Popping out in the deep end, I tread until she breaks the surface as well. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Following you around this goddamn pool until you tell me the rest.”
“The rest of what?”
“The rest of the story. Why you don’t trust anyone with your son. Why you don’t trust me.” She uses her arms and legs far more than she needs to, just to stay upright in the water. “Also, I’m not a great swimmer, so if I drown, that’s on your conscience for life.”
“I do trust you.”
She stills, those green eyes going wide before she slowly starts to sink.
“All right, Michael Phelps.” Reaching out, I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her into my body. “No need to sacrifice your life here. I’ll talk.”
Our legs tangle under the water, our skin sliding against one another. The water is plenty warm, but I feel the line of goosebumps scatter up Miller’s spine underneath my palm. Hand snaking around her hip, her legs hook around my waist, eyes slowly dipping to my lips because they’re far too close to hers.
I clear my throat, swimming us back to the shallow end.
When I reach the height she can stand, I still don’t let go. When she tries to remove her legs from my hips, I tighten my grip. She feels good. Too good. I truly have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve had a woman’s body on mine, but I don’t want it to end just yet.
“You trust me?” she whispers.
“I think so.”
“Why?”
“God, I have no idea. You’re like a bull in a china shop so maybe I’m just clear out of my mind.”
Slowly, I walk her back to the ledge, depositing her to sit, but I don’t leave. I stay standing between her open legs, my palms flat on the concrete bracketing them.
“Ask your questions.”
“Why have you fired every one of his nannies?” She doesn’t hesitate, but I do.
My head drops, Miller’s thighs right there in front of me, and I have to fist my hands to keep from touching them.
“Can I tell you why?” she quietly asks. “I think you want to stop playing baseball. I think you’re so worried you’re going to miss out on the big moments, that Max’s caretaker is going to be the first one to experience them. I think you’re so hung up on what you did miss that you’re desperate not to miss any more.”
Inhaling through my nose, I back away in the water because we’re far too close and she’s seeing far too much.
“I know what it’s like to notice your parents’ absence,” I tell her. “The day I was drafted, Isaiah was the only one in the crowd for me, and it was the same thing when it was his turn. I was also the only one there for him when he got his driver’s license or when he had his heart broken for the first time. The last thing I’ll ever be is an absentee dad. I won’t miss the important stuff, and even more, I don’t want to miss the everyday, insignificant moments. I want them all.”
Silence falls over us as Miller kicks in the water, her foot brushing my leg.
Her typically confident demeanor turns soft. “Where were your parents?”
“My mom died.”
“So did mine.”
My eyes jerk to hers as she sits on the ledge.
“Cancer,” she says.
“Car accident.”
“And your dad?”
All right, that’s too much for tonight. “Long story.”
She seems to understand my need to change the subject. “You need to have a little fun in your life.”
A smile ticks up at the memories. “Trust me, my twenties were plenty fun. Once Isaiah was settled in the league, I lived it up. I was stupid and reckless, and I don’t need to go back to that now that I have a son to raise.”
“You don’t need to go back, but you could find a balance between then and now. Now, you’re all grumpy”—she lowers her voice, mimicking me—“ ‘I equally hate playing baseball and people who watch my kid.’ ”
“I don’t hate baseball. I love it, actually. I just hate that it takes me away from Max.”
“And the people who watch your kid?”
My mouth twitches. “To be determined.”
She laughs, smacking me in the chest with the back of her hand, but I catch it before she can pull away. “How old were you when your mom died?”
The tone in the air shifts again.
“Five.”
“Geez,” I exhale. “I didn’t realize Monty was so young when he lost his wife.”