” she says, bending down to hoist him in her arms. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry. Let’s go find us some snacks.”
With my name on her back and my son in my arms, Miller stands in the center of the field, looking like mine.
She should be mine. Ours.
“You coming?” she asks me over her shoulder.
“You two go ahead. I’ve got to go talk to your dad.”
“All right. See you soon.” She takes one single step away from me before I slip a finger through her belt loop, pulling her back to me.
Craning my neck I kiss her, right there in the middle of the infield where anyone could see, because this is not just a fling. Nothing about our situation is detached. She’s it for me and I don’t know how the fuck to handle that.
Monty is leaning back on the dugout railing, chatting with the last person I’d expect to find at our family day, seeing as he’s the third base coach for Atlanta.
“Hey, Ace,” Monty says, nodding towards the man at his side. “You know Brian Gould, right? He’s a part of Atlanta’s coaching staff.”