“And you’re not sleeping in your van in downtown Chicago.”
I exhale a resigned sigh. “Can we figure it out later?”
“Fine. How was your drive?”
“Good. Easy.”
“And how long are you staying in town?”
I knew that was coming, but anything I have to say, he won’t want to hear. I only decided to drive up to Chicago from Miami to placate him, but my original plans of slowly making my way out to the West Coast are back on. He’s going to be spending most days at the field or in other cities for games, so what’s the point in sitting around Chicago if I’m not traveling with him to help with Max?
He rounds the kitchen in his apartment, pulling out a few ingredients even though he knows two minutes into him cooking, I’ll be the one taking over. Emmett Montgomery is great at a lot of things. Cooking is not one of them.
“Want to talk about what happened the other night?” he asks.
“Nope.”
“Okay. Let’s talk about it anyway.”
“Kai’s too much,” I quickly blurt. “That guy has no chill whatsoever.”
My dad’s back vibrates in a chuckle as he stands over the stove, cracking eggs into a pan.
Without hesitation, I follow.
“You should stick to coaching,” I tell him, fishing out a few eggshells before they cook into the whites.
“You should be grateful I’m terrible in the kitchen. It’s the reason you’re doing something so amazing with your life. The cover of Food & Wine magazine, Millie? Incredible.”
His voice drips with pride as it always does, but I’m trying not to think too much about the article or the award I just won. I need to get back into the kitchen and practice without anyone breathing down my neck.
It’s probably for the best that Kai is too difficult to help. I have other things I need to focus on.
I grab the spatula from him, officially taking over. “Can we talk about something other than baking?”
“Sure. Let’s talk about Kai.”
“Smooth.”
“What happened the other night?”
I shoot him a pointed glance. “I just want to let you know that you have terrible taste in people because your favorite player is the worst. He told me he didn’t want to get to know me after I spent the entire day taking care of his son.”
Then proceeded to call my phone countless times, but I haven’t listened to the voicemails. I assume they were forced by my dad, and I don’t need to hear his coerced apologies.
Grabbing some fruit from the fridge, I cut it up, keeping an eye on our eggs while throwing a couple slices of bread into the toaster, diving right back into taking care of him the way I did growing up.
“He’s a little protective,” my dad admits.
“Understatement of the year.”
“And he’s used to doing everything on his own. He practically raised his brother and he’s only two years older than Isaiah.”
Wait. What?
My attention darts to him, but I quickly avert it. He loves Kai and for my own pettiness, I don’t want to learn why.
“He’s got a lot of pressure on him, Miller. He’s Max’s only parent and he’s maybe the best pitcher I’ve ever seen, let alone coached. The MLB life is almost impossible to live when you’re a single dad.”
Without knowing, those words fall onto my chest, sitting heavy. I’ve carried them around for years, all too aware of what he gave up for me.
My dad was also in the majors before I came along, but unlike Kai, the second he became a single parent, he left the league. He settled in a small town in Colorado. Coached at a shitty college with an almost non-existent budget. Stayed when the bigger offers started rolling in. Raised me on his own. Was home every night. Made it to every school function, every one of my softball games.
All the while he was talented enough to make millions of dollars playing a game he loves. But instead, he gave it up because of me.
“He needs your help, Miller. He doesn’t know how to ask for it and I’m not sure if he knows how to accept it, but if there’s anyone who could bulldoze their way in, it’s you.”
I burst a laugh. “I’m not sure that’s the compliment you’re intending, Dad.”
“I don’t want him calling it and retiring early.”
The hits keep coming. He doesn’t want Kai to give up his life for Max the way he had to give up his life for me.
Clearing my throat, I plate our breakfasts and meet him at the table. “Where’s Max’s mom?”