“What do you mean you owe him?”
She waves me off. “Maybe one morning we could get drunk together and I’ll explain it to you then.” Miller grabs her phone from the nightstand, holding it out for me to see. “Look at this video of Max. Look how happy he is.”
On the small phone screen, a video plays of my giddy son sitting on the couch, pointing up to the television screen where he can see me pitching. He’s never been to one of my games and, for all I know, this might be the first time he’s ever seen me play. The constant repeat of “Dadda” makes my chest physically ache as he watches me do something I’ve loved my entire life, but all that changes at the end of the video when I watch him cuddle up to his new nanny.
I can feel my face fall in conjunction with my stomach. He’s never been so comfortable with someone else so quickly, never had a woman in his life that he wanted to cuddle up to.
It scares the shit out of me.
Because as much as Miller has freaked me out today, what scares me more than anything is how Max will react in two months when she’s gone, if this is how much he likes her on day one.
She continues to scroll through picture after picture of him, Max smiling as widely as his little mouth allows, and when she’s done with her slideshow, without a word, I head back to my room.
“That’s it?” she asks.
I linger back into her space. “What else do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. How about ‘Thank you, Miller. I’m not surprised my son loves you already because you’re the easiest person to get along with’ or maybe you could try to get to know me. Anything really.”
“I don’t want to get to know you.”
What’s the point when she’s leaving soon?
Her head jerks back from my words. “Did the fucked-up social skills come with fatherhood, or were you born this way?”
I don’t say anything, continuing to lean my shoulder on the door leading from her room to mine.
“You do realize you’re the issue here, right? Your son is easy.”
Again, I don’t respond.
She doesn’t have to tell me that. I’m self-aware enough to know I’m the problem. I know I’m overly protective. I know Max is easy, but he’s also my only family outside of my brother, and I’m his. He’s all I’ve got.
Miller exhales a tired sigh, and it sounds awfully like she’s tired of me. “You’re just not going to respond? Cool. Do you need anything else?” She gestures towards my body. “Do you have any post-game therapy you need to do before I call it a night?”
“No, I’m done.”
The lie slips easily off my tongue. My body is going to pay for pitching into the eighth inning without taking care of my shoulder, elbow, or wrist tonight. I should be going for a midnight swim or spending the next hour in the training room, letting them run me through stretches and mobility work. Instead, I got on the first bus to leave the arena without even giving the equipment guys my uniform.
Miller laughs and it’s without humor. “God, you finally say something and it’s bullshit.”
I should’ve known better than to lie to her about my post-game routine. She was raised by a baseball coach.
She stands from the bed, handing off the baby monitor as a physical sign that she’s done for the night. “I had fully planned on playing Mary fucking Poppins this summer, but there’s no way I can deal with you for two months.” She casually grabs her things from around the room. “I thought I could do this. Max is great, but you—” She shakes her head. “You are not.”
What is she doing? And where does she think she’s going? My entire game, I expected her to fuck up so I could fire her, but now she’s leaving on her own accord.
And all I can think about is that little boy in the next room who is sound asleep after happily spending his day with this girl who’s going to leave because of me.
I step in front of her, between her and the door. “Where are you going?”
“As far away from you as I can get. This whole overbearing single dad thing was kind of hot at first, but now”—she motions up and down my body—“this is exhausting.”
She steps to the side, reaching for the door to the hallway, but I move with her, blocking the exit.
“Please move.”
“Where are you going?” I ask again. “It’s late.”
She throws her head back for a moment to compose herself. “I have a house rental I need to pack up so I can drive to Chicago tomorrow.”