“Not funny.” I go to grab his phone.
“Ace,” Monty says under his palm so outsiders can’t read his lips. “Cameras.”
Exhaling a resigned sigh, I say, “Text her back and tell her she’s fired.”
Monty chuckles under his breath.
Sanderson holds up his phone for me to read as texts continue to roll in.
Miller: I got fired in the third and sixth innings too! This must be a new record.
Miller: Tell him his change-up should get him fired. That was ugly.
Miller: Oh, and tell him his baseball pants aren’t doing anything for his ass.
Miller: Actually, don’t lie. His change-up though, that’s not a lie. It really was ugly.
“Jesus,” I huff out, shaking my head. “Just ask her if my kid is alive.”
Sanderson’s phone dings. “Alive.”
A small weight lifts from my chest. Seven innings down, two to go.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” I hear Travis chime in from down the bench, talking to my teammates.
“About time Max got a hot nanny,” my brother says.
“About time we got a hot nanny. We deserve this,” Cody, our first baseman adds. “This is far more exciting for the boys than it is for Maxie.”
Monty turns around to rip my teammates a new one, but I beat him to it.
“Watch it,” I say from my isolated seat. Standing, my jacket falls from my shoulder as I project my voice loud enough to be heard from the other end of the dugout. “I’m going to say this only once, so listen up. No one better try anything with her. I don’t give a shit if you think she’s God’s gift to this team, she’s not here for any of you. So let this be the one and only warning that if you mess with her in any way that makes her feel uncomfortable or unwelcome, you will be answering to me. You think Monty is scary when it comes to his kid?” I chuckle condescendingly. “You don’t even want to know what I’ll be like if you fuck with mine, and messing with Miller, or anyone who is watching my son, is the same thing as messing with Max, so don’t fucking try it.”
Sinking back onto the top of the bench, I re-cover my shoulder with my jacket to keep it warm.
The dugout is eerily quiet, probably because my teammates are shocked to hear me speak. Baseball’s unspoken rules and superstitions are no joke—you don’t mess with them, but making sure Max is okay is more important than any superstition.
“Yeah!” my brother calls out, breaking the awkward silence. “Only Ace is allowed to make her feel unwelcome, isn’t that right, Coach?”
“Isaiah, stop being such a kiss ass and get on-deck. You’re batting next.”
“Yes, sir!”
He swaps his hat for his batting helmet, scurrying out of the dugout to the on-deck circle, while I sit and wait for this goddamn game to be over.
Chapter 5
Miller
“Max, there’s your dad.” I point to the television screen across the room.
He squeals and claps, his eyes wide with excitement.
“Is your dad the best baseball player ever?”
His icy blues grow and glint, so I’ll take that as Max’s version of a yes.
“I wonder who’s gonna break the news to Babe Ruth and Willie Mays?”
He giggles, though I know he doesn’t have any idea what I’m asking.
Over the past few hours with him, I’ve learned that I’m the funniest person to ever exist and if he keeps laughing at everything I have to say, I’m going to need an ego check by the time the summer is over.
When my dad proposed the idea of me nannying for his pitcher’s son, I was hesitant. I’ve never really spent time with a kid before, and sure, there are some major fears of not being good at this role, but what’s different about this job compared to all the others is that, no matter if I’m the best or not, I’m directly helping my dad. Other goals I strive for are to impress him, reassure him I’m doing something with my life after he gave up his. But this, this is me having the opportunity to make his life easier.
Max continues to look at his dad on the TV as he stands in some kind of contraption that keeps him upright and level with the counter so he can hang out with me as I get his dinner together. He reaches for his sippy cup of water, chugging it back while I cut up a bit of avocado and brown some toast, putting it on his food mat so he can eat and make as big of a mess as he’d like.
I’m not sure if I suddenly gained a knack for working with kids or if Max is the easiest fifteen-month-old to exist, but he’s really boosting my confidence here. In his own way, he responds to my questions, as long as the answer is yes or no. He eats the food I put in front of him and was fully entertained by the castle of wooden blocks I made earlier.